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CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

T he door to Tristan’s room creaked open and he turned from the window where he’d been watching Ione laughing and drinking with the rebels down by the clocktower.

They hadn’t spoken since the Teles Chrysos leaders had met on the prophecy. In fact, tonight was the first night Tristan had spent in Lebaedia in four days. If Ione could tell he was stalling with his visit to Lodesvale to check on the displaced hospital patients—many of whom had finally begun to heal, thank the Creator—she hadn’t pressed him on it.

“Thought maybe you could use an ear to bend.” Trophonios flashed his white fangs and waved a bottle of Aguaver. “You left the other night before we had a chance to toast.”

Tristan gestured to a canvas chair, encouraging Trophonios to sit. “What, exactly, were we supposed to be toasting?”

Trophonios crossed a long leg over his knee and thunked two tumblers onto the table. He poured several fingers of the translucent spirit into each glass, then handed one to Tristan and clinked it with his own.

“To uncertainty.” His teal eyes twinkled. “A more powerful force than absolute knowledge.”

Tristan lifted his glass, letting the liquid burn down his throat. It did little to soothe his jangled nerves and simmering anxiety. “I thought hearing the full prophecy would make me feel better. Would make me more sure of my next steps.”

Trophonios regarded him carefully, resting his own tumbler on his knee. “And I’m guessing the exact opposite occurred.”

Tristan nodded, picking at the feathers of the wing folded over his lap. “It doesn’t seem the other leaders agree. Especially not Ione.”

“You must not judge her too harshly. When one has been walking a path for as long as she has, it’s difficult to notice it branching.”

Tristan’s ears perked up. “So you don’t agree with her then? That she and I are fated to one another? Supposed to unite the territories under our rule?”

“I maintain precisely what I said in that room. That what those words actually mean matters little if we cannot all agree on their interpretation.”

Tristan took another sip of aguaver. “So if I disagree, our cause is doomed. Is that what you’re saying?”

Trophonios put down his glass, then folded his hands in his lap. “Allow me to tell you the story of another male, a younger male, who was so certain of his own decision that he was blind to the consequences.

“The day I worked out the formula for Delirium was simultaneously the best and worst day of my life. Though I didn’t realize it was the worst until much, much later. Willem tried to warn me, but?—”

“Willem?” Tristan asked. He’d never heard Trophonios mention the name before.

“My husband.” A sad smile crept across Trophonios’s face. “My conscience.”

“What happened to him?”

“The same fate that awaits us all, Creator willing,” Trophonios murmured. “A peaceful goodbye at the end of a long, well-lived life.” He cleared his throat and continued, “But decades before that, he was the sole individual whispering in my ear that Delirium may not be the miraculous solution that I thought it was. I couldn’t be bothered to listen, of course. The arrogance of youth, and all that.

“No, I alone would fix what was broken in the world. I would facilitate peace between the species. End all the senseless killing of humans during emotion feedings and their violent retaliations. I thought surely, once the human and Fae leaders discovered what I’d achieved, that if each side gave just a little bit, we could share this world as Adelphinae intended.”

Trophonios sat back, his attention drawn out the window by the buoyant laughter. “What I was not prepared for was Leonin Erabis using my invention to subjugate an entire species.” Long-simmering anger filled Trophonios’s eyes. “Your father forged my knowledge into the chains in which he bound the humans. And I was so blinded by my need to succeed, by the certainty of my path, that I failed to see what was right in front of me.”

“And what was that?”

“That those with immense power will do anything to cling to it. And that abundance does not guarantee generosity. Willem was only smug about the whole thing for a year or two.”

Tristan chuckled softly before his brows furrowed. “But you must not believe all leaders are like that? Otherwise, what are we fighting for?”

“No, Prince. I do not believe all leaders are like that. In fact, it’s those who crave power the least that often wield it best.”

“If you’re talking about me?—”

Trophonios huffed a genial laugh. “Of course I’m talking about you. This whole speech was intended for you. Didn’t think I could have made that any more obvious.”

Tristan echoed the laughter, holding out his empty tumbler for another round. “What makes you think I don’t want to be a leader?”

Trophonios shook his head. “It’s not that I think you don’t want it. It’s that I can tell it’s a burden you wish to share. Leonin, for all his faults, was similar. Had a team of advisers whose counsel he sought regularly. Unfortunately, a few spoke in poisonous tongues and your father, swayed by their loyalty, often went along with them.”

“You speak as if you knew him well,” Tristan said, not without a hint of heartache. But whatever filial affection he’d held for his father had been blasted apart by his exile, leaving only hatred in its wake.

Trophonios continued, “I met him when he was a young leader during the war. A bit different than the male who sired you, one tainted by his own power and the greed of his Imperial court. There were two sides to him. It seems as though you’ve gotten his best qualities while your brother…” Trophonios trailed off, taking a thoughtful sip of his drink. “Power corrupts, is my point. Unless one has the proper checks and balances in place—and is willing to accept them.”

Tristan sniffed. “And what makes you think I’m capable of that?”

Trophonios’s eyes gleamed. “I knew it the moment I heard you’d Turned a human. To love across species signals an open heart. A willingness to accept everyone who populates this planet. Ione herself is evidence that you will be a great leader.”

Tristan ran a hand through his hair. “How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Let go of the guilt. Stop being haunted by the unintended consequences of your decisions.”

“You planning on making some bad decisions?” Trophonios smiled, then tapped his chest, right over his heart. “You do what you just said. You let it go. You forgive yourself. If you spend too much time fretting over the past, your future will never find you.”

Tristan grimaced, pitching forward and resting his forearms on his knees. “I don’t want to hurt Ione.”

Trophonios nodded, swirling his tumbler against the table. “What would hurt her more? For you to reject her now, or for you to keep her eternally bound to a male whose heart yearns for another?”

Tristan pulled upright. “How could you possibly?—”

“I’ve lived nearly seven centuries, Tristan. Heartache is an old friend.”

Tristan sighed, collapsing back against his chair. “But if I don’t choose Ione, this world fades into darkness. A new Delphine will rise to light the way . That’s what the prophecy said.”

Trophonios cocked an eyebrow at Tristan. “That may be what it said. But is that what it means?” Trophonios took a slow sip of his aguaver. “We learned much from the Compendium. Even more than we’d anticipated. We’re still trying to discern how the wards were created. But we have learned how to dismantle them. There’s a single substance on this planet that can do it. The same one that can deactivate that tracking device you brought me.”

Hope stirred in Tristan’s chest as he leaned forward, ensnared by the whisper that parted Trophonios’s lips.

“Pure dragon-fire.”