19. Syrus #3
Her eyes fall on the sword, her expression a conflicted mix of sadness and anger.
“Oh, Syrus, I’m so sorry,” she says. “I had no idea.”
“There’s no reason why you would. Your great-grandfather killed my sister, I killed him. That makes us even, I suppose.” The bitterness in my voice betrays my flippant words, and my breath catches as she steps forward, reaching out her hand again.
It latches onto my own, the warmth soaking through me in a rush as she gives it a quick, hard squeeze.
Then Aster’s coming back into the room, and Leah releases me, taking a step back.
“Ready?” Aster asks.
Leah nods and turns to me. The moment between us is broken, but her expression seems a little more open than before. “I’ll see you in a few days, then.”
“But we’ll speak sooner,” I say, tapping my temple. “I’ll still be checking on you.”
And I’ll keep at it until the moment I can’t. Until that door is closed forever.
I watch Aster slip out with the wine and return a moment later with a nod that tells Leah the coast is clear. The moment Leah’s out the door, I miss her desperately. It wasn’t enough time with her; it’s never enough. Even when I can slip into her mind and under her skin.
But at least I could give her what she asked for today. Something honest.
I could pretend it doesn’t make a difference, discovering Leah’s connection to the man who predicted the fall of my kingdom. But it does, if only to drive home why I have to keep drawing that line—why I can’t equip her with the tools to destroy me, as she’s prophesized to do.
Maybe fate doesn’t care about your intentions and will keep you on its path no matter what, but I won’t give it a helping hand.
I won’t be selfish and place my wants ahead of the security my kingdom needs.
This is the compromise I can live with—the knowledge that I’ve protected her.
Loved her. And proven it by keeping her safe.
But I won’t risk all of Infernum just so I can have her by my side.
Leah
I’m drained as I fly back to the academy.
Being alone with him again was like being subjected to a hundred little cuts.
Small, sharp doses of pain over and over.
They hit when Aster mentioned the castle being quiet, or when Viz talked about me leaving Infernum, or when Syrus said that the parts of him I’ve absorbed will soon be ripped away.
What will it be like to reach for him and discover he’s not there anymore? He’d asked about it, and I’d lied, and in the same breath demanded he give me something honest and true.
What a hypocrite I am.
I can only blame the way my brain was addled by being so close to him again, able to take in every beautiful line of his face and feel the warm weight of him behind me as he leaned across the table. Unbearable and undeniable.
As I come in to land near the nest training fields, I’m more aware than ever of the weight of Swiftwing at my side.
I look at the blade with a new dislike. Bad enough that it caused a rift between Filippa and me, but now it’s as if I can see Sideria’s blood dripping from the blade.
Thinking of it makes me feel unwell. How easy it would be for Syrus to hate me for the sins of my ancestors.
And yet I think he’d held this information back precisely because he didn’t want it to hurt me.
I’m so distracted by it all that I don’t hear the noise at first. But soon, the drumming of feet can’t be ignored, and when I enter through a side door, the sound hits me like a wall.
There are fledglings everywhere, most in full armor, hurriedly fixing weapons to their belts and backs. A few are going against the tide, darting back toward our rooms, but most are moving toward the academy’s main entrance. I spot Rowan with Efram in the crowd.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Their eyes widen with confusion. “What do you mean? It’s the second trial. You didn’t hear the horn?”
“I was out,” I say, too panicked to care about my flimsy cover story now. “I went for a walk.”
Rowan frowns, but he doesn’t comment on this. “You need to get suited up. We’re going to be marching out soon; they’re already prepping the rift.”
“The rift?” My brain fights to catch up, even as my pulse starts hammering. “You know what the second trial is?”
“I heard it was supposed to be something else,” he says as I stumble along, trying to keep up with the flow of bodies. “But then a battle broke out in the Mire. An ugly one. The seraphim have decided to bring us to the fight.”
“Alongside the Brigade?” I ask, so appalled I stop in my tracks. “That’s our second trial?”
“Go get your armor!” Rowan calls as he’s swept away from me. “I’ll see you outside!”
I turn and start jogging in the other direction, toward my room, bracing myself for what lies ahead.
For years, I watched the wingers tear each other apart on the plains from a distance, indifferent to everything except the chance to end the day with more coins in my pocket. I always dismissed it as the wingers’ war—but the wings are on my back now, and that makes it my war too.
For today, at least. Let’s see if I live to see tomorrow.