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CHAPTER FORTY

“ Y ou’ve been avoiding me.”

Ione’s voice tiptoed over to where Tristan was seated beneath the clocktower in Lebaedia. He’d finally gotten a moment alone to eat after the raucous night of celebrating with his rebels.

“Says the female who spent the past week in an entirely different territory,” Tristan teased.

Ione’s face fell.

“I’m not avoiding you.” He dug into a grilled turkey leg, savoring the smoky flavor, then waved it at her. “Just trying to fit my meals in where I can. Everyone wants a piece of me.” He cringed as the words left his mouth. Especially when Ione cocked her head, confusion passing over her face. He sighed and patted the rough bricks. “Sit. Have you had a chance to eat?”

Ione sat gracefully, a respectful distance away, though her feathers brushed against his. “Can’t eat. I’m too nervous.”

“About what?”

“About what the Compendium might reveal tonight.”

As soon as Tristan had returned this evening, Trophonios had informed him that the translation was complete. That he was ready to reveal the end of the prophecy.

Tristan’s stomach had been tied up in knots since. It seemed Ione was feeling the same.

“Oh,” was all he said.

“Oh, indeed,” she said with a small, secretive smile.

“You already know what it says.”

“I do not.” Ione snatched a grilled thigh from his platter and sank her fangs into it. She raised a hand to her mouth, hiding her chewing. “But I’m scared of how you will react, regardless of what it says.”

“You’re scared of my reaction?” Tristan asked, incredulous. “Why?”

Ione huffed out a laugh, wiggling her fingers toward Tristan’s bottle of wine. He handed it to her, and she took a long pull, bolstering her courage.

She removed the bottle from her lips with a smack, then rested it on her knee, rolling it between her fingers. “I’m not so blinded by my faith that I can’t tell when a male has no interest in kissing me, Tristan.”

Her quiet, broken words stirred that guilt he couldn’t manage to smother.

“Ione, I?—”

“No, it’s okay. I’ve been telling myself these past few days that it doesn’t matter. That of course the kiss was awkward. We haven’t seen each other in centuries. Passion doesn’t rekindle that quickly, and rebuilding what we had will take time. And effort . On both our parts. The only thing I need to know before we hear that prophecy tonight is this.” She turned to face him, her indigo eyes gleaming in the bonfires scattered throughout the village. “I need to know that you will do what’s right for Ethyrios. No matter what.”

His stomach twisted, but he vowed, “I swear it.” With what he hoped wasn’t a noticeable hesitation.

If the prophecy confirmed that he was fated to Ione, that it was their union that would save this world, was he strong enough to give up Cassandra?

He felt a disorienting mix of fear and shame. Because his heart already knew the answer to that question.

Ione nodded, placated, then polished off her grilled turkey thigh and tossed the bones onto his platter. “Come then. They’re ready for us.”

His mind raced as they walked toward the leadership building. This meeting would be a turning point for the Teles Chrysos, illuminating the final shape of the puzzle they’d been piecing together for centuries.

They encountered Layla at the entrance, her white and black hair twisted in two buns atop her head and her throwing knives glittering at her waist. Always ready to leap into action. Tristan couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen her without them.

“General Fetar,” Ione nodded. “A momentous night.”

“It is that, indeed,” Layla purred, her brown eyes roving over Tristan. “Bless the Creator.”

The rest of the group were gathered around the table already. Felix tried, and failed, to keep the sneer from his face when Tristan and Ione arrived together, but Seraavi offered a warm smile as they took their seats.

Trophonios was as still as a windless night, his long fingers resting on the cover of the Compendium. As if he alone were the keeper of the book’s mysteries.

Tristan’s anxiety rose.

How drastically was his life about to change?

Trophonios waited until everyone had settled, then signaled to the recruit at the side of the room. The young Deathstalker darted over and placed a bottle of Aguaver and a stack of shot glasses in the center of the table.

“For after,” Trophonios said.

“Well?” Felix barked, stirring his persimmon feathers and fidgeting with a shot glass. “Out with it. What does the prophecy say?”

