Page 25

KYRIE

B y the time Caedia and Lara decide they’re done with my hair and face, I’m feeling relaxed and pampered.

For once, I hardly added to the conversation as they brushed and braided my hair, rubbing pots of creams and serums on my skin.

Neither one of them broaches the topic of the Sword and me again, but that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about him constantly.

Caedia’s lined my eyes in a dark smudge of kohl, my lips and cheeks stained berry-red. My skin glows, and there’s a hint of shimmer on my eyelids that makes me study my reflection from every angle.

I look like the best possible version of myself, and I’m vain enough still that it makes me happy.

Somethings don’t change after death, I guess.

Lara’s still working on my hair, and I’m half-asleep from the feel of her fingernails and comb against my scalp.

“What do you think?” the dryad asks, grinning at me.

“You are really good at this,” I tell her, motioning to my face. “I love it.”

“Good,” she says, thrilled by my praise. “Now you get to pick a dress.” She walks back to where my clothes are all stored, and I watch Lara’s serene expression in the mirror.

“You don’t think it’s weird that they want to throw a big party right before we get attacked?”

Lara tugs a piece of hair forward, frowning at it as she works it into an intricate crown of hair around my head. “No. I think they want a reason to hope.” She stares at my reflection in the mirror in front of me meaningfully. “And you and the Sword are that reason. They think you’ll make the difference.”

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t have any useful skills in an all-out war.”

“Uh-huh. And who’s the best person you know at thinking on their feet?”

I glare at her.

Lara ignores me, pinning a gem into the crown of braids.

“Who is the best person at getting out of impossibly tight situations?” she adds, stabbing another pin into my scalp.

“Ouch,” I complain.

“There’s more where that came from,” Lara tells me, waving another bejeweled pin at me. “Admit it. You could be great, if you let yourself believe it.”

My gaze drops to my hands in my lap, and I rub my finger over the ring glinting there.

“You’ve been through a lot, Kyrie. Too much. Life has tested you?—”

“And death,” I interrupt.

“And death,” she agrees with an irritating smile. “But it’s made you strong, Kyrie. It’s made you a fighter. So no, I don’t know what’s going to happen. But I know you. I know you, and I believe in you.”

The truth coils around her, golden and sparkling, and my eyes widen as it coils around the ring on my hand, traveling up my arm and into my chest.

Into the star-like scar where the Sword drove his dagger.

“That was strange.” My mouth feels cottony and dry.

“Your magic has changed so much,” Lara says quietly, and there’s sorrow in her eyes.

“All of me has changed so much,” I reply. “This truth aspect, though…” I trail off.

If all else fails, fake your way through it. Isn’t that what I’ve always said? Lying and faking it go hand in hand, though… and I’m not sure either are going to cut it for this new version of me.

I cock an eyebrow at her in the framed mirror anyway.

“We will figure it out,” she tells me, seeing right through my facade, because of course she does. She always has.

“We?” It comes out strangled.

“I know.” Her eyes flutter shut briefly. “I know you have a hard time trusting, and I’m sure it’s even more difficult for you now. But I am on your side, Kyrie, and I always have been.” She wraps an arm around my shoulders, squeezing me.

“You’re not the magic expert in my little band of thieves for no reason.” The words choke out of me, my throat clogged with some nameless emotion.

“And don’t I know it?” she asks, grinning at me. Her finger pokes at a braid, her eyes narrowing as she examines her hard work. “Kyrie, we’ve come this far. Who’s to say we won’t keep going?”

“I don’t know, probably the fact that the goddess we’re up against wants to wipe us off the face of the earth.”

“Didn’t you ever stop to think that you want the same?” Her dark brown eyes hold mine, her gaze as steadfast as her hand around my shoulders. “There has been an imbalance for centuries.”

“And everyone seems to think I’m the answer.”

“We don’t think that.”

Miffed, I glance up at her with a slightly shocked expression. “Rude.”

She laughs. “We know it, Kyrie. You might not believe it, but you are the answer. And you will believe it before this is over. Every god has two faces.” Her gaze turns inward, and a shiver goes through me.

“Sola’s two faces are chaos and lies,” I whisper.

“She hasn’t had two faces for a very long time. Chaos and lies are the same side of the coin.” Lara mimes tossing a coin, and we both watch as a lavender-hued disc materializes, flipping end over end. “What’s the opposite of lies and chaos?”

The magicked coin lands in her palm, and energy tingles down my spine.

That’s my face on the coin.

“Truth and order,” Lara tells me.

The coin disappears, dissolving into nothingness.

“We already have order covered,” I tell her, and she rolls her eyes.

“Lojad’s order is focused on war.”

I snort. “And what would mine be?—”

“Life,” she interrupts, raising a shoulder. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” I repeat, ready to poke so many holes in her theory that she’ll be forced to recant.

