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CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

T he celebrations continued well into the night. Cassandra was grateful her rebels would have a full day to recover before they marched upon Delos the day after.

Shouts and laughter and music echoed through the jungle as she made her way toward a small dwelling at the corner of the square. She knocked on the chipped red door. When no one answered, she tried the handle, found it unlocked, and pushed inside.

It was dark as pitch, the only light a triangular slice down the wooden stairs.

Rustling wings and opening drawers sounded as she crept up to the second floor, then turned into a large, spartan bedroom.

Ione froze in the midst of packing a leather sack, pain and sorrow mingling on her beautiful face.

“Creator, you’re gorgeous,” she said, tossing a square of folded white linen into her bag, then placing her hands on her hips.

Cassandra let out a nervous chuckle. “Uh, so are you.” Then couldn’t think of another single thing to say as Ione stared at her.

This was far more awkward than she’d hoped it was going to be.

She decided to cut the small talk and plow forward to the uncomfortable bits.

“I’m sorry, Ione. If I had?—”

Ione expelled a bitter laugh. “No, you’re not.” She stalked over to a chest of drawers, opened one, then shoved the contents into her bag. “And if he’d chosen me, I wouldn’t be sorry either.”

Cassandra remembered what Tristan had told her. That since Ione had rescued him, he’d never felt like she really loved him . That any affection she’d shown was inspired by duty to the movement.

Is that why she was so upset? Because she thought she had to give up everything she’d worked for?

“You don’t have to leave,” Cassandra said, reaching for Ione who took a very purposeful step back. “Tristan doesn’t want you to.”

Ione snorted. “So magnanimous of you to deliver that message on his behalf.” She opened her closet, her frown deepening before she fished out her opal-topped, platinum circlet. She regarded it with a sad, bitter smile before tossing it to Cassandra. “He didn’t offer you a ring, but perhaps you’ll accept a crown. Not like I need it anymore.”

“But you’re still the Delphine.”

“Am I?” Ione asked, crowding into Cassandra. Ione had a few inches on her, but Cassandra didn’t cower. Ione’s indigo eyes flicked to the circlet. “The irony is they don’t even need a Delphine. The Goddess herself blesses the Anointed, as long as they believe. But I guess my presence helped bolster their faith.” Cassandra had no idea what Ione was talking about. “Did he tell you what he did?”

Cassandra swallowed, but didn’t answer. She trusted Tristan with both her life and her heart, and braced herself for whatever anger-induced lies Ione was about to spew.

“He named me his successor. When he was worried he might not come back from Tartarus.” Ione’s laugh was cold enough to frost glass. “He vowed before Trophonios that if he died before he married or bore an heir, that I would ascend the Crystal Throne.”

“Are you implying that you’re a threat to me? If you think?—”

Ione’s cackle raked across Cassandra’s feathers. “No, you stupid bitch. I’m saying you weren’t supposed to survive. That’s not how your and Tristan’s story has ended. Ever.”

Cassandra’s head spun, recalling everything Reena had said in the Halfway before sending her soul back to Ethyrios.

About Tristan always choosing her.

About him cratering Tartarus with Adelphinae’s hammer.

In every previous version of this world, Tristan and Cassandra had died before becoming Emperor and Empress.

“I don’t want Tristan,” Ione hissed. “I want what I was promised.”

A chill prickled down Cassandra’s spine.

Ione struck, but Cassandra was quicker. She grabbed Ione’s wrist and the memory that overtook her made her sick to her stomach.

Atop a translucent throne veined with gold flakes, a younger, bare-backed Ione straddled a brawny male with two enormous, iridescent black wings.

“You love me,” Ione demanded.

“I love you,” Leonin grunted, her long, blond hair wrapped around his wrist as he thrust up into her.

“You’ll never leave me.” She gripped the armrests for leverage as she rocked her hips in his lap.

“I’ll never leave you. Never.” Leonin pressed his face into the side of her neck.

She fisted his shoulder-length black hair and wrenched his head back, unmistakable lust crawling through his obsidian eyes.

She stopped moving. A necessary manipulation. She needed to force him to agree. He hadn’t during the Turning ceremony last night.

She wasn’t Fae yet, though she knew she would be soon. She and Leonin had a plan for that, too. How they would hide it from Mila. The idealistic young Prince was so obviously in love with her. Bedding him would ensure no one knew who’d truly Turned her.

Leonin.

The male who’d promised her everything.

Well, almost everything.

She leaned down to whisper in his ear, “I will be Empress.”

Leonin groaned, his fingers digging into her flanks. He was right on the edge, exactly where she wanted him. “Ione, you know I ? —”

She pushed herself up, then sank down his cock again. Very, very slowly.

“Fuck,” he growled. “Yes. Alright, whatever you want just ? —”

The memory dissolved as soon as Ione wrenched her arm from Cassandra’s grip.

