Page 56

I narrow my eyes, searching his face for any sign of deceit, but his expression doesn’t waver. “Why didn’t you tell me what I was?”

He tilts his head to the side. “Would you have believed me?”

No. I don’t say it aloud, but he must read the answer on my face.

“Then you already know why I didn’t tell you,” he says. “What was it you called us? Myths. Bedtime stories.”

I scoff. “Well, you didn’t exactly have wings when I found you.”

“That’s a truth you won’t have heard in any of the stories. The Harpaurai aren’t just winged beings; we’re shifters, for lack of a better word. When we met, I was between forms, and the collar was suppressing that part of my power too.”

I can’t stop the way my mind latches on to the words, turning them over like puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit. Shifters. Between forms. It’s nothing I’ve ever heard before, nothing I could have imagined, and yet it explains so much.

“What have you heard about the Harpaurai?” Lyxander crosses to one of the sofas, gesturing toward another as he sits.

“Only stories.” I hesitate, then settle onto a chaise opposite him. “Some say you were divine beings. Others, monsters. Most don’t say anything at all, because they seem to have forgotten altogether.”

“We were both,” he says, correcting me.

“Were?”

“Our histories say Boreas carved the first Harpaurai from himself and shaped them in the image of the Anemoi. Not divine like they were, but still with the ability to fly, and as our kind mixed with tycheroi and nymphai, it became clear our blood was more potent as more Harpaurai emerged. You already know how others would react to that.”

“With fear,” I say, recalling our conversation in the Agria. “Or desire.”

He hums in agreement. “In the aftermath of the God War, we were hunted—by kings, by scholars, by anyone who believed they could control us, or obliterate what defied their grasp. So, when the Anemoi left, those of us who remained left as well. We gathered what we could and burned what we couldn’t: maps, scrolls, the very proof of our existence across the realm. We erased ourselves, buried our truths with the ashes, and faded into silence.”

His wings shift, a ripple of movement that stirs the air, the rustle of feathers like a rasping sigh. The sound is soft, almost mournful, as if even the wings carry the burden of what he speaks.

“So, even if I could have,” he continues, “I would not have shown you without knowing I could trust you. Yes, you are one of us. But only one, and the Harpaurai have become a myth for a reason.”

When I look beyond the hurt, I can see the logic in his silence, its necessity. And I can understand the desire to protect something precious, to guard it so fiercely that you’d sacrifice everything else.

Slowly, I dip my chin in acceptance.

Some of the tension eases from his shoulders, the rigid line of his posture softening ever so slightly. But in me, it only builds.

He’s answered so many questions, but each answer has only given rise to more. They churn in my mind, but one rises above the rest.

One question I need answered before I can decide what to do next. Before I can decide if I’ll stay—or walk away.

“If I chose to leave, would you try to stop me?”

That makes him pause. His wings shift, the faintest twitch, and for the first time, he hesitates. When he finally speaks, his words are quieter but spoken with conviction. “No, Aella. I would ask for another bargain so that you keep this secret. But I would not force you to stay.”

I glance down at my hands as if they might hold some clarity. It’s easier than meeting his gaze and letting him see the uncertainty surging within me.

I could still leave. I could walk away from all of this—him, this place, the truths I might find in this far-off corner of the Empyrieos. I could figure out this magic on my own, stumble through the dark until I found my footing.

But as I envision that path, I can’t see what lies at the end. Learning from someone like him—someone with lightning in his veins and struggles scorched onto his skin—would feel a lot less like stumbling through the dark.

Returning to the Sorrows isn’t an option yet. As much as I desperately want to be with Nyssa and Kal, my brother is the heir to the Sorrows’s throne. And despite my burning need to protect Nyssa, I know she is more than capable of defending herself. She always has been. It’s my own fear of losing her that’s always driven my need to shield her from the Eagle.

But this—this chance to learn more about my mother, to uncover the pieces of her life that have always been a mystery—is something I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember. And now that the opportunity is here, I don’t want to give it up.

I weigh each thought carefully and the silence stretches, until I finally lift my gaze to meet his.

“You have a bargain to fulfill. But if you withhold anything from me again…” I rise to my feet. “I will rip the truth from your bones.”