Cinnamon Rolls and Villainy

Chapter 7

Chapter

Seven

A yc is far too hung over to be facing off with a perturbed gryphon especially this early. The sun has barely made it past the horizon. But after last night, he supposes this is simply the way his life is going now.

“It’s not my fault, Tempest,” Ayc tells the gryphon, whose silver eyes, narrowed in displeasure, are level with Ayc’s own. She angles her sharp beak toward the ground, but it looks particularly lethal this morning. Her mighty body stands between Ayc and the door to Peregrin’s home.

“Xylie” —Ayc points a finger at the fae at his side— “didn’t tell me we were coming to see you when she dragged me out of bed this morning.”

Xylie huffs. Even at this early hour, soldiers march up and down the streets of the barracks where Peregrin’s home is located. Shadows briefly block out the sun as gryphons, bearing their riders, fly overhead. They cut through the fierce wind and sweep low above the rooftops, practicing flight maneuvers and drills. So instead of speaking, Xylie signs furiously, “ Well, if you wouldn’t break the rules and sneak the gryphon treats, she wouldn’t expect it from you.”

He gives only one sign in return, and it’s crude enough Xylie signs back. “ I’m leaving you here to die.”

She steps around Tempest, who doesn’t take her eyes off Ayc, and slips into the door of Peregrin’s home.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Ayc promises Tempest. “I’ll bake you a dozen of those apple and carrot cakes you love.”

Tempest growls deep in her throat.

“ And a dozen of the raw salmon muffins, even though they are truly disgusting and make my kitchen smell like a fish market for a week.”

Tempest glares for one moment more, and Ayc is sure he’s about to lose an eye. Then she bobs her head in approval and turns her neck expectantly. Ayc grins and scratches the spot he knows Tempest loves, right in the place where black feathers give way to gray fur. She makes a sound that’s a mixture of a bird’s hum and a cat’s purr.

The door behind Tempest jerks open. “Boy, how many times do I have to tell you not to pet my gryphon like she’s a damn dog?”

Peregrin stands in the doorway. One hand holds their cane and another a steaming mug. Still, they appear perfectly militant and composed for this ungodly hour. Their pressed uniform has no wrinkles. The sides of their head are freshly shaved, and the blond hair on top is carefully slicked back so not a hair is out of place. But the green veins that run over their ashen skin stand out more prominently today. Ayc already knows keenly that one can seem perfectly fine and not be well at all.

“Good morning to you, too, Peregrin,” Ayc says, not bothering to stop his petting .

“Get your ass in here.”

Ayc steps around Tempest, who narrows her eyes once more as though to say, Don’t forget your promise. Ayc struggles with each step to the doorway. On top of his headache, every muscle in his back is coiled into a tight knot. He tries to keep his steps light, tries not to let it show.

As Ayc steps past Peregrin into the threshold of Peregrin’s home, Tempest turns to face her rider. She lifts a wing expectantly. It blocks out the faint sunlight and casts them in darkness. Her wings are a work of art, an entire spectrum of dark and light, spreading from the deepest black on the ridge to the purest white on her flight feathers.

Ayc has heard that riders and gryphons communicate within their heads, talking in words only each other can hear. According to other gryphon riders Ayc has overheard, Tempest should have remained in the aerial army when Peregrin was dismissed. There, she was meant to bond with a different rider. But Peregrin and Tempest’s bond is too strong. Tempest follows Peregrin everywhere not like a faithful pet, but like the truest of friends. Even now, Tempest knows Peregrin’s need.

Peregrin sighs in gratitude and reaches into Tempest’s wing to carefully select a small gray feather, no bigger than the tip of Ayc’s ring finger, one not critical for flight. Ayc looks away, feeling as though he’s intruding on a private moment. Soon, the feather will be in Peregrin’s tea. Gryphon feathers possess healing properties, ones that can ease pain, but more importantly, keep the poison that still lives in Peregrin’s veins at bay. It’s the only thing that has kept Peregrin alive.

Peregrin closes the door with their elbow. Though Ayc can hear voices, Peregrin’s small sitting room is empty as they enter. Plush couches, embroidered pillows and pressed flowers framed on the wall preach of Zinnia’s touch, but the fossilized skull of an infant dragon that sits on the mantle is all Irving. The toys scattered across the floor belong to Ember. The only thing that speaks of Peregrin is the belt of knives hung high above the front door, far out of Ember’s reach, next to Zinnia’s apron and Irving’s silver, royal guard cloak. But that itself befits Peregrin—testifies to how their partners and their child are their whole heart.

“Come along,” Peregrin says and starts toward the door on the far wall, where the voices are coming from.

Ayc catches Peregrin’s elbow. “Why am I here, Peregrin? Why did Lora choose me?”

Peregrin hesitates, studying the door to ensure it remains closed before they turn toward Ayc and lower their voice. “I don’t know. I know that the Totus Omni’s Council of the People gives guidance on who the victor should choose for their Five. Following their advice is supposed to mean blessings from the divine. It’s cryptic and open to interpretation, but I suspect you fit their advice. However…” Peregrin trails off and studies the content of their mug, a tea nearly as dark as coffee.

“What?” Ayc presses.

Peregrin sips on their tea as though needing it for strength. “I suspect Lora didn’t choose you. Yris did. And I am sure Yris was not happy with most of Lora’s choices, so Lora relented on this one.”

“Why would Yris do that?”

Peregrin looks at him pointedly. “What has Yris always wanted?”

Ayc’s lungs suddenly feel as though they don’t have enough air. He inhales through his teeth as a spasm rakes at his back.