He seemed just as nervous as Tristan to hear these words. Ione had said that whatever had happened between her and Felix was a mistake. Perhaps Felix didn’t see it that way.

Tristan nodded to Trophonios, giving him permission to proceed.

Trophonios opened the Compendium and traced a fingertip down the page. The room was so dead silent that Tristan could hear the male’s skin scrape down every fiber of the paper.

The gathered leaders held their breath, then Trophonios began to speak in his deep, measured voice:

“Two futures sown, one future known.

Born from phantom wings and mortal bones,

a new Delphine will rise to light

the way.

A story told ten thousand fold,

has but one ending to be told,

until the eight can interweave

their play.

A journey drowned, again is found.

To long-lost power, their fates are bound.

A crown exchanged, divine, will win

the day.”

The words echoed until the only sound Tristan heard was the rush of his own blood pounding through his head. He glanced across the table, ensnared by Trophonios’s teal gaze before shouting erupted.

Exclamations piled atop one another, tripping and tangling until Tristan couldn’t even tell who was speaking.

“…could mean anything …”

“…very clear what the next path is. Isn’t it obvious…”

“…eight could be the…”

“…I think the journey drowned is referring to…”

“STOP!” Tristan’s command shook the room. “One at a time. Let’s go around the room, please. I’d like to hear from everyone. Layla?”

“ The eight. ” Layla rubbed her fingers over the hilts of her knives. “That could refer to the six continental territories plus the northern and southern colonies. Eight territories interweaving their play.” She glanced to Tristan.

Beside him, Ione nodded. “Yes, that was my interpretation of that line as well.”

“ To long-lost power ,” Felix said, eyes glowing. “That’s the restored elemental magics, surely?”

“If so, who’s fates are bound to it?” Seraavi asked. “All of us?”

Felix waved her off, then looked to Trophonios. “Are you sure they got the translation right?”

Trophonios cocked an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything as he returned his penetrating gaze to Tristan. It was fucking unnerving. Like the male didn’t want to share his interpretation until he heard Tristan’s.

Seraavi cut in again. “ A journey drowned. That must be Adelphinae’s own journey, her history. Drowned by the Empire, then found again by our members.”

“It could also be a reference to Tristan and Ione.” Layla’s gaze bobbed between them. “They lost each other and then found their way back.”

A soft smile parted Ione’s lips as she brushed her wing across Tristan’s feathers. It was all he could do to not leap away from her. “Yes. It could certainly be that.” She turned to face him. “What do you think?”

“I…” Tristan squared his shoulders as the group stared at him expectantly. “Yes, I suppose it could be.”

The corners of Ione’s mouth dipped ever so slightly.

In truth, he had no idea what to make of the full prophecy. The words were far more vague than he’d anticipated. He’d been hoping for something more concrete.

And no one had yet dared interpret the line that had his heart battering his ribs.

A crown exchanged, divine, will win the day.

Whose crown? And what day?

Finally, he turned to Trophonios. “What do you think?”

Trophonios folded his hands atop the book, thoughtful. “I think that regardless of what we all believe these lines mean, if we cannot agree on an interpretation, we will fail.”

Ione ruffled her feathers, her face pinched with distaste. It was clear to Tristan that she knew exactly what that prophecy meant. Both for the movement and for her and Tristan.

Tristan, meanwhile, was even less sure of his path than he’d been when he walked in here.

“Prince?” Ione said. “What do you think it means?”

The ringing in Tristan’s ears grew louder.

Should he admit to his confusion, his uncertainty? Or would doing so crumble everything the Teles Chrysos had built?

The only thing he was certain of was that he needed more time to think. Away from the Fae around this table.

And certainly away from Ione, whose indigo eyes raked over him with such pleading intensity he could barely breathe.

“We should take some time to think on it,” he said. Ione’s wings drooped. “Let’s regroup in a few days.”

He abruptly pushed away from the table, and the group stood.

He didn’t dare look back to see the judgment on their faces as he fled the increasingly claustrophobic room.