Page 4

CHAPTER FOUR

T ristan fell to his knees and clutched his chest as the shimmering portal spit him and Ione out into a crumbling village square.

It was such an odd sensation, traveling via these opals. Felt like the Fallen Goddess herself had plunged her hand into his chest to drag him through space and time.

As he knelt on the warm, packed dirt—much warmer than the cold stone of the Northern Territories—Tristan heaved while Ione stood over him, waiting for him to regain his wits.

“You’ll get used it to.” She patted his shoulder before cupping a hand beneath his armpit.

The strength in her grip startled him. The Ione he’d known was a soft, delicate thing. Gaining the supernatural strength of a Fae, combined with whatever hardness had crept into her soul these many years, had forged her into something new.

The air in the small village was so thick and humid that Tristan began to sweat in his leathers. He unzipped his jacket, pulling at his white cotton shirt. Ione’s gaze flicked to his chest, then bounced away.

He pretended not to notice.

A brick clocktower anchored a square ringed by vine-choked buildings. Narrow paths had been hacked through the greenery, and furry fingers of moss draped between the dwellings. A village lost to time, swallowed by the ravenous jungle.

“What is this place?” Tristan swatted his neck, then flicked a squished bug off his palm.

“Lebaedia.” Ione waved at a cloud of gnats. “An old human village, abandoned when they fled the continent after the war.” Tristan turned toward the sound of rushing water. “A small off-shoot of the Dordenne flows past here. It’s close enough to fetch water and small enough that no cargo ships or Empire vessels can navigate it. We’re well hidden. Plenty of fish in the river plus fruits and vegetables in the jungle. Anything else we need, we get from Rhamnos. The crew uses the opals to travel there. It’s a much shorter journey than the one we just took. You might even be able to handle it without vomiting up your guts.”

He snorted a laugh. “How long have you all been here?”

“This is just one of our various outposts throughout the continent. We stick to abandoned human villages; the Empire typically ignores them. They don’t want to be reminded that two species once shared these lands.” Ione sneered, removing her fur-lined cloak and revealing a white shirt over slim black pants. “We have several bases here in Akti. A few in Cernodas as well.”

Tristan followed Ione across the quiet square. “Where is everyone?”

“Down in Rhamnos drumming up support for the cause. They’ll be disappointed they weren’t here to welcome you.”

“Why?”

Ione smiled hesitantly, and Tristan’s gaze caught on the small scar on her chin, the one she’d had since childhood. A lump formed in his throat. So her Turning hadn’t washed away all signs of her previous mortality. “Some of them have been waiting centuries to express support for their Exiled Prince.”

Something stirred in Tristan’s chest. The something that had been stirring since he and Cassandra had that conversation in his bungalow what seemed like a lifetime ago.

He rubbed at his chest, warring emotions of excitement and terror flowing through him. He was on the cusp of becoming the leader of a movement he’d dreamed about since he was a boy. But was about to embark on it without the one woman who made it all worth it.

He would need to learn how to balance it. How to work for the good of the many when all he wanted was to dedicate his own cause to a single person. He knew how strong Cass was. Knew that Reena and Ronin would be there to protect her, too. He hoped that together they’d find a way to survive until he and the Teles Chrysos could get them out. He forced himself to cling to that hope.

Ione knocked upon a faded blue door, warped after centuries of exposure to the humidity. Exotic purple flowers dotted the vines blanketing the two-story brick rowhouse. From beyond the door came a faint whizzing and the steady metallic clang of a hammer.

Ione knocked harder and the clanging paused.

The Fae male who opened the door had a regal countenance. Certainly more regal than Tristan himself, even with his royal heritage.

Teal-blue eyes glowed in stark contrast to the male’s ebony bald head, and a warm smile revealed a slash of glistening white teeth with two sharp, elongated canines. He raised an elegant hand, and Tristan raised his own to complete the greeting.

“Well met, Prince,” the male said, a spotted tail undulating over his shoulder. “I’m?—”

“Trophonios.” Tristan breathed the name in a reverent whisper, and his hope soared. The inventor of Delirium was the most legendary scientific mind on the continent. If he was part of the movement…

Trophonios turned to Ione. “He looks shocked to see me. Why is he shocked to see me? Did you not brief him on anything before you brought him here?”