“I don’t understand,” Ayc says. “How would this get her any closer?”

Peregrin shakes their head. “I don’t know. Just… be careful.”

It is entirely unhelpful advice, but Ayc has barely opened his mouth before Peregrin turns and walks toward the door. Ayc heaves a sigh and follows.

Peregrin’s dining room and kitchen is cramped in the best of circumstances. One wall holds a deep fireplace, a kettle hung within it. The other holds a sink, an icebox and a small counter. A long wooden table stretches in between, nearly butting against a dish-filled shelf which sits along the wall. Ayc has been invited to numerous dinners around this table with Peregrin, their partners, and their child. Now, the room is filled with Loraphne and her Five.

Bronwen sits with her legs tucked beneath her on the bench closest to Ayc, leaning forward to talk to Irving who sits on the other side. Irving wears the brown with black-trimmed leather armor Ayc is used to seeing on the royal guards who stalk around the castle or trail behind Yris at a distant, but today, he also wears a broad smile, so wide a dimple flashes on his dark brown cheeks—something he never exhibits in Yris’s presence.

A fae Ayc doesn’t recognize sits beside Bronwen. Their back faces Ayc, revealing only a head of dark, tight ringlets. The fae’s hand wraps around a braided leash that fits to the ornate collar of a large dog with wavy, brown and white hair. The dog turns its head to peer at Ayc with one brown and one blue eye for a long steady moment, before turning back around. Behind the collar, the dog wears a harness with an extended piece of metal that forms a handle, one that Ayc has seen on guide dogs for the blind.

Xylie has avoided the table altogether, of course, and sits on the kitchen counter, swinging her feet. Loraphne watches everything from a chair at the end near the fireplace. She holds a little leather book on the table in front of her. Ayc knows she almost always carries two books with her, tucked into a pocket. One for reading and one for writing. Based on the flowing script on the pages, this one is for writing. She taps a quill on the corner of the page.

Behind her, Zinnia takes a kettle off the fire. Beside her, Ayc glimpses the shape of a small boy just before that boy turns into a blur of motion.

“AYC!” Ember shrieks a moment before he flings himself at Ayc.

Ayc barely catches him. The shriek of his name slams around in his already pounding head, but he can’t ever hold it against Ember. The boy has Zinnia’s sea-green eyes and Irving’s brown skin, but Peregrin’s take-no-shit attitude.

“Hey, little fae,” Ayc says, jostling him playfully. “Are you giving your parents trouble for me?”

Ember smiles wider, flashing the dimples that he also inherited from Irving. “Always.”

Peregrin rolls their eyes, but it’s Zinnia who scolds Ayc as she approaches with a steaming mug in her hands. “Must you always encourage him?”

“You know I must,” Ayc says.

She presses the mug into Ayc’s hand. He inhales the bitter scent of coffee. She has served it in the mug that Zinnia always sets aside for Ayc. He used it the first time Peregrin invited Ayc here, eight years ago. Zinnia wrapped a blanket around his trembling frame and pressed this cup into his hand. He dropped it immediately, chipping the rim of it.

When he apologized profusely, she simply shrugged and said, “Well, it just means it’s yours now. And you can come use it whenever you like.”

It wasn’t the first time Zinnia showed him kindness. She has showed it since he arrived in Wyntra. As a cook in the kitchen, she would deliver ingredients Ayc needed for the desserts that Yris requested, and she always included something extra, knowing Yris sometimes forgot his basic needs—like food that wasn’t a pastry. This mug and Zinnia’s kindness still mean more than Ayc can say.

Ayc stoops to leave a quick kiss on Zinnia’s cheek. “Bless you, woman. I don’t deserve you. Neither do Peregrin or Irving.”

“Oh, they know,” Zinnia says.

“Aye, we do,” Peregrin agrees, and gives Zinnia one of their rare smiles.

Zinnia opens her arms to Ember. “All right, little one. Time to leave the people to their meeting.”

Ember sticks out his bottom lip. “Must I?”

“Consider yourself lucky, friend,” Ayc tells him. “This meeting is bound to be unbelievably boring. I’d trade places with you if I could.”

Ember taps a little finger against his chin as though considering this. “I guess.” He pouts a moment more, then the smile bursts back on his face. He slaps his hands down on Ayc’s cheeks. “But can we go down to the shore afterward to look for sea monster fossils? It’s been for-ev-er since you took me.”

Copying the boy’s excitement, Ayc turns to Zinnia and Peregrin with wide eyes. “Can we?” Yris has, after all, excused him from all his normal duties today. Surely, this meeting won’t last all day.

Zinnia glances at Peregrin, unspoken words seeming to pass between them. Ayc’s chest constricts, as it always does seeing Peregrin and their partners. The love between the three of them is so real it’s nearly touchable, a physical force no one can deny. They already know that Irving is the least strict parent, so there’s no need to include him in the unspoken discussion. He would say yes without hesitation.

“Very well,” Zinnia says, holding out her arms. Ember squeals in delight and jumps into his mother’s arms.

Peregrin lifts their cane toward Ayc. “But stay out of the caves down there. If I have to rescue you both from a half-flooded cave again?—”

“It was one time,” Ayc protests.

“One time too many,” Zinnia says, before leaving.

Irving jumps up from the table and follows Zinnia out. He pauses to kiss Peregrin’s cheek and squeeze Ayc’s shoulder.

When Ayc turns back to the table, he finds Lora looking at him, in a way that tells him she’s been watching the entire interaction. He sticks out his tongue and crosses his eyes. She turns away swiftly, shaking her head.

