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He shrugs, his gaze drifting to the flickering light of the sconces. “It’s what everyone thinks. And maybe they’re right. Maybe I’ve spent too much time pretending not to care because it’s easier than admitting I do.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I settle for the truth. “You’re here now. That counts for something.”
“Does it?” he asks, his eyes sharp and searching mine.
“It does,” I say. “You’re not what I expected.”
“And what did you expect?”
I tilt my head, studying him. “I heard so much about you from Aella. It didn’t take long to realize she knew a side of you that you don’t show to others. After that, I figured you were someone who wouldn’t bother with this.” I gesture to the scrolls, the shelves, the endless history surrounding us. But the motion encompasses more than just this moment—it’s his concern for his citizens, his unwillingness to let the Eagle’s plans unfold, his love for his sister, and the way he trusts Maxim. This. “But I can admit when I’m wrong.”
His smirk returns, but there’s something softer beneath it, something that lingers in his eyes. “Careful, Poison. Don’t turn sweet on me.”
“Trust me, there’s no risk of that.”
I unravel the scroll in my hands.
My heart skips a beat.
At the bottom of the parchment, cramped letters huddle in unmistakable dissonance to the rest.
Lord Stavros Cirillo.
“This is it,” I say, breathless but also relieved.
Kallias is at my side before the words are fully out, close enough I feel the heat off him, close enough that the lengths of our bodies almost touch as he takes the parchment from me. If he feels it, he doesn’t say. But his next breath is rough. He studies the signature, brows drawing tight.
“This—” He hesitates. “You must be mistaken.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because,” he says, his gaze lifting to meet mine, “Lord Cirillo has been dead for almost two hundred years.”
Chapter 24
Aella
My boots barely make a sound against the worn stone of the stairwell, causing the echo of voices drifting upward to be even more apparent. Part of me wants to turn around, to retreat to the quiet sanctuary of the library. But another part urges me forward.
Pausing within the shelter of the archway, I skim my fingers down the loose braid draped over my shoulder, then check the high collar of the deep indigo tunic I’ve chosen. I’ve always known which mask to wear in different situations. Tonight, meeting Lyxander’s kin feels like an intimate invitation. And I can’t figure out who I’m supposed to be.
Drawing a steadying breath, I brace myself and take the final step.
The dining area feels transformed, almost unrecognizable from the countless times I’ve passed through it over the past few weeks. Lyxander and I have never eaten here before, but tonight, life has been breathed into the space.
Candles flicker along the walls, and a fire down at the far end casts golden light over low-backed chairs and an oval table, now laden with platters of food, wine casks, and more candlesticks. The inviting aromas of roasted herbs and spiced bread fill the air.
Lyxander sits at the curved head of the table, one hand resting lightly on the edge. His hair is unbound, falling in tousled waves just past his shoulders, and a black woolen tunic hugs his frame, silver thread glinting at the high collar and cuffs. Tonight, his wings are hidden, but even without them he looks unreal, mythic and divine as the firelight burnishes his edges. When he turns toward me, I almost forget how to breathe.
“You made it,” he says, rising from his seat.
The two other figures rise as well. Both wingless like Lyxander, they fix their attention on me with a mix of curiosity and welcome.
“This,” Lyxander begins, gesturing toward the woman, “is Rhaya.”
Rhaya steps forward, a gentle smile softening her features. Even without wings, she’s striking. The stark white of her hair tumbles in loose waves around her shoulders, a luminous contrast to her ebony skin, both catching the light like moonlit silk. Her rich, amber-brown eyes meet mine, and her smile deepens.
“It’s lovely to properly meet you, Aella,” she says.
