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“Then enlighten us,” Lyxander says.
“There are mercenaries crawling all over Arkhadia,” Silas says. “Some of them made it into Kosmos last week, and when they were questioned, we learned they were from Eretria. They’re hunting for you. And her. Xerxes is considering declaring it an act of war.”
A heavy pause follows his words. My breath hitches, and I clamp a hand over my mouth, but it does nothing to stop the rising panic.
There hasn’t been a conflict between the kingdoms since the God War. If King Xerxes declares war on Eretria, it won’t stop there. The alliances are too tangled, the grudges too old. The entire realm would be dragged into war.
“We encountered some on the road,” Lyxander says finally, his voice strained. “Why is the king of Eretria being so bold?”
It’s Titaia who answers. “Because my uncle is dead. Keres has ascended the throne.”
“And according to most of the Empyrieos,” Cynna says, “that woman you’ve brought home with you is his future bride.”
The words knock the air from my chest, and the world tilts. My vision blurs, and suddenly I’m back in that room, the walls closing in around me.
I lurch away from the stone as bile stings the back of my throat and memories claw their way to the surface. I have barely enough presence of mind left to keep my steps soft as I flee up the stairs.
The wind wails around me, tugging at my hair as I sit at the edge of the open-air chamber. The distant roar of waves as they crash against the cliffs below rises and falls like a heartbeat, and I try to empty my mind and untangle the complicated knot of too many emotions in my chest.
Behind me, footsteps emerge from the stairwell, the sound muted by the wind. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is.
Lyxander halts beside me, and I tense.
“I think it’s safe to say dinner has been postponed for now,” he says.
I’m not certain what I was expecting. Perhaps a barrage of questions about Cynna’s remarks or maybe accusations. Instead, he settles beside me, letting his legs hang over the ledge.
A silent companion in the night.
For a time, we sit in silence, the crash of waves far below. I’ve always hated silences that linger too long. They give too much room for the ghosts of memories to rise. But tonight, his quiet steadiness doesn’t smother me. If anything, it does the opposite, easing the tension my body holds so tightly to.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice almost lost to the wind. “For how tonight turned out. I didn’t expect Cynna and Silas to show up.”
I glance at him. “They’re part of your kin?”
He shakes his head. “Yes. They’re also my cousins. I suspected Silas might be…emotional, so I thought it best to leave him out of tonight’s gathering. Clearly, I underestimated him. And her.”
Cynna’s icy eyes flash in my mind, swiftly followed by the image of frost spreading across stone. “The drop in temperature, and the frost, was that her?”
He hums in agreement. “Both she and Silas have similar powers. It’s atmospheric. Not wind like yours, but the breath and pulse of the sky. Cynna is more adept with temperature, and Silas with moisture.”
“It sounds like winter magic.”
“It was gifted to us by Boreas, but it’s not like the power he granted the Arkhadian bloodline. Where King Xerxes and his family have command over most facets of the season, we possess only an affinity for one element.”
“So, did your mother control lightning too?”
“No,” he says thoughtfully. “I’m not sure where it came from.” He pauses, then adds, “And before you ask, no, your mother didn’t have an affinity for the wind. Her power was tied to the clouds and rain.”
Disappointment wells within me, but I force it down. If Lyxander doesn’t even know where his own powers came from, there’s no way he’ll be able to explain mine. At least I’m not the only outlier. There is some comfort in that.
“Do all Harpaurai have theïkós, then?”
“No.” He inhales, seeming to brace himself before releasing it. “Just like the other kingdoms in the Empyrieos, only the royal bloodlines do.”
I blink, my mind stumbling over the words he just uttered.
“You’re royalty?”