Cassandra paled. “Does Tristan know? Does Eamon know?”

Ione’s voice shook. “What did you see?”

But before Cassandra could grab her again, Ione tapped her cuff and melted away in a rainbow flash.

“Felix is gone, too,” Seraavi said, stalking into the war committee room with murderous intent darkening her fuchsia eyes.

“Who else knows?” Trophonios asked, his long fingers massaging his ebony forehead.

Cassandra, seated beside Tristan and still trembling from shock, held her fiancée’s hand beneath the table and ran her thumb across his Turning scar.

Referring to him as her fiancée helped ease the sting of Ione’s betrayal. Slightly.

Tristan was taking the news surprisingly well. Or perhaps he was just trying not to fall apart in front of his Council.

“I haven’t said a word to anyone outside this room,” Cassandra promised. “As soon as Ione portaled away, I sought out Tristan.”

“Nothing’s spread through the village yet,” Layla added from her seat next to Ronin and Mireille. Hella rounded out the Council—what was left of it—her tiny golden braids piled in a knot atop her head.

“I don’t want to lie to them,” Tristan ground out, squeezing Cassandra’s hand. His lifeline.

Trophonios lifted his gaze. “I don’t disagree with you, Your Highness, but…this is the worst possible timing. Might it not be wiser to wait until after we’ve marched and won? Ione is a powerful symbol within the Teles Chrysos. Knowledge of her dishonesty could shatter morale.”

Tristan sighed, releasing Cassandra’s hand and raking his own through his hair.

“He’s right,” she said softly, fingertips resting gently on his thigh. “We need to stay the course. I’m not sure our rebels could stomach such a blow right now.”

“We need story for why Ione gone,” Hella added.

“Like what?” Seraavi asked.

Trophonios sat up straighter. “Something that will boost morale. Even if it’s not precisely accurate. We’ll tell them Ione has journeyed into the Icthians, with Felix as protection, to commune with Adelphinae in the wilderness and solicit blessings for our fight.”

“That would do it,” Ronin nodded, fiddling with his eye patch.

“I don’t like it,” Tristan grimaced, tapping his fingers on his armrest.

“Sometimes a lie can be kinder than the truth,” Mireille piped up. “In this case, what good would it do to tell them they’ve been duped by the female they’d come to trust above all others? You’ll only distract them from their duty, open them up to harm.”

Cael, who’d been standing in the corner with his wing tucked and his arms crossed, chimed in. “She’s right,” he said in a deep, ferocious grumble. Someone had fucked with his friend. His brother . “And once we win back your throne, there won’t be a corner of the fucking continent Ione can hide. Signys and I will smoke her out ourselves.”

Tristan dipped his head to his chest, blowing out a resigned sigh. “Remind me why I appointed you all to tell me what to do?” He turned to Trophonios. “What kind of threat does she pose? Not just once we march, but after.”

Trophonios grimaced. “I suppose it depends on how much your brother knows of her truth. Or if her plans involve luring any of the membership to her side.”

“What if she aligns herself with Eamon?” Cassandra asked. “He remains unmated. She could make a bid for him. Or, Creator forbid, show up with him in Delos.”

“We find out in day and half,” Hella grunted, rustling her crimson feathers.

Cassandra continued, addressing Trophonios. “Ione knew of things that I’d only heard from Reena in the Halfway. It was more than just an interpretation of the prophecy. Where would she have gained such knowledge?”

Trophonios shook his head, rubbing his jaw. “I don’t know.”

“Do you have any idea where she might have gone?” Layla asked, stroking her knives.

“I don’t know that either.”

“I could find out,” Mireille said, and Ronin’s head whipped toward her. “I can make a lot of things happen with a few vials of veiling potion and a supply of drachas . I’m guessing the network of information brokers I used as an Imperial Affairs agent is still thriving.” She sliced her quicksilver gaze to Tristan. “Let me prove I’m worth that fancy new title you just gave me, Your Highness.”

“I’ll go with you,” Ronin proclaimed, his broad shoulders tensing.

Sorrow and affection mingled in Mireille’s expression. “You can’t, General. Your Emperor needs you. Selene needs you, too. See what you can find in Delos, and I’ll ask around as well. If I find any answers on my quest, I’ll let you know.” She lowered her voice, but Cassandra was close enough to hear. “Save a dance for me. Maybe a game of chess, too. I need to kick your ass again.”

“Be careful.” Ronin clasped her hand, then pressed a long kiss to the back of it before whispering, “Come back to me.”

Tristan turned to the group. “We all clear on the story, then?” They nodded. “Rest up. We march in thirty-six hours.”

The group rose from the table, offering Tristan and Cassandra subtle bows on the way out.

Trophonios stood, pushing his chair back, but Tristan stopped him. “Not you. I’ve got a few more questions.”

