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CHAPTER SEVENTY

C assandra’s sobs crashed past Cael’s ribs, pelting his battle-weary heart.

Stretched out beside Xenia in the narrow bed, Cass cried into her friend’s shoulder as she maintained a vise-like grip on Xenia’s limp hand. Cass’s white wings—her fucking wings ; High Gods, that was going to take some getting used to—were tucked against her back.

Cael knew exactly how Cassandra felt. He’d been in the same position—with less crying only because he was so fucking numb inside—the night after Signys had incinerated his father and he’d come down to Lebaedia to check on Xenia.

He’d spent the night here in the healer’s quarters with his arms wrapped around her, begging the High Gods, the Lesser Gods, the Creator herself, to give her back.

None had listened.

So, he and Signys had left for Tartarus the next morning to burn down the wards with the rebels.

Tristan squeezed Cael’s shoulder as Cassandra pushed up from the bed, circling the heels of her palms against her bloodshot eyes. “What happened?”

Cael grimaced. “She saved me. Elodie Laskaris, my fiancée, was Lizbeth Burkhardt disguised beneath veiling potion. Come to enact revenge against my father for what he did to her parents.” Something like recognition flashed through Cassandra’s eyes, but she didn’t interrupt. “Xenia figured it out and crashed the wedding. Tried to get Lizbeth to join us, but she refused. Lizbeth died right after she swiped that fatal gash across Xenia’s chest.” Cael gestured to the bandage, visible above the woven cotton blanket.

“It wasn’t fatal, though,” Tristan whispered. “She’s still alive.”

“Only her body. She’s got some of my blood in her system. Trophonios said it’s keeping her stabilized. For now.”

“How do we get her back?” Cassandra asked, resolve sharpening her tone.

“You journey through the Halfway and retrieve her soul,” a deep voice said from the door.

Trophonios entered, then introduced himself to Cassandra. He sent Tristan an approving smile. “I get it.”

“And how the fuck are we supposed to do that? ” Cael asked Trophonios, who’d ambled over to the bed to check Xenia’s vitals. She was hooked up to a bunch of magical machinery, all soft swishes and faint beeping. Cael had no idea what it all was, but he was grateful for it.

“That hammer you now control—” Trophonios’s eyes glanced off Cassandra toward the black stone weapon leaned against the wall “—was gifted to a previous Delphine by Adelphinae herself. A tool the Creator once used to forge and end worlds. When Phaeban Erabis began his campaign against the Goddess, he slaughtered that Delphine. Though she had the last laugh when, upon her death, she erected the wards of Tartarus. A final sacrifice to protect our world from the warhammer’s power. Phaeban’s progeny decided to make use of her wards as a prison.”

“They decided to lock up their criminals with a weapon that could end the world?” Cassandra asked, incredulously.

Trophonios shrugged. “Stupidity is the fuel of arrogance.”

“What does this have to do with rescuing Xenia’s soul?” Cael snapped.

“Legend claims that hammer can open a portal to the Halfway that allows the living to enter in corporeal form, not just as spectral visitors. And Adelphinae will want the hammer back. You may be able to use it to bargain for your friend’s soul. If you can survive the journey to Palathea.”

“Palathea?” Cassandra angled her head.

“The realm of the Creator,” Trophonios answered. “An opalescent palace deep within the Halfway. Some call it the Singularity. The place from which all life springs. In this universe and the infinite others the Goddess has created.”

“Let’s go,” Cassandra said to Tristan, stalking for the hammer. “Let’s go right now.”

“Cass,” Tristan said softly, halting her. “Not yet.”

Cassandra looked like she wanted to kick her lover in the balls. Cael would happily join her.

“There’s an entire village of rebels out there waiting for us,” Tristan said, then turned to Cael. “Waiting for you and your dragon. We need to keep our promise to them. March upon Delos and take back the Crystal Throne.”

Cassandra slapped Tristan across the face at the same time as Cael snarled. If they didn’t have centuries of loyal friendship between them, Cael might have ripped his future Emperor’s fucking wings off.

Cassandra collapsed against Tristan’s chest, sobbing. He wrapped his arms and wings around her, cooing soothing words into her hair.

Cael glanced down at Xenia. So fragile. So pale.

And so incredibly beautiful it nearly stopped his heart.

“He’s right,” Trophonios cut in. “The location of the portal remains a mystery. There may be clues within the Compendium, but it will take time for my team to find and translate them. And it will be smarter—and safer—for Tristan to approach an all-powerful Goddess as Emperor.”

Cael brushed his hand through Xenia’s soft curls. “How long do we have? How long does she have?”

“She’s incredibly strong. Even discounting the blood you’ve given her. She’s fighting. Clinging fiercely to this life.” Trophonios turned to him. “Like she has something—or someone—to live for.”

Cael pinched his eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath. He didn’t rage against the terrible despair dissolving his insides. Just let it sweep over him. Just felt it. Welcomed it, even. It was better, somehow, than the numbness.

I am in control of my happiness and my destiny.

When he re-opened his eyes, Tristan and Cassandra had left the room, but Trophonios was still there. “You have time, my friend. She has time. Help your Prince secure Ethyrios. I will watch over your hum?—”

“Wife,” Cael barked out.

He pressed a kiss to Xenia’s soft, warm lips. The hint of vitality in them lifted his despair ever so slightly.

“As soon as she wakes up, I’m making her my wife.”