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His chest is a masterpiece of definition, every line of muscle sharply cut, but it’s the blackened mark branded into his sternum that draws my eye. From that dark heart, scorch marks from his theïkós—just like the ones on his arms and throat—streak outward like cracks in glass, carving through his ribs and slicing down each ridge and hollow of his abdomen before disappearing beneath the waist of his pants.
Pale scars are stark against his otherwise smooth skin. Some are thin and deliberate, others jagged and brutal, each one a story carved into his body. How many of those were left by Keres while he was his prisoner? How many more had the Aviary inflicted in the short time they held him?
And then there’s the one circling the base of his throat, the most glaring of them all.
“Funny,” Lyxander says. “You had such control a second ago.”
I tear my gaze away from him and look bashfully at the candle in my hand. The delicate balance of air has unraveled around me. The flame is extinguished, leaving only a wisp of smoke behind. Any confidence I had dissipates with it, and I set the candle down on a dresser to my right.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be half naked,” I mutter, still avoiding his gaze as heat creeps up my neck.
“That can happen when you barge into someone’s room,” Lyxander says, turning away to put on his tunic.
“You said to come in,” I retort.
“Did I?”
I part my lips to protest, but…he hadn’t told me to. I’d been too consumed by my own achievement to recognize that.
A smirk tugs at his lips as he faces me.
“Looks like you figured out how to throw.” He swoops past me and heads for the door. “Just in time too.”
“For what?” I ask, my brow knitting as I fall into step beside him.
“For your next lesson.”
Chapter 19
Nyssa
A reply has come from Myna.
Maxim’s instructions were an echo of the last, only this time, they lead me to the northeastern side of the palace grounds.
It doesn’t take me long to find the hidden door behind the hedges—a mirror of the one in the rose garden that leads up to the prince’s antechamber. I’m not surprised to find the same goiteía key works in the lock, and I suspect I already know where this passage leads.
But even as I emerge from the stairwell and into a neglected antechamber within the royal wing, I’m still not entirely prepared for the sight.
Here, the moon is the only thing illuminating the space. There are no flickering sconces or candlelight, and the edges are blurred in shadow. This part of the royal wing feels forgotten, the air scented by dust and stone.
I move toward the slightly ajar door to my right and gently push it open to step inside.
My body goes still as I take it in.
Moonlight leaks through a wide arched window, casting pale light across faded tapestries and furniture draped in white sheets. The room is distinctly feminine—from the curve of the battered vanity in one corner to the preserved crown of dried flowers hanging near the bedframe. There’s a stack of books piled in a corner, a faded rectangle patch on the wall where a map of the Empyrieos might have once hung. A framed map studded with fine pearl pins and the dreams of a girl who wanted to escape.
Everything about this space screams of a youth abandoned. A life paused mid-breath.
Aella’s.
I almost don’t see Kallias. He leans casually against a bedpost, and were it not for the rise and fall of his chest, I might have thought him carved from the room itself.
I press the door closed behind me. “Why are we meeting here?”
Kallias turns.
The color of his eyes is lost in the dim light, the dark smudge of kohl around them blurring into the shadows. There’s an almost mournful expression etched onto his face. One that reminds me of the portrait hanging in the gallery a few turns away.