Well, Ayc supposes he’s stalled long enough. He takes a step forward to claim a spot at the table, but Peregrin's cane taps Ayc's foot in a signal to wait. They wave a hand over his mug. When they pull back, a second feather has disappeared into Ayc’s coffee.

They whisper, “Tempest said to tell you that you look like utter shit.”

A gryphon feather isn’t something Ayc would ever request. It’s too intimate a gift, but Tempest has always been able to sense when he’s having the worst of his days and given it freely. Ayc takes a sip, and the effect is nothing short of magical. His muscles loosen; the headache dulls; the blaze beneath his skin turns to only sparks.

“I don’t deserve any of you,” Ayc whispers back in a glib tone. But he’s not joking. Not really. No, not at all.

Peregrin waves their cane dismissively. “Just sit down, boy.”

Ayc sits down in the chair Irving has abandoned, facing Bronwen. Peregrin settles in the chair beside him. Ayc looks across the table to the one person he has yet to meet. Blue brushes the deep black skin at the fae’s cheekbones, their arms, and their collarbones that peek out of the deep V of their vest. A chain with a single pink-hued pearl sits in the hollow of their throat, which they run between their finger and thumb, no longer holding the leash.

“Hello, there,” Ayc greets. “Ayc Waylonder. You can refer to me by he and him.”

Ayc stretches out his hand, but the fae doesn’t take it. Instead, he looks past Ayc’s shoulder with a soft, kind smile.

“Name’s Tavish,” they reply. “I go by he and him. And this boy here is Saga.” Tavish scratches the dog’s head which peeks over the table.

“Hello to you too, Saga,” Ayc greets.

The guide dog cocks his head, like he’s studying him with those two-colored, intelligent eyes.

Glancing around the table, Ayc feels like he’s missing something. Anyone who didn’t know Xylie and Peregrin wouldn’t understand why they are brilliant choices. Anyone who did know Ayc would question Lora as a leader. But inviting a fae who is blind into a brutal and vicious game is a move that some people might find beyond reckless. Whoever this Tavish is, Ayc suspects he has a fascinating story.

A chair screeches as it slides against the floor, and Lora stands. “Now that we are all here, we should get started. Peregrin, thank you for giving us use of your home. I must remind everyone that we can’t hold meetings within Wyntra Castle. It’s meant to be neutral territory. We only have a week until the Trials begin, and we need to strategize.”

Her voice resonates through the room. Strong. Sharp. Commanding. Right now, she sounds almost exactly like her mother. Ayc drags deeply on his coffee, scalding his tongue. His headache taps at his temple once more.

“There’s not a lot we can do without knowing what the quests are, which we won’t know until the first day of the Trials,” Lora continues, sitting back down and eyeing the book before her, as though reading from her notes. “But we can make sure we are as prepared as possible for whatever scenarios arise. Xylie.” She shifts her attention to her cousin sitting on the counter. “I need you to dig through the library and read anything and everything you can find on the last several Trials. What is recorded is limited to keep it secret, but I’m sure you’ll agree that the more knowledge we have the better.”

Xylie nods eagerly. Nothing excites Xylie like homework.

Lora makes a tick on one of the lines in her book. “Tavish.”

Saga turns his head first, locking those different toned eyes on Lora. Tavish picks up the leash he’s left draped in his lap and his gaze follows. “Yes, my lady?”

Ayc cringes. Ugh. My lady? Is he going to have to call her ‘my lady’ now ?

Lora’s shoulders tighten. “You don’t have to call me that.”

Thank fuck for that.

“Sorry,” Tavish says. “But what about when you’re Sovereign?”

“I’m not—” She begins, then stops. Her hand holding the quill flutters, before she tightens her hold. “We will worry about that later. For now, Lora is still fine.”

Ayc studies her hand. The shudder was so small he shouldn’t have noticed, but he did. It’s… odd. Like the idea of actually being Sovereign makes her nervous.

“All right, Lora,” Tavish corrects.

Lora takes a breath and gets back on track. “If I get you maps of Everadyn, can you put your gift to use?”

Tavish forms a fist around his necklace, fiddling with the pearl with his thumb once more. “It’ll be difficult without knowing the quests or having something to seek, but I’ll see what I can sense.”

Ayc trails a finger around the rim of his coffee, hesitates, and then dares to ask, “And what exactly is your gift?”

It happens again. The dog looks at Ayc, and then Tavish follows. “I’m a navigator.”

Ayc is grateful that Tavish can’t see him, because his eyebrows rise halfway up his brow.

“I know what you’re thinking," Tavish says with a smile. "A navigator who can’t see.”

“I wasn’t…”

“It’s fine. It’s a logical thought. I’m divina.” He turns his wrist to show Ayc. A hypopigmented mark, like a thumbprint, lies at the hollow of his wrist.

Ayc slips a finger under one of his cuffs and touches his own mark, the one an oven, and not a supposedly divine being, branded into his skin. Peregrin studies him over their mug, narrows their eyes slightly. The warning that they’ve given Ayc many times rings in his head.

Control your emotions. Bury your lies.

“Lora told me you are, too,” Tavish adds. “Invisibility, right?”

Ayc’s skin grows too tight, but he forces himself not to hesitate. “Yes.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Xylie wave to him. When she has his full attention, she signs quickly. At her movement, Saga looks to Xylie, sitting on the counter, and then Tavish is able to look right at her. Which is even odder, because Xylie hadn’t spoken, so there was no sound to follow.

Xylie frowns. She runs a finger up and down her nose. She’s noticed the oddness too, then. Some connection between this fae and the guide dog exists that goes beyond the usual bond.