Caedia walks back into the room, though, distracting both of us as she twirls around in a deep pink dress that sets off her greenish skin beautifully.

“I needed this,” she tells us both, then pulls up short. “What’s wrong now? Tell me she’s not dying again.” Caedia tosses her waved hair over a shoulder. “That would be such a killjoy.”

My eyebrows go sky high as I snort in amusement. “I’m not planning on dying again anytime soon.”

“Thank goodness. Can you imagine how selfish you would have to be to die again?” Caedia shakes her head seriously, a teensy curve to her lips giving away the fact she’s joking.

“So selfish,” I agree. “You know, I wasn’t sure if it was too soon to joke about the whole death-by-my-fated-mate thing? But I’m glad to see that the time is right for some post-gallows humor.”

“Less gallows, more assassination,” Caedia drawls.

I point at her. “That’s true.”

Lara looses a long-suffering sigh, but she’s smiling too. “Come on, you two, let’s go try to have some fun.”

“As long as Kyrie doesn’t steal the spotlight again by keeling over,” Caedia says.

“It’s my spotlight to steal.” I shrug a shoulder, following the two of them from my room. I turn to pull the door shut behind me. “It’s my mating ceremony, anyway. I can die if I want to.”

“Absolutely fucking not,” a familiar voice snarls.

“Learn how to take a joke,” I snap. “You’re like a million years old, and you still wouldn’t recognize a joke if it stripped naked in front of you and spread its legs, Arek .”

The sound of my friends’ footsteps as they practically run away from the two of us fills the stone corridor.

Still, he doesn’t respond, and I glance over one shoulder to gauge how annoying he’s going to be to deal with.

His expression is soft, though, his lips turned up in a smile. “You used my name.”

“Well,” I say, slightly off-kilter. I should downplay it. It doesn’t mean anything. “It is your name, isn’t it? Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’ve only ever called me the Sword.” He slides a knowing look my way. “Except when your perfect little cunt is wrapped tight around my cock.”

“That’s your name too,” I say, a tad defensively. Defensiveness is better than thinking about the truth of what he’s just said. “I can call you either.” I stick my chin in the air, defiant in spite of the soft warmth glowing inside me.

He doesn’t respond, simply lacing his huge hand through my fingers.

My breath catches as he raises our hands to his lips, brushing them lightly across my knuckles, as gentle as a butterfly’s wing.

“I like when you call me Arek.” His eyes are dark, half-lidded, and desire makes me squeeze my thighs together.

A snarky knee-jerk response starts to form, but the urge to cheapen the moment fades the longer I stare at him.

“Kyrie,” he says, stepping slightly closer to me.

I close my eyes, like if I can blot him out, I won’t have to think or be mature or hurt .

“I know you might not be looking forward to the ceremony and celebration tonight.” Air rushes past my forehead as he exhales.

I make myself look up, look at him, because I can sense his own hurt, embedded in a deep well of self-loathing, tempered by something else?—

Hope.

Hope, and a surge of glowing affection as he meets my gaze.

My heart skips a beat.

When my lips part in wonder, his gaze drops to my mouth.

Fresh heat surges through me, my core clenching.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, his hard chest brushing against mine as he drops a kiss on my forehead.

It’s the barest of touches, but it sears my skin, the imprint of his mouth feeling branded there as he pulls away, gently tugging me beside him.

“Take care of me?” I repeat, and if my voice shakes, he pretends he doesn’t notice. “Do I have something to be worried about?”

“No, of course not,” he says, a ghost of a laugh hanging in the air. “My people want to meet you, and they want a reason to celebrate. They haven’t had a cause to for many, many years. We’ll eat with them, dance, if you want to; otherwise we’ll sit in our chairs and listen to music.”

“I don’t like to be paraded around,” I mutter.

“It won’t be a parade, and yes, you do.” There’s not even a hint of exasperation in the words. If anything, he sounds amused by my protests. “You look every inch the queen you are.”

I preen internally, loving the praise, the attention, and then I frown.

“Why are you scowling now?” he asks. Amusement lights his eyes at my expression.

“Because you’re right.” I sigh. “I do like to be shown off. Vanity is one of my many terrible qualities.”

He snorts, and I can’t help my answering grin.

The man I knew before hardly ever laughed, and it still feels like I’ve won a contest when I can get him to crack.

Pain slices through me at the thought of the before.

How long will it hurt?

How long will I separate my life into before and after?

“You are safe,” the Sword tells me quietly.

I whip my attention to him. “Why do you say that?”

“Your fear and sadness bleed through our bond,” he explains. “Nothing bad is going to happen tonight, I swear it.”

It would be so easy to call him a liar, to yell about how I can’t trust him anymore, but the sensation of rightness, the truth of his words, chimes through me.

If anyone could guarantee my safety at a mating ceremony, it would be the god of death who’s made me his.