Chapter 3
Clothes. Trinkets. Papers. Books. I inventoried my entire life, weighing what to bring and what to leave. Stadiel was going to rip my rooms apart the moment we were past the metal gates, and he’d be looking for even the slightest thing to use against me when I stepped out of line again.
I scanned each parchment, feeding the fire what wasn’t important and tucking what was into my trunk. All the while, Iaoth’s threat echoing in my ears.
Disobey again and I’ll tell Sylaira what our father truly did to you. And what you did after.
Because she’d been in my head so many times, she knew how he’d tortured me. Forged me. And which words would make me crumble.
Sylaira strode past, her nose in the air and attention focused on anything but me. I pressed against the cold, hard mountain around her mind, only to find every crevice sealed.
Her hatred was all my fault; even if I could go back and continue to give her real virelthorn, I wouldn’t.
She stopped at her bedside table, tugging at her finger. When she placed the ring I’d given her there, every injury from the trial ceased to matter. They were nothing in comparison to that singular action.
“Put that back on,” I growled, stalking around the posts and cornering her. Crushed ghostflower curled in my nostrils, the scent so close, so her, and yet she dared to deny that she belonged to me.
Sylaira kept her back to me. “No.”
My fingers flexed at my sides. “I wasn’t asking, little fugitive.”
She turned, keeping her gaze pinned to the ground. Like when I’d captured her and dragged her from the mountains. “And I’m telling you I don’t want it now.”
The monster inside me gnashed its teeth. “I did what I had to do.”
And still, she stood there, chin tucked, hands fisted. Trapped. Caged. Exactly as she’d warned me I would do.
I raked my good hand across my scalp, yanking on the leather strap tying back my iron-gray hair and letting it fall around my shoulders. “I would do anything to protect you, little fugitive. I’d do it again because you are still here, alive and fucking breathing.”
A scathing scoff slipped out of her, and finally she lifted her eyes to meet mine. And in that moment, I wished she hadn’t. The twisted abhorrence in them robbed me of air.
“Had I known that meant you’d leverage my deepest fears against me, I never would have believed you at all.” The hate in each word flayed my already damaged flesh.
Full fucking circle. We’d returned to the beginning, to where she’d always expected us to be.
“Your visions could be the only thing standing between us and death at the hands of the Demons,” I growled.
“I know.” She rolled her lips like she was holding back what she really wanted to say.
“What if the Demons had reached the gates of Sivy? And one vision from you could have prevented it? How would you feel then?” I demanded, stepping closer.
Bronze flashed in the low light as she placed her hand on the center of my chest, stopping my advance. “You made me believe that I was taking virelthorn, all the while priming me for a prophecy. You didn’t even give me a choice.”
Silence stretched taut between us. Because she would have said no, and I would have had to force her. And she fucking knew that.
We remained locked in that standoff, unmoving and waiting for the other person to blink first.
My mate lost our war. But defeat didn’t soften her words. “Why did you lie for me?”
I cocked my head to the side. “What do you mean? About your vision?”
She stuck her tongue in her cheek and looked away. “Nevermind.”
But I wasn’t going to let her go—not now that I had her talking. “No. Tell me.”
One silver brow arched. “Command it, then.”
The words carved over my heart burned. My nostrils flared as I snatched for a semblance of composure.
“You didn’t convey any of your vision to me.
” Each word came out more measured than I anticipated.
“I was as blind as Iaoth and Stadiel to what you Saw. Everything I said in that room was to support you and force them to believe you.”
It was a risk, but protecting her, even while she loathed me, was my highest duty. And my sister and her husband were the most dangerous people to my mate.
Sylaira shook her head, nose wrinkled. “Your words and actions never align, do they?” The accusation was quiet, but it landed like a well-timed slap.
“First, you conveniently forget to mention your betrothal after our bond snapped in place. Then, you swap out my virelthorn. And when? From the very moment you offered me a vial in that garden? Or after the ball when you told the court we were mated?”
The muscles in my neck corded as I restrained myself from speaking.
“After that, you said you’d do anything for me, and then you let your sister power share and Heraphia died because of it.” Her voice cracked, and I reached for her, but she shrank back. “Then you told me you loved me and–”
“I do love you,” I snapped, unable to hold my tongue any longer.
“That word in your mouth was a weapon!” she screamed, tears clawing down her cheeks.