“What?” Tavish asks.

“She wants you to explain how you navigate,” Lora translates for Xylie, when Ayc doesn’t, too distracted by his thoughts to remember Xylie asked.

“Ah.” Tavish hesitates and then takes a breath. He speaks in a rush, his words slightly tumbling over each other, like he’d very much like to have them all out and done. “I was born blind. But I’ve always had a gift of knowing which direction to go. It’s hard to explain, but I simply know. For example, Ayc, when you go to the shore with the boy later—sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear—I know you should look for what you seek in a southeast direction, where rocks have newly moved. I don’t know what that means, or even how I know it. I just do. It doesn’t always help me. I still need my cane and Saga to keep me from walking into a ditch most days.”

“That’s brilliant,” Ayc says. He has to admit that the team Lora has assembled is… unconventional, but brilliant. Except for me. He’s the one choice he still doesn’t understand.

Xylie jumps off the counter, pads forward, and kneels before Saga. She lifts a hand to let him sniff her fingers; she doesn’t touch him but peers at something on his neck. The collar. Her eyes fly wide, and she signs above her head so Ayc can see her.

“ It’s enchanted. I can sense it,” she says. Her hands speed up in excitement, flying so quickly Ayc struggles to read her words.

“She's asking if it’s—” Ayc hesitates. “What kind of collar?”

Xylie rolls her eyes but spells it out again, slowly this time.

“A Kindred collar?” Ayc says, a little uncertainly.

“Um, y-yes.” Tavish brushes his hand against the leash. “How did you know?”

Xylie only shrugs.

“Xylie knows everything,” Ayc explains, ignoring the glare Xylie fires at him like an arrow. “What’s a Kindred collar?”

It’s Bronwen who answers, placing her elbows on the table and leaning closer. She holds a cup with a small spoon, which slowly spins in a circle without being touched, undoubtedly commanded by some spell. “It’s an enchanted collar that forges a connection of senses between the dog and their companion, but only when a bond already exists. What it does depends on the bond between them, but I hoped it would allow Tavish to see through Saga’s eyes. Which it does, so long as he’s holding the leash.”

Ayc’s mouth parts in surprise. He’s never heard of such a thing, but that isn’t too uncommon. Despite all the time he’s spent in Everadyn, he still doesn't know all the ways magic presents itself. The fae themselves don’t know. Magic, as he understands it, is a force, quite like nature—chaotic and ruled only by itself. Those who are able to tap into the force are always finding new ways to shape it. Sorcerers conjure new spells, and alchemists invent new methods of harnessing the force. It never ceases to amaze him.

A grin spreads over his face. “I fucking love magic.”

“It has its perks,” Peregrin grunts into their tea.

Ayc knows what they don’t say. And its curses. After all, the blade that left them in so much pain was also magic, and Ayc has certainly experienced his own downsides of magic.

“I never imagined it possible.” Another smile graces Tavish’s face, this time growing and spreading until it lights up his entire face, as he strokes his dog’s ears. Saga lays his head on the fae’s lap. “Saga has been my eyes in many ways since he was a pup. Ever since I found him on the docks of Anaca in Tenebra and snuck him aboard the Maiden’s Tears .” The name of the ship strikes a memory, but before Ayc can ask, Tavish continues, “But Bronwen gave me this collar a year ago. It has been truly life-changing… though, at times, a little overstimulating. I only wish everyone had the resources to experience it.”

Xylie pushes to her feet and signs, this time looking to Lora to translate. Lora pulls her sweater tighter around her body. A line between her brow hints that she’s frustrated by the derailment of this meeting, but she obliges her cousin. “ She wants to know where you got the collar. They are incredibly rare.”

“I know a friend who’s quite gifted in the finding and procuring of enchanted objects,” Bronwen replies. “Met him during my years at Velphin. I ran into him on break from Adamant last year. He mentioned he had it, and I ‘ sweet-talked’ him—” She wiggles her eyebrows, and Ayc chuckles. “—to giving me a reduced price. It wasn’t just me, though. I never could have afforded it without Lora’s help.”

“Lora?” Ayc blurts before he can stop himself.

Lora glares at him. “Is there something you’d like to say, cinnamon roll?”

I didn’t know you could be kind.

He bites the inside of his cheek to hold in the words and looks down at his coffee mug. It’s not entirely true. Lora is capable of kindness, but she very rarely chooses it. Or maybe… maybe he’s wrong about that.

For the first time, he considers the weight of it. All these people, including Xylie and Peregrin, two of his favorite people in the world, have chosen to put their support behind Lora. Perhaps Xylie might be blinded by her personal connection with Lora, but Peregrin wouldn’t be at this table if they didn’t believe Lora was worthy of being Sovereign.

But why? What do they see in her that Ayc cannot?

It’s an unsettling question, so Ayc simply shakes his head.

“Thank you again. Both of you,” Tavish says. He turns his head in Bronwen and Lora’s general direction. Saga still has his head resting in Tavish’s lap, eyes closed, content in a way only a beloved dog can be. “I can’t repay?—”

Lora holds up a hand. “You’re here. That is more than enough. ”

Ayc snaps his fingers, as a thought jumps into his head. “Tavish, did you say the Maiden’s Tears? Like the pirate ship?”

“Err…” Tavish rubs the back of his neck, looking like he might like to crawl out of his own skin. “Uh, yes.”

Ayc has exactly three thousand questions he needs to ask, because whoever this fae before him is, he’s certainly not a pirate.

But Lora interrupts: “Could we get back to the purpose of this meeting?”

“Yes, of course.” Tavish nods. “Sorry.”

