Page 22

Nothing answered, but she wasn’t sure who she was asking. A mirror glimmered across the room and Ryn took in her impressive gold armour, her specially made cape, her tired eyes and flushed cheeks, and the woven braid Heva had taught her how to…

Her gaze fired to the floor and stayed there.

She didn’t want to think about Heva. She didn’t want to wonder if Heva had taken her last breath.

Ryn unfastened her sheath from her belt and leaned it against the wall. She didn’t want to look at herself in the mirror anymore either. She wasn’t sure who she was looking at anyway. Was she Commander Adassah of Burn Division Twelve? The Gold Maiden of the war the Mother City praised? Was she just an Adriel who’d been too hurt to do the right thing when it counted? She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. Maybe she was still Estheryn Electus; the maiden in hiding, living under a false name and identity. Maybe that’s really who she’d been all this time—an illusion.

She unclipped her cape and tossed it over the bed, then took off her breastplate and caught a glimpse of her yellowed reflection in the gold. Countless times she’d looked at herself like this in the desert. Mornings in prayer, getting dressed to go face a B’rei Mira unit under Bastone’s orders. She lowered her breastplate and stared at a brass mural of a garden, not really seeing it.

Burn Division Twelve might have dispersed now with both her and Heva gone, leaving General Reza with his original border divisions. She dragged her thumb across the collar of her armour. The new armour shipment hadn’t come in from the Mother City yet, so her burn division had been wearing measly second hand war leathers when she left. For a moment, she missed them all. She missed Bastone. She regretted how cold she’d been when she left him. But when the B’rei Mira Prince’s priceless expression filled her mind—after he realized he’d killed the wrong person; that the young woman he stole from Ryn wasn’t the Gold Maiden at all—a heat came that warmed every chill in Ryn’s bones. Now Prince Mansour knew that while Ryn had been yelling the truth at the cliff pool, he’d been too desperate and impatient to realize it.

Her breastplate made a clatter when she tossed it to the floor.

This was the only way.

The ivies on her balcony shifted, and Ryn stilled. They ruffled again, a blossom shaking hard enough to dislodge a petal the breeze carried away, and she crept backward on silent toes, reaching for her sword by the wall. She drew it slowly as an arm came over the rail.

She released a huff of disbelief. Even the Intelligentsia hadn’t sent an assassin that fast. Maybe Prince Mansour was coming to finish what he started.

Perfect.

Ryn pushed the glass doors open and charged across the balcony, sword poised. The sun glittered off the tip as a head of dark hair appeared and dark blue eyes settled on her blade. Ryn tore the sword back and dropped it, a metallic ring singing over the balcony. She fell to a knee, throwing her arms around Xerxes’s neck and shoulders, his fingers slipping an inch down the rail at the impact. Her nose filled with the fragrances of sweet bloom oils and smoky forest brush as he pulled himself to stand, balancing on the opposite side of the railing, and caught her back with his free arm. Xerxes held her so tight, she could feel his heartbeat as he hung over the wall below like that—a King balancing on a narrow ledge over a long fall.

“Naïve little Adriel,” he whispered into her hair. “I’ve missed you terribly.”

“Bad-tempered King,” Ryn replied, pulling away. “I’ve missed you, too.” She took his arm around a bronze cuff pinching his muscle, but he climbed over the railing on his own and grabbed her shoulders, driving her backward into the room. Xerxes slammed the doors shut behind him, rattling the glass, and he turned, glitter-covered chest rising and falling. There was a glaze of relief in his black-lined eyes even though they drilled her where she stood.

The gold headband of roses and the ruby-studded pectoral he wore in the Throne Room were gone now. His dark hair was a mess, and silken red fabric draped over one shoulder in some form of garment that left one whole side of his chest showing…

His chest.

Ryn gasped and touched his cheek where she realized the violet ink marking was gone; his jaw, his shoulder, neck… even his left iris was clear. Xerxes’s face changed when her hand drifted down his neck to his heart, his chest expanding slightly as he took in a shallow breath. Ryn pulled her fingers back when she realized, but he caught her wrist in the air, his thumb pressing into her palm. His deep blue gaze flickered down to her mouth, and warmth rushed into Ryn’s stomach.

“I don’t know whether to hug you or throw you off that balcony, Maiden.” His words were clipped, and Ryn’s smile warped.

“Throw me off… Are you joking? That’s what you have to say to me after I came all this way?” She yanked her hand back to herself. “You’re such a spoiled King when you’re mad, Xerxes.”

Xerxes pointed at her. “Don’t you know what it’s doing to me to have you here?” He shoved his hands into his messy hair. “If you were alive… Why wouldn’t you… Ryn—the border! What will happen at the border?” He dropped his arms, bangles clapping at his wrists. “Why would you ever come here? This isn’t like the desert! This is court politics and foreign savages and obsessive men—things you don’t know how to deal with. I can take this brutality on my own, but not if you’re here!” He gazed at her with an expression that was likely meant to be loathing, but Ryn released an airy chuckle, and Xerxes’s eyes widened.

Ryn straightened out her tunic, adjusted her remaining armour pieces, and smoothed down her hair. Her smile fizzled away though as she turned her back to Xerxes. She wasn’t sure what she was trying to prove by laughing about it. She wasn’t blind—she knew her odds of living through this visit.

“I’ve met your god.”

Ryn looked back at him in surprise.

Xerxes shook his head, a dark lock of hair falling into his eyes. He scratched the back of his neck. “He’s not like I expected.”

“Ah…” Ryn glanced off, twisting her braid tie. “The God Original. El.” She bit her lips together as Xerxes walked around her slowly, arms folded.

“I thought you’d be happy.” He squinted at her until she shifted her balance.

“Of course I’m happy, Xerxes.” She glanced at the floor as a burst of moisture heated her eyes. She tried blinking it away before he could see. “The bravest thing I ever did—” Xerxes’s hand came beneath her chin and lifted her face, chasing off any hope she had of hiding “—was trusting El and getting back up to join the fight when I did not even want to live.” She cracked a fragile smile as a tear slipped down her cheek in a burning trail. “You should listen to him, Xerxes. He cares about you.”

“And what about you?” Xerxes eyed her tear, his thumb coming dangerously close to brushing it away. “Are you listening to him right now, Ryn?”

Ryn’s mouth closed. She took a step backward, his fingers sliding off. She clasped her hands together and glanced over at the mirror, seeing her half-armoured self, her glittering Per-Siana jewelry, her ivory tunic. “He and I have an understanding—”

“I highly doubt that.” Xerxes folded his arms again, his bronze cuff pinching his bicep. “Why do I get the feeling you’re doubting your god?” His chest deflated with a coarse huff. “After he kept you alive through insurmountable odds? Tell me what you’re really doing here, Ryn.”