Lexa
I slept an entire day away. I couldn’t bring myself to even attempt to get out of bed. It wasn’t a weakness in my body–nothing sore or aching. I’ve always lived and loved routines. I feel my best when I know exactly what a day will bring–or at least should bring. But lately, everything has been so upside down. My spirit is shattered, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it other than succumb to the fatigue that’s been draining me for weeks without my wolf to help keep me balanced.
So, I laid in Kaleb’s bed, surrounded by his scent, watching the sunlight play over the ceiling, watching the shadows creep in as the sun began its slow descent back toward the horizon–another day passing, another day further from home. Another day with too many questions and far too little answers.
I allowed myself to think about Chessie. I mapped her from memory, sinking so deeply into my thoughts that I could almost feel the cool bite of the creek that runs through the center of Silverhide and that slightly scratchy pink jumpsuit I used to wear almost every