“Not sorry,” Ayc says, but he flicks his wrist, “but, sure, continue. What were we even talking about, anyway?”

“Maps,” Lora says with a tight sigh.

Bronwen takes her elbows off the table and wipes the bemused smile off her face. Xylie returns to her counter.

“I think we shouldn’t limit the maps to Everadyn,” Bronwen says. “We should probably include maps across all of the continents.”

“Tavish?” Lora asks.

“Yes, all the continents,” Tavish replies.

Lora makes another check in her book and moves on. “Peregrin, from a military and battle perspective, how should we prepare?”

Peregrin squares their shoulders and sits up straighter like a soldier called to attention. “The Trials are brutal. Anything and everything is allowed. Other than the people in this room, you can trust no one, certainly not the other victors and their Five. No matter who they were to you before this.”

Peregrin emphasizes the words with a nod in Lora’s direction. Lora’s eyes shift away. Clearly, Wylder and Lora’s relationship isn’t in the past if Peregrin feels the need to bring it up. Peregrin hates discussing relationships. Ayc gulps down his now luke-warm coffee to ease the bitter taste in his mouth.

“Alliances may be advantageous at first,” Peregrin continues, “but they should only be formed knowing that the ally will ultimately, by the end, be another enemy to be defeated. Form alliances wisely, or don’t form them at all, and always know that at any moment they may betray you. Or that you’ll eventually have to betray them.”

Lora scratches her quill in the page’s corner, scribbling a jagged line hard enough it nearly digs through the paper. “I understand.”

“The opening day of the Trials is a bloodbath. It generally turns into an all-out brawl getting over the bridge out of the city. I was there at the last Trials, and two of the victors and all of their Five died, then and there.”

Blood drains from Ayc’s face. Bronwen squares her shoulders as though preparing for a fight; Tavish grabs his necklace so tightly his knuckles blanch. Ayc looks sharply at Xylie.

It hits Ayc like cold water to his face. There’s so much at stake. Not just who will become Sovereign and control his destiny, but all their lives. Xylie’s life. She can fight, as almost every Everadyn child is trained to do. She’s a good shot with a bow, but she’s not a warrior. By rights, she should be doing Final Testing at Wyntra this summer. She’s guaranteed a spot at Splendor, Lycendi’s university. That’s where she should be in fall, if she chooses to go. Instead, she could be dead.

Over my rotten fucking corpse.

He has loved the girl like a little sister since the moment she arrived at Wyntra, looking every bit as scared and sad as he felt inside. He’ll be damned if he lets a single hair on her head be harmed.

Peregrin’s voice sounds like a distant echo, but still clangs like a warning from above. “We should all be prepared for the fight of our lives?—”

“Do we have to cross the bridge?” Ayc interjects. “There are other ways out of Wyntra.”

Peregrin, Lora, and Bronwen’s attention snaps to him.

“It’s tradition,” Lora says. “A parade of victors march out of the city. It’s how it’s always been done.”

“But is it required ?” Ayc presses.

“Ayc has a point,” Bronwen says. “If it isn’t an actual rule, we could go a different way. It would be safer for everyone.”

Lora is silent for a long moment, unnecessarily straightening the sleeves of her cardigan. Ayc expects her to ignore his logic. To tell him it’s the way it always has been, and she will do what’s expected of her. Then she asks, “Is it required, Peregrin?”

Peregrin lifts their hands in a shrug. “I don’t know. It’ll be frowned upon if you don’t, but I don’t know that it’s an actual rule.”

Lora’s dark eyes travel from Xylie, to Tavish, and linger longest on Ayc. He studies the last remnants of his coffee, blackened at the bottom of his mug.

“Xylie, see if you can find anything on it in your studies,” Lora says at last. “If it’s a rule, we have no choice. If it’s not, we’ll find another way out of the city.”

Something unhitches in Ayc’s chest. He’s both surprised and relieved.

“But Peregrin is right either way.” Lora folds her hands together and rests them on the table, strangling them tightly. A slight pause hovers between her words, as though she’s choosing each one of them with care. “This will be a fight of a lifetime. It’s an incredibly huge risk for all of you, and I don’t take that risk lightly. If you didn’t understand that until this moment, I understand if you would like to back out now.”

Ayc doesn’t look at her. Yes, he wants out of this, but he has little choice. And at least this way, he can watch out for Xylie.

“We are aware of the risks,” Bronwen says. “We are with you, Lora.” She presses a palm over her chest, fingers spread apart over the space where her heart beats.

Xylie, Tavish, and Peregrin all nod. Ayc forces himself to do the same and drinks down the last bitter, cold swig of coffee. The magic of the gryphon feather has quieted his pain from a roar to background noise. But it remains, a reminder of the villains in his story.

“We will have to make sure all of us are properly armed. If you don’t have a weapon, let me know your preference and I’ll obtain it for you.” Lora turns to a new blank page in her book and slides it to Peregrin along with the pen. “Add whatever else you think is necessary.”

Ayc learns that Bronwen prefers her staff, which is leaning beside her on the table even now. The hand-carved wood is painted with a brilliant jewel-toned rainbow, from green to blue to purple. The sharp blade that tips the wood makes the weapon taller than Bronwen. Tavish asks for a cutlass, as a last resort, and Peregrin, of course, will use their dozens of small knives. Xylie signs for a bow and arrows. Peregrin then looks at Ayc.

“Um, shit—” He’s spent the last ten years trying to keep himself out of fights, not walking into them. “A longsword, I guess.”

Lora scoffs. “Peregrin, are you sure he can handle that large a weapon without cutting off his own head?”

