29. Astraea
Chapter twenty-nine
Astraea
Maybe everything that has happened in my life has been leading me to this.
Decisions that were made before me and those that were made for me.
They pushed me to make my own when the time was right.
But what they all have in common is that every one of them led me to Kyros and the future I now see.
Even if the picture is still unclear of what that will actually look like, somehow—I always see him at my side.
Which is a much less bleak future than I had seen in staying a prisoner in the palace.
Even when I chose to run away from it all, I would have still been a prisoner to the fear my father instilled in me.
Had I gotten away, it wouldn’t have been any life worth living.
I would always be running from my father and all he wanted me to endure.
After dressing, I pull my wet hair into a heavy braid over my shoulder.
I catch Kyros’ gaze lingering—lustfully gliding over my body.
So badly I want to claim him back. Tell him how much he has come to mean to me, but it never feels like the right time.
Opening a portal, he reaches for my hand and transports us to the rocky surface ringing The Pit.
Cloud cover has encroached on the moon’s silver light, casting the glade in a shroud of inky darkness.
The ominous glow of Kyros’ portal snapping shut behind us has only added to the eerie feel that surrounds us.
It’s not just that, though. A chill runs up my spine as the feeling of someone watching has me scanning the darkness.
“Do you want to walk back? Or should we use another portal?” Kyros asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
He tilts his head and licks his lips as he all but consumes me where I stand.
He gives a light tug at the end of my braid with a crooked smile playing at his lips.
I feel the heat rise in my cheeks as I smile up at him.
“Are you flirting with me, Kyros?” That uncharacteristic smile tugs at his lips, his dark eyes turning molten.
Seeing the white of his teeth makes me realize just how much he and Mavros actually do favor each other.
Yet again, another reminder of everything we still have in front of us.
Will there ever be a time that happiness won’t hurt?
Divine, will there ever be a right time for Kyros and me?
We may have several people back in close proximity to us again, but Mavros and Zinya are still out there somewhere.
“Of course I am. If I plan to finally court you, I need to make sure you like me a little.” His eyes flick back and forth between mine. “Eventually that is. When things are more normal in the kingdoms…and I’ve done a lot of groveling.” He huffs out an unsure laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Well, seeing that we are twin flames, I think you are stuck with me.” I say it with a smile, but I can feel the sadness entering my eyes.
I don’t know if we will ever get what I think we both now realize we want.
I bring my hand up to rest in the center of his chest. His pounding heart is like an anchor.
Grounding under my palm when I feel its rhythm matching my own.
His gaze narrows on me, his black eyes like two glinting obsidian stones.
“Not until you claim me in return.” His brows drop as he says the words, and a nervous laugh escapes him again as he looks away.
Quickly adding, “Anyway, we better get going before they form a search party and come looking for us.” The stark difference between the man who stands before me and his usual confidence twists in my chest. I know it’s not fair keeping my feelings from him.
It’s not fair to either of us. In a way, I know he knows—but he should hear it from me.
I’ll tell him tonight. After we speak with Rowan.
For now, I turn, let my hand slide down his arm, and into his palm.
He looks at me with a quiet adoration as our fingers lace together and he squeezes lightly.
We stay like that, side-by-side in silence for most of the walk back to the edge of town.
Happy enough to be in each other's company. I sneak glances when the cloud-covered night gives way enough for moonlight to filter through the trees, and I am lucky enough to actually see his expression. Deep in thought, his dark brows hover low over his eyes in the typical Kyros scowl. I can’t help but smile a little.
He is nothing like what I imagined when I first met him.
Broody and grumpy, sure, but it’s all for good reason.
His life has been as painful as mine, even if for very different reasons.
But there it is again, the root cause of both of our pain: my father.
The harrowing echo of our mirrored anguish.
Kyros yanks me to a halt, and my eyes instantly search our surroundings as to why.
I had been so lost in thought, I didn’t notice the sound of voices echoing in the distance.