A knock sounded on the outer door, and a frustrated growl rumbled in my chest. Of fucking course, Maelsar would return at the worst possible moment.
“This conversation isn’t over,” I told her, backing away.
“It absolutely is. There is nothing you can do for me anymore, Issaraeth.”
Everything inside me stopped. My title was a knife straight to my soul. Knees buckling, I took a stumbling step.
I’ve lost her.
The ghost of my father’s voice rang in my ears, reminding me how no matter what I did, it would never be enough to outweigh my sins.
Useless. Tainted. Weak.
I spun before she witnessed the anguish fracturing me open. I snatched for that cold mask as I stomped toward the heavy knocks. Though they were dull compared to the agony that exploded with every beat of my heart.
I flung the door open with more force than necessary, finding Maelsar there, a stack of papers in hand. “Where is Lyriasthe?”
“Readying the horses and trying to blend in with the other ‘attendants’ we’ll have on our journey,” he grumbled, slipping inside and glancing around. The space was messier than usual—worse now that I’d torn through everything to find every hidden slip of leverage while packing to never return.
Fuck, I’d forgotten about the requirement for Sylaira’s Sight upon our departure. Though it seemed my sister had not. She was going to force more visions from my mate now that she’d Seen something so potent.
“Vaeron,” he began, my name rolling slowly out of his mouth. “Are you okay?”
I loathed the concern pinching his brows, the worry simmering in the aquamarine of his eyes.
“No,” I snapped. “Did you gather them all?”
“Aye,” he replied, dropping the notes on an empty chair but still regarding me with a wariness that pissed me off. “But I had Lyriasthe tuck a copy into her dress just in case.”
“Somehow Iaoth and Stadiel managed to overlook her, and that has been our greatest asset.” I tossed the rest of what I’d found into his pile.
“And my father. At least away from here I won’t need to sneak around with her. Need any help with your belongings?” Maelsar asked me, grimacing as he shifted the bronze cuffs on his wrists. He, at least, only had minor injuries compared to mine.
Hating myself for admitting it, I said, “Yes. But let me ensure Sylaira is finished first.”
He nodded, crossing his arms and waiting as I returned to the sleeping chamber. My mate sat atop a trunk, knees tucked into her chest. At least she could bend her leg enough to do that now. One day, she’d perform for me—and only me.
Because I would fix this. I didn’t know how; I didn’t have time to think about it right now when I was trying to get us out of here as quickly as possible. But I would.
“Do you have everything you need?” I asked, bracing for the blow her words would deliver.
She only rose and gestured for me to take it. Her long lashes clumped together, wet with tears. Grabbing the handle, I hauled it into the sitting chamber, relishing the lash of pain that accompanied it. Maelsar rushed forward and dragged it the rest of the way.
Sylaira merely watched on as my friend and I finished gathering weapons and valuables. I reached into the recesses of my wardrobe, finding the hidden compartment. Prying it open, I retrieved the necklace that had belonged to my mother.
The teardrop-shaped moonstone had cracked when the Demons attacked us—an irony given the inscription on the back was House R?viel’s motto.
Let it break.
I’d stolen it from my father’s office shortly before my mother was burned on a pyre.
He’d been furious that it had been absent from the ritual, but I hadn’t cared.
I only wanted something of hers to remember her by.
To remember how I’d failed. To remind myself of what would happen should I do so again.
I slipped it into the pocket beneath my armor for safekeeping.
Light broke through the canopy, the last dawn I’d spend in Sivy. In the halls, servants rushed about. A group came to fetch our trunks as we departed, dragging ourselves toward the royal feather.
Stadiel and Iaoth had traded their shining armor and court finery for clothes they could move in.
“Here is everything,” I said, flinging the papers across the table. Was I being petulant? Absolutely. But I could no longer find the willpower to maintain my stoic facade.
Not when we were so close to leaving for good.
Stadiel snatched the closest one and snapped it open, eyes tracking furiously over the lines. Color drained from his face until he was as white as his hair. He handed it to Iaoth. “He wasn’t lying.”
I held out my wrist. “You can remove these now.”
With a glare, Stadiel flicked a key in my direction. “Do it yourself.”
Maelsar slid it off the table, unlocking mine first. Power flooded my veins—violent, heady, and not nearly enough. A rush went to the wounds on my shoulder and thigh, easing some of the ache. Only wisps of white remained in my well. I desperately needed to sleep to restore what I had lost.