Ayc rolls his eyes, but says nothing. What is he supposed to say that won’t chip away at the secrets he wraps himself in?

Peregrin doesn’t look up from the list where they carefully write ‘longsword’ after Ayc’s name. “He’s adequate.”

“Adequate?” Lora repeats. “I’ve seen him fight, and in my experience…”

“I’m not sure judging him by how he chose to handle teenage bullies is a fair assessment of his ability. It’s been four years since you left for Adamant. You have both grown considerably.”

Peregrin’s voice is calm but pointed as a blade. They’ve never hesitated to give a student blunt and honest feedback, the type that feels like the broadside of a sword slapped against the cheek.

Lora opens her mouth to argue, but whatever enters Peregrin's expression is enough to make her mouth snap shut.

“And I would be very careful not to mistake his kindness for weakness,” Peregrin says. “A kindness—need I remind you—that you would be dead without.”

Tension surges in the air, so heavy surely everyone in the room perceives the weight. Ayc wants to tell a joke, anything to crack the heaviness in the air, but for once, not a single one enters his mind. Lora doesn’t look at him. And perhaps just like him, she feels like she’s back on the bank of a river eight years ago. He can still feel the water and blood pouring down his chin.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Tavish whispers to Bronwen, loud enough that everyone hears.

“Me too,” Bronwen replies, looking from Ayc to Peregrin to Lora. “A whole fucking novel.”

Lora allots each person homework before closing the meeting. Ayc is to get a list of food he believes they’ll need and to bake anything that would pack well and not spoil during a long travel. They spend the last hour discussing the victors, or at least, Lora, Bronwen, and Peregrin do. The other three merely listen.

Lora, being the Sovereign’s daughter, knows most of the victors. She’s able to discuss weaknesses and strengths, reading off diagrams and notes she’s sketched in her little book. Ayc does his best to focus, to sit still, but their words turn into droning, and he downs a second and then a third cup of coffee in an effort to stay awake. He refocuses only when they bring up Sterling. Lora doesn’t say much, other than that they shouldn’t be underestimated. Apparently, there are rumors that they have surrounded themselves with an impressive Five.

Ayc hides his smile behind his empty coffee mug. He knows who he’ll be secretly rooting for.

When the meeting finally ends, Ayc says a quick goodbye and sticks his head in Ember’s bedroom, where the boy is playing with figurines of gryphons and dragons. “Ready?” Ayc asks, but Ember is already halfway out the door .

Ayc and Ember race down the path that leads from the cliffs onto the shoreline, far faster than the steep and narrow path should allow for, but they’ve taken this path since Ember was a toddler. The Bellum Sea is a violent beast, icy cold and frothing, crashing into the shore with a roar as loud as lightning. The shrill wind screeches as it comes off the waves and lashes at Ayc’s loose hair. The water turns into a gray, foggy haze as it meets the horizon.

Sometimes, Ayc can almost forget that his true home lies across these waters, but today, he wonders if Creed Castle still sits in ruins. Did the Drakr rebuild it for their own use or leave it as burned-out rubble? Ayc can still remember the sight of the castle engulfed in flames as Fennix yanked him, hands bound, onto the ship that would carry him to Everadyn. Ayc’s eyes sting with more than just sea spray when he looks too long, so he turns away. Ember has waited patiently at his side, kicking up clouds of sand with his little feet.

“Where should we look first?” Ember asks.

Remembering Tavish’s message, Ayc leads the boy away from the tide and toward the base of the cliffs. He searches the places where the rocks have slid down from yesterday’s rain. Ember has brought little shovels, a bucket, and a sifting tool. They sift sand and study every rock like it might be gold, their laughter lost beneath the howl of the wind.

It doesn’t take them long to find it. The jagged tooth is as large as Ayc’s outstretched palm and still wickedly sharp.

“What do you think it is?” Ayc asks from where he kneels. He brushes off the sand before handing it to the boy.

The boy has to hold the tooth in both hands. He studies it with a smile too wide for his face. “That’s a leviathan tooth. They’re extinct, now, but Dad says they were the most fearsome and most glorious beasts on sea or land. This is probably a baby tooth because fully grown, they could swallow an entire battleship in one gulp. Most people think they were really mean, but some stories say they would actually guide lost ships back to shore. They died so long ago we’ll never know, though.”

His smile plummets from his face, and he suddenly looks too solemn for his young age. He grabs Ayc’s hand and sets the tooth back into his palm. “Keep it. Mama says that you and Perry are about to go on a really important journey soon. They won’t tell me, but I know it’s gonna be dangerous. It’ll keep you safe.”

“We’re going to be fine,” Ayc says swiftly.

He tries to hand the tooth back, but Ember fists his little hands and refuses to take it.

Ayc swallows to rid the tightness in his throat and forces his voice to be light. “Tell you what. I’ll keep it safe for you.” He tucks it into the deepest of his vest pockets; it fills it completely, as firm as a knife. “But when we get back, I’ll give it back to you.”

Ember nods and then throws his arms around Ayc, holding him so tightly that Ayc can’t draw a breath. He pats the boy’s back and doesn’t allow himself to believe that he’s made a promise he won’t be able to keep.

Her gaze is a physical weight on him, and Ayc looks up. High above the shoreline, on a piece of cliff that cuts through the beach and juts into the sea, Lora stands. From this distance, Ayc can barely make out her face and the hood of her cardigan hides her hair, but he instinctively knows it’s her, watching him.

She swiftly turns back to the sea.