The Beastrunner retook his seat as they waited for the room to empty.

Once it had, Tristan gripped Cassandra’s hand again. “So, all the evidence that proved my and Ione’s connection—her Ghostwalking abilities, our ability to summon multiple elements together—that was possible because…”

“Because it was your father who Turned her,” Trophonios said gently. “The commonalities in the blood. That’s what forged the connection.” He smiled at Cassandra. “You’ve only Turned one woman.”

“The lines of the prophecy then. Two futures sown, one future known ? Does that mean Cassandra is the Delphine?”

Trophonios pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s still unclear. Ione could still technically be the Delphine since the phantom wings could refer to Leonin. And she did light the way for the movement, even if upon a foundation of lies. Only the Creator will know for sure.” He turned to Cassandra. “Has the Goddess ever spoken to you? Ione claimed to have received messages from Adelphinae that guided her path and kept her alive over the years.”

Cassandra nodded. “She spoke through my mother in a vision. She told me to find her . At the time, I thought she was referring to herself, but now I think she may have meant Mireille. Then when I was behind the wards, she showed me a vision of Tristan and Ione together.” Tristan squeezed her hand. An apology. She squeezed back. Long forgiven. “And after my appeal, after the Koenig killed me, Reena spoke to me in the Halfway. Though I’m not sure she’d been sent by the Goddess. Seemed like she’d gone rogue.”

Tristan chuckled. “Of course she had.”

“Well, stay open to her,” Trophonios said. “Adelphinae may send you messages as our plans coalesce.”

“Ione said something odd before she left,” Cassandra pondered. “That the mixed-species rebels didn’t need a Delphine. That all they need to become Anointed is to prove their faith to the Goddess herself. That no intermediary was necessary. But she thought that having a Delphine helped inspire that faith.”

Trophonios cocked his head. “Are you willing to do that for them going forward?”

Cassandra raised her chin, squaring her shoulders. “I don’t care what that prophecy means, whether I’m the Delphine or not. They’re my people. I will be whatever they need me to be. And I will fight for them to the end.”

Trophonios relaxed, revealing a slash of dazzling white teeth. “Then they couldn’t ask for anything better.” He stood once again. “We should get some rest, too. Long days are ahead of us.” He bowed at the waist before exiting the room. “Goodnight, Your Highnesses.”

Cassandra wondered if she’d ever get used to it, the titles, the deference. But perhaps she didn’t want to be the kind of leader who would.

As soon as they were alone, Tristan crumpled, catching his face in his hands. “I’m such a fucking fool.”

“Hey,” Cassandra said, climbing into his lap and cupping his face in her hands. “This is not on you. Your father and Ione—” Cassandra shuddered, the sight of them fucking on the Crystal Throne burned behind her eyelids “—they manipulated you. They took advantage of your good nature, and the world paid for it. Don’t you dare shoulder an ounce of the guilt that by all rights belongs to them.”

“But that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Tristan frowned as he shifted beneath her. “I’m too trusting. It’s what got us into trouble with Eamon down in the colonies. I failed to see what was right in front of me. And I’ve just gone and done it again with Ione. It’s a weakness our enemies could exploit.”

Cassandra stroked her thumb across his cheekbone, hating the self-loathing dulling his toasted-honey eyes. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tighter against him. “Assuming the best in people is not a weakness, Tristan. It’s your greatest strength. I wouldn’t be sitting here if you hadn’t assumed the best in a tiny thief who’d stolen a diamond necklace.” She kissed his jaw. “A tiny thief who’s about to become your wicked, suspicious wife, and who will be more than happy to help you sort your enemies from your friends. And then sort those enemies’ heads from their bodies.”

He chuckled, some lightness returning to his eyes as he plucked up her hand and kissed her fingertips. “My blood-thirsty Empress.”

She lowered her brows. “We will make her pay for it. I will make her pay for it.”

“Is it wrong that I can’t wait to see that?” He squeezed her tight and tucked his head against her neck. “I love you, Cass.”

She ran her fingers through the soft hair at his nape. “Love me so much you were willing to destroy a city for me. A thousand times over.”

He pulled back, scanning her eyes, nothing but the deepest love and most ardent affection in his own. “I’d end the entire world if I thought I was going to lose you again.”

She snickered. “A very responsible stance for an Emperor.”

“How’s this for responsible?” He stood from his chair, threw her over his shoulder and smacked her ass. “I know we should be resting, but I think I might keep you up for another hour or four.”

After he’d lugged her out of the war committee room, he kept his promise. Had her up for more like five hours that night, making up for their lost time.

And as they drifted off to sleep, clutched sweaty and spent and satisfied in each other’s arms, Cassandra couldn’t help but think that the best version of this world would include a lot more trusting people like Tristan.