“We took a little detour,” Ione answered, grabbing Tristan’s wrist and breaking him from his stupor. “May we come in?”

“Of course, of course.” Trophonios stepped aside and allowed Tristan and Ione to enter.

The ceiling soared above the eroded second floor, and metal shelves filled with glass jars lined the walls. The larger jars contained lumps of tissue suspended in liquid in increasing states of decay. Wormy trails of flesh swayed above the more deteriorated specimens. Tristan discouraged himself from guessing at the contents.

Three long tables ran parallel to the shelves, each brimming with polished tools and well-maintained contraptions.

At the back of the room, a blazing fire crackled in a large hearth, heating the room far more than necessary given the climate. Tristan wiped his brow, sweating even more profusely. Above the fire, several heavy iron pots released a variety of aromas—some earthy, some chemical, some iron-rich. A few were so pungent they stung his nostrils. He wondered if it was wise to spend a long amount of time in here.

As if sensing Tristan’s discomfort, Trophonios chuckled, then opened a window. “Apologies. I’m used to the smells by now.” He gestured to a worktable—the furthest from the hearth, praise Anaemos. “Come see what I’ve been working on. We made some wonderful progress while you were gone, Delphine. Just finished up the last of these beauties today.”

Tristan jolted at Ione’s title. The Delphine. The Goddess-blessed representative of Adelphinae on Ethyrios. He was reminded, yet again, of how much they still needed to discuss.

Trophonios plucked up a thin, silver cuff embedded with two specks of stone. One was a fire opal, the other a deep violet gem. Hundreds of similar cuffs gleamed from atop the table and in several barrels beside it.

“What do they do?” Tristan asked.

Ione glanced at Trophonios, raising a questioning eyebrow, and he answered, “By all means.”

Ione nodded, then turned back to Tristan. “A demonstration is in order.”

She snapped the cuff onto her delicate wrist, then placed a second on Tristan’s before pulling him out of the workshop. As soon as they stepped into the sun, Ione disappeared in a flash of rainbow light.

Join me .

Her voice penetrated his mind and hummed through his body—far richer and clearer than any windwhisper.

He glanced at the cuff and saw the violet stone emanating a soft glow. “How?” he said out loud. “I don’t even know where you are.” His voice reverberated along his limbs, the gem pulsing with the cadence of his words.

Top of the hill just ahead of you. Imagine arriving there, then tap the fire opal.

Tristan closed his eyes and gently tapped the ice-cold opal.

Suddenly, that piercing sensation stabbed his chest and he was pitched forward, his eyes dragging open.

The world fractured.

Rainbow shards swarmed him, then reformed abruptly as he found himself standing atop a large hill overlooking the jungle. He didn’t feel as ill this time, likely due to the short distance of the jump.

The canopy was thinner here, and fingers of brown water snaked through the greenery all the way to a shadowy mass upon the horizon—a portion of the Icthian Mountains, crawling along the Dordenne.

Tristan lifted his wrist. “What are these?”

“We needed a way to quickly move our forces throughout the continent. So Trophonios made us some new tools. And came up with the ingenious idea to add mentrite, so we can use them like commstones.” Ione tapped the violet stone speck on his cuff. “The silver’s conductivity increases the energy of the stones a hundredfold. That’s why only small stones are needed. Trophonios has crafted enough to distribute throughout our forces.”

“How many members do you have?”

“Fighting members? Thousands. Plus a silent majority within two of the major territories—Cernodas and Akti—who have pledged their support once we’ve achieved our ultimate goal.”

“Which is?”

Ione squared her shoulders, a dazzling smile gracing her immortal features. “Taking Delos. And returning you to the Crystal Throne.”

Tristan shook his head, in awe that not only had this rebellion grown while he was tucked away in the colonies, but that it was his former best friend and lover who’d been leading it the entire time.

“How… How has all of this happened, Ione?”

A sly smile spread onto her face.

“Are you ready to meet your people, Prince?”