Ayc wonders if she ever thinks about it, too. That distant castle she helped ruin. The blood she shed. The child she was before that day. The people she and Ayc would have become if that day never happened.

Hoping is foolish, but he hopes that she does. He hopes he’s wrong about her. She has convinced people he loves and trusts to follow her, to support her. He hopes they’re right.

He hopes she is the type of person who looks at the sea and regrets.

EIGHT YEARS AGO

Dogs.

Of all the things destined to be Ayc’s downfall, why did it have to be dogs? Ayc loved dogs. Dogs generally loved Ayc, but as he ran through the Elodie forest, the bray of the bloodhounds grew increasingly louder. He didn’t bother attempting to remain invisible, because the Sovereign’s dogs could smell him regardless.

It had been a week since he fled. Seven days of running until he threw up and then running some more, only sleeping for a few hours in the shadows before waking again. A few days ago, when he’d reached the forest of Elodie, the sacred woods that were home to the Totus Omni, he’d dared to hope that this would work. That maybe he could hide in the shadows of the woods indefinitely, or at least until he could find a way back to Aluina. He didn’t know what he would find there now. Ruin, surely. But it was home.

But now Ayc would be lucky to make it another day. He’d heard the dogs braying this morning and had been running ever since. Their brays and barks, mixed with the calls of their owners, grew steadily closer. And to make matters worse, Ayc now feared he was running in circles. The tree trunks here were all broad as a house, but he was certain he’d run past the one with the gnarled base at least once before. If he was right, then soon there would be a break in the trees where the Ever River flowed through the heart of the forest. He thought he might hear water, but he couldn’t be sure over the pounding of his heart.

He broke through the trees and found he was right. The turquoise waters of the Ever River stretched before him. In some areas of Everadyn, the Ever River was wide enough to allow a battleship to pass through, but here it was only the width of Wyntra’s great hall. The mighty trees rose above it and cast their branches across, tangling with branches of trees on the other side. The water flowed steadily, parting around rocks and beneath fallen tree trunks. He’d grown up swimming in the lake near his childhood village and then in the riotous ocean shore around Creed. He could probably swim across. But perhaps it was too great a risk.

He turned northward and raced along the bank. He’d made it only a few steps, before a voice rang out, “Stop!”

A cloaked figure darted from behind a tree, holding twin short swords. In the shadows of the hood, Ayc barely made out her face. Lora.

No, no, no. Ayc reeled back several steps and almost fell over his own feet, before catching his balance.

“Ayc, stop and listen to me!” she snapped. “If you keep running along the bank, they will catch you. Go across the river. It’s too deep here for the dogs to get across. It’ll buy you time. ”

What… What was she saying?

Was she actually… helping him?

She pointed upwards with one of her short swords, at the nearest tree whose branches stretched across the river. “Climb, Ayc. Go!”

Ayc stared at her. He couldn’t trust her, could he? A dog howled, followed by a chorus of others. So close now. He didn’t have any longer to question it.

Ayc rushed to the tree. Its nearest branch stretched high above his head, but the mighty roots rose in arches from the ground. He scrambled onto the first root and then clambered to the next. If he jumped from here, he could catch the lowest branch. But if he missed, he would end up in the river.

I won’t miss, he told himself. He sucked in a breath and jumped. His belly hit the branch; his palms slapped down on the bark and slipped off. Lora’s sharp cry echoed from the ground beneath him, before his arms tightened around the branch. His shoulders ached from the days of carrying his pack, but he refused to release. He swung his leg over, straddling the branch.

He glanced down, but Lora still stood on the bank.

She waved her sword and yelled, “Go!”

He pushed to his feet and found his balance on the thick branch. Spreading his arms wide, he walked across the branch as quickly as he could without tumbling off the side and into the water below. He’d reached the point where the branch intersected with a branch of a tree on the opposite bank when chaos erupted on the ground beneath him. The dogs burst from the woods, the search party called to one another, and an icy voice pierced above all of it, “Loraphne!”

Panic descended Ayc’s spine .

Yris.

Don’t look back.

Ayc stepped carefully onto the next branch. It dropped beneath his weight, and he stumbled to his knees. He seized the wood with both hands only moments before he was dumped in the river. Remaining on his hands and knees, he scrambled across this branch.

“Loraphne, don’t just stand there!” Yris commanded. “Go after him.”

Of course, Yris would demand it be Lora who followed him. Ayc held his breath, hoping Lora would refuse. But Lora sheathed her swords and made her way to the tree. Beyond her, a small army of royal guards and infantry gathered. Dogs sniffed at the tree roots and brayed an alert but were signaled back by handlers. Yris stationed herself at the water’s edge, Fennix and Onanna at her sides.

Onanna had enough power to stop Ayc, but she didn’t move, didn’t interfere in Yris’s game.

“Hurry, girl!” Yris snarled at Lora, who had paused to judge the jump from the root to the branch. “What’s wrong with you? I’ve raised you to be stronger than this. Move!”

Lora leaped for the branch, grabbed it, and let the momentum vault her around. She landed in a crouch on the branch, as smoothly as acrobats Ayc once saw perform at Creed Castle. Ayc swallowed his remaining fear and pushed himself forward. By the time Ayc reached the trunk on the other side, Lora walked on the branch like it was solid earth. Ayc slipped and almost fell his way down the trunk to the ground, landing on the opposite riverbank.

“Boy!” Yris roared with so much force that Ayc spun around to face her, half expecting her a foot away and not still across the river. “If you run any farther, then the divine better have mercy on you when I catch you, because I certainly will not.”

