Chapter Thirty
One ought to be wary of phoenixians. They hide behind their masks of civility and intellect, cloaking themselves in the illusion that their only pursuit is knowledge.
But knowledge is a quiet blade.
And power, once grasped, has a habit of corrupting all who wield it.
Tabitha Wysteria
Everyone had agreed to retreat to their chambers to rest and refresh before lunch.
Alina had meant to do the same. Yet with her heart pounding like a war drum and her thoughts unravelling into chaos, she found herself slipping silently through the palace’s grand corridors, becoming once more a shadow within its stone veins.
She had traced her way to the wyverian’s quarters—an elegant chamber, expansive and serene, with an enormous bed draped in gauzy fabric and tall curtains that fluttered in the breeze.
Just beyond, a small private garden unfurled like a secret, complete with a bathing pool glinting beneath the dappled sunlight.
Alina stood against the wall leading to the garden, her body still as stone, her gaze fixed on the main doors. Her fingers curled tightly around the hilt of her dagger. She waited.
When Dawn finally entered, she moved without caution, beginning to undress with the ease of someone alone. That should have been Alina’s first warning. No true wyverian would step into a room and fail to sense another’s presence. And so, Alina clicked her tongue softly.
Dawn startled, eyes wide. ‘What are you doing in my room?’
Alina tilted her head, voice low and measured. ‘It’s curious, isn’t it? How we forget so much, and yet the smallest of details cling to us like shadows.’ She stepped away from the wall, slow and deliberate, noting the flash of recognition, of fear, as Dawn caught sight of the dagger.
‘Kai isn’t here,’ Dawn said, her tone cautious.
Alina rolled her eyes. ‘This has nothing to do with him.’
‘Doesn’t it?’
‘No,’ Alina replied, her voice turning cold as steel. ‘But I’ll not allow you to break him the way you broke my brother.’
Dawn’s brow creased. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Oh, stop,’ Alina snapped, raising the dagger between them. ‘You forget, we spent far too long together. I know the truth. I know you.’
‘I—’
‘Show me,’ Alina commanded, her voice now a whisper laced with fury. She stepped closer, eyes blazing. ‘Show me your true face, Adara.’
Dawn’s eyes flashed, just for a moment, with the glint of resistance, as if she still contemplated the charade.
But then came a weary sigh, soft as a breeze before a storm.
Her pale hands shimmered with green light, and in an instant, the wyverian illusion melted away.
In its place stood a witch, unmistakable and defiant.
Runes curled like living vines across her arms, aglow with faint magic, and those infamous purple eyes gleamed with a familiar fire.
‘How did you know it was me?’ she asked quietly.
Alina’s voice was cold, steady. ‘I’ve never heard anyone sing that song… except you.’
‘I’m here to help.’
‘Don’t insult me with lies.’
‘I’m not! I swear it!’ Dawn’s hands rose in surrender as Alina surged forward, her dagger pressing against the witch’s throat, pinning her to the stone wall.
Alina’s attention lingered on the vein that throbbed beneath her blade, imagining the way it might rupture, how the fire behind those purple eyes might vanish into dust and silence.
‘Does he know?’ Alina asked, dragging her eyes upwards, focusing on the face that had haunted her past, on the eyes that had cursed them all. ‘Does Kai know what you are?’
Dawn nodded, slow and tentative.
A snarl curled from Alina’s throat. She gripped the hilt of her curved desert dagger tighter, until the metal kissed skin, sharp enough to draw a single bead of blood that welled and slid along Dawn’s neck.
‘I never meant—’
‘I don’t want your excuses.’
‘I loved Ash.’
‘Shut up!’ Alina screamed, shoving herself back, releasing the witch as she staggered away, breath heaving, fury crackling in her chest. Her eyes shimmered with tears, and she dashed them away with the heel of her hand. No, she would not cry. Not in front of her.
‘You never stopped to think what it would do to me, did you?’ she hissed. ‘You weren’t just Ash’s undoing. You were mine too. You pretended to be my friend. And all the while, you were lying.’
Dawn gave a solemn nod, grief pooling in her eyes like a tide too long restrained.
Tears shimmered, unshed but glistening. ‘I didn’t mean to…
I know you’ll never believe me. But I never truly lied.
I wore another face, yes, but the time we shared, Alina…
it was real to me. And Ash, I loved him. I loved you both.’