We are just inside of the trees bordering town, still cast out by shadows and remaining unseen.
But not far up ahead, a crowd of people gathers around a fire lit in the middle of what was once a street in the small town of Aithne.
Its flames illuminate the faces of the Neer who remain, those who have called this place home.
At the center of the group, Rowan stands with his arms hanging at his sides and shadows dance across his fierce scowl.
He looks down at someone clad in easily recognizable silver armor.
The soldier is on his knees, arms pulled tightly behind his back.
His bloody hands are bound and shaking, the crimson steadily dripping from his gloved fingertips.
It's how his head is bowed, staring at the dirt that brings me pause.
My heart is thundering, but it isn’t only from witnessing the warrior on his knees before me.
A glint from the blade I hadn’t noticed Rowan holding earlier has suddenly snapped my attention.
The man on his knees turns his head just enough that I catch a glimpse of his profile.
A face I have seen so many times, both from afar and intimately close.
One I recognize immediately. The profile of a man—a friend—I promised my protection.
Seeing the scene begin to play out, I become emboldened.
I am not powerless. I have magick now running through my veins, humming under my skin, and writhing on the surface.
I rip my hand from Kyros’ grip without hesitation and bolt toward them. Rowan lifts his sword, ready to deliver the killing blow in a public execution. Something I refuse to allow. Kyros is on my heels. I have never run so fast. Right before Rowan’s sword comes down, I throw my hand up.
“NO!” The word rips from my throat in the same ferocity that shadows explode from my palm.
My only objective: stop the blade. I anticipate my shadows coming from my palm like I’ve practiced with Kyros.
Throwing them out feels similar to rendering, but instead wrapping around the glinting metal in Rowan’s hand, rendering it useless.
It feels like I am a toddler learning to walk.
This new feeling surges from my chest, releasing from my palm like a smoky limb—shadows that are now an extension of my own body feel completely foreign, and before I am able to meet my mark, it hits a wall made of pure obsidian.
Kyros wields his sandy shadows into a blockade of onyx smoke.
The blade is forgotten as a clamor of unrest breaks out through the crowd.
Chaos ensnares us as people run, shout, and draw weapons.
“Wait! STOP.” Kyros roars above them all. “This is all a misunderstanding.” Slowly confused faces turn toward their king. Their king—he takes control of the situation I created with my emotional outburst.
I couldn’t let Rowan kill him, I rationalize to myself.
My hands tremble with every rapid beat of my heart.
Fear and panic battle for dominance in my chest as I watch the dark obsidian wall that was thrown up between my shadow magick and Rowan dissipate like mist. It reveals the awe-struck leader of Aithne on the other side.
He blinks once at Kyros before settling his eyes on me with his lips parting.
“Kyros—” Rowan barks, his face red with fury.
His eyes stay trained on me where I have dropped to my knees.
The scorched cobblestone has no give as my knees slam into the unrelenting rock ground in front of the bound soldier.
I don’t hear anything of what he says next, if he says anything at all.
I ignore everyone else’s voices as they turn to hushed whispers, and I take their prisoner's face into my hands.
His rough bearded cheeks bite into the soft pads of my hands as I lift his bowed head so I can see into his eyes.
Only when his chin is finally tipped up do I find one eye lacking all its usual warmth looking back at me, the other missing entirely—a roughly scarred void where the other eye once was.
Moisture clouds my vision, nostrils flaring and chin dimpling with my rising horror.
“Great divine, what happened to you?” I choke out.
He says nothing, his mouth opening and then closing before he tips forward, his one eye rolling back.
My hands slide down to his shoulders, pushing hard as I try to keep him upright.
It’s futile; he careens forward with all of his weight, falling into my arms. “Someone untie him. Now!” I call out.
“Are you sure you want him untied?” Kyros asks quietly, our eyes locking over glinting silver armor as he pulls at his shoulders to relieve some of the weight on me. “We don’t know what brought him here.” He continues cautiously.