He hesitated for only a moment, his nervous fingers falling instinctively to his wrists. But his bracelets weren’t there to fiddle with. He remembered his ability, stepped backward into the shadows of the trees, and disappeared.

“Did you see that?” Fennix asked.

Even from the distance, Ayc could make out Yris’s smile. “Yes, I did.”

A crack split the air, followed by a scream so loud Ayc felt it ricochet through his bones. Lora tumbled from above. Ayc’s heart plummeted with her. He bit down on his tongue to keep from screaming her name.

Water exploded in all directions as she impacted the river and disappeared beneath the surface. Calls of alarm rippled through the dog handlers and guards as they hurried toward the water’s edge. Fennix himself rushed forward, but Yris caught his shoulder.

“No one move,” Yris commanded. “Loraphne can manage on her own.”

And so, of course, no one moved. Not Fennix or Onanna. Not the royal guards. And not the rippling surface of the water.

Ayc counted his heartbeats, loud in his ear. One. Two. Three.

But Lora did not rise to the surface.

She would come back up, Ayc told himself. She would. And right now, he needed to run before someone else decided to follow him. But his feet had grown roots, his gaze still fixed on the water .

Please, Lora, come up.

But she didn’t.

How long had it been? Seconds? Minutes? Surely, far longer than it should have been.

Fennix’s voice sounded out, “My lady, we should?—”

“She’s fine,” Yris said, sounding almost bored. “She’s strong enough to do this on her own.”

“She could be hur?—”

“You will not intervene.” Yris didn’t spare her First’s frantic, disbelieving expression a glance. Instead, she continued to search for Ayc across the river, her eyes roaming over him without seeing him.

The reality trembled through Ayc’s spine.

Lora was drowning.

And no one, not even her own mother, was going to save her.

Which meant there was only Ayc. And if he saved her, he forfeited every chance of escaping. Feeling as though he couldn’t draw a breath, he looked at the water one last time, at Yris, and over his shoulder at the darkness of the deep forest. There was decision here, but it didn’t feel like a choice. Not at all.

Ayc hurled his pack from his shoulders, charged into the light, and flung himself into the river.

Silence. It was so silent beneath the river. The water stung his eyes as he forced them to open. He tried to make sense of the shapes before him. Rocks and the limbs of old fallen trees and— there ! Lora floated as though still straining toward the surface, but branches along the riverbed had snagged her cloak, holding her in place. Blood pooled around her head, the water stained red. And she was still, a type of unnatural stillness he knew too well, that drained every ounce of warmth from his body.

Ayc kicked his legs frantically to close the distance. He yanked at the cloak’s clasp in order to free her, then grabbed her, hugged her body close, and kicked toward the surface. The dead weight of her body threatened to drag them both back down again. The river’s current pulled against him, but Ayc fought. He fought harder than he’d ever fought before and slowly propelled them upward.

“Help!” he screamed as his head broke the surface. He tried to maneuver Lora’s face above the water, to let her breathe air, but he managed only one more breath before they sank beneath.

Lungs burning, Ayc tried in vain to reach the surface again, but they sank lower, toward the riverbed.

We’re going to drown, he thought. We. Because it didn’t once cross his mind to let her go.

Arms wrapped around Lora from above. Ayc glimpsed Fennix’s face and released Lora into his grasp. Fennix surged upward, and Ayc followed. As soon as he reached the surface, arms seized him and dragged him toward the water’s edge. Ayc didn’t fight the guard but kept his entire focus on Lora as Fennix gently laid her upon the rocky bank. When solid ground appeared beneath Ayc’s feet, his legs buckled. He gasped for air, but he couldn’t breathe—because Lora wasn’t breathing!

He tried to crawl toward her, but the guard grabbed the back of his shirt and held him in place. “I’m so sorry, Ayc,” the guard whispered into his ear. Later, Ayc would remember that this was Irving. Ayc would realize that his restraining hands had been kind and his apology sincere. But in that moment, all Ayc could see was Lora .

She was far too still, her face a shade of gray it should never have been. She was fire and fury. Vicious and unbreakable. She could not die !

Ayc sucked in enough air to yell, “Is she all right?” It was a cry, a scream, a roar of fury, all in one. He wanted to sob, to tear everyone here apart. “ Is she all right? ”

Suddenly, she gasped, coughed, cried out—then rolled to her side and began vomiting. River water flowed past her lips. She was breathing, ragged and gasping, but breathing . The panic in his chest surrendered, leaving only rage.

He snapped his head to Yris, who hadn’t rushed to her daughter’s side. Who only stood, still staring at Ayc.

“How could you?” he roared. Water dripped down his face, but he could barely feel it. He could feel nothing but the heat of rage. “How could you just stand there? She’s your daughter. Your fucking daughter!”

Red flames impaired his vision; his voice deepened. Somewhere in his head, he heard an old warning, a voice that was now only a memory.

Be calm, sweet boy. No one likes who they become when they’re angry.

Ayc pressed his eyes closed. Breathed in and out slowly. He bent over, curling into a ball to hide his movements. He reached into the pocket of his trousers, relieved to find his bracelets still there, and slipped them both back on his wrists. He secured them a moment before hands with sharp nails seized his arms and yanked him to his feet.

Yris grabbed his chin in her hands. Her smile was more wicked than he’d ever seen it. “Invisibility, huh, human? I knew there was something you were hiding from me. I bet there’s still more, and soon, you’ll show it all to me. ”

“I’ll never give you what you want, bitch,” he snarled.

Her blood-red fingernails dug in harder, sharp as a monster’s talons, creating scars he wears to this day. Blood joined the river water on his face and poured down his jaw. “We’ll see about that.”