Alina turned away, loathing the warm trail of tears cascading down her cheeks, powerless to stop them.
The memories surged like a flood, battering every corner of her soul.
Ash, with all his shadows and strength, had loved Adara, the drakonian court girl who, in her quiet way, had helped carry him through his darkest moments.
And Adara had not only captured her brother’s heart, she had claimed Alina’s friendship, too.
Once, it had been Ash, Hagan, Adara and Alina—four hearts clutched in the hands of fate, bound together by dreams and the foolish hope of youth. And two of them had been liars. Two had torn the circle in half, leaving only ruins.
‘Go.’
‘But I—’
‘I don’t want to hear it,’ Alina said, her voice sharpening to steel.
‘Pack your things and leave this city. I don’t care how you manage it.
But you will be gone. If I return to these chambers tonight and find you still here, I swear by every god you believe in that I will cut you down.
Witch. Adara. Dawn. Whatever name you claim, it means nothing now.
Adara died that day. Just as the Alina you once knew died the night you stormed my castle and slaughtered my kin. ’
‘Ash isn’t dead.’
Alina froze. Her breath caught, and her heart thudded painfully against her ribs at the echo of that truth, one she had not yet dared to believe.
When Kai had spoken those words, she’d met them with silence.
Too much had unravelled since then, too many wounds carved too deep.
A part of her would not, could not, accept it until she saw him with her own eyes.
Because if it wasn’t true, if it turned out to be another cruel lie, then losing him again would shatter her beyond repair.
‘Leave.’
‘Please, Alina, don’t do this. We need the dragons—’
‘I will decide what my dragons do. And whatever decision is made, you will not be part of it. Leave. Before I change my mind.’
She watched as the witch’s face fractured beneath the weight of her sorrow, tears streaming freely as Alina’s own had long since dried to salt upon her skin.
Without another word, she slid the curved blade of her desert dagger back into its sheath and turned away.
She did not look back.
She did not offer a final word, nor a soft farewell to the girl who had once held her trust, who had once been stitched into the fabric of her heart. That thread had long since unravelled.
Alina walked on, her pace steady through the grand, echoing corridors, the silence pressing in on all sides. She did not stop until she reached the solitude of her chambers, where the weight she had carried finally became too much.
She collapsed onto the bed, buried her face into a cushion and screamed.
Screamed until her voice broke and her soul splintered.
Until her heart shattered like glass, falling into a thousand irreparable shards.
…
Alina paid no heed to the white gown draped across her bed like a ghost of the past. She would not don a dress again.
Never, not while she still drew breath. Instead, she wrapped herself in her phoenixian combat attire, fastened her curved desert dagger to her hip, and slipped her feet into the worn leather boots that had carried her across more dunes than she cared to count.
She imagined the king would frown upon a guest arriving at his luncheon clad for battle, but she found herself quite beyond caring.
By the time she reached the grand terrace where servants fanned cool air with great plumes and bustled about perfecting the floral arrangements along the vast stone table, she spotted Kai emerging from the palace. He slowed at the sight of her, one brow arching high at her attire.
‘Not a word,’ she warned.
‘Never, princess,’ he said, voice threaded with humour. ‘From these lips? Nothing but love.’
The servants rushed to usher them to their places.
Isla and Arena emerged, adorned in elegant gowns that had evidently been laid out for them in advance.
It was a strange, almost surreal sight—these fierce warriors, so often clad in battle-worn leathers and armour, now draped in silken finery.
Alina couldn’t suppress a smile as she watched them.
There was something tender, almost enchanting, in the way they giggled like young girls granted a rare indulgence, their laughter light as petals caught in a summer breeze.
Kai, too, had shed his wyverian garb in favour of phoenixian silks. The sight was strange, almost jarring, but undeniably striking: the warrior cloaked in white, the loose shirt and linen trousers bright against his deathly white skin. Even the simple sandals upon his feet made her smile.
‘Not a word, princess,’ he muttered, pinching her arm in retaliation.
‘Never, wyverian,’ she echoed with mock solemnity. ‘From this mouth? Nothing but truth.’
The jest faded as their gazes met. The air between them shifted, weighted suddenly with something unsaid, something old and aching.
And though she hadn’t spoken it aloud, he understood.
She saw it in his face—the subtle paling, the darkening of his eyes as truth settled between them like a shared burden.
‘Alina—’
‘Not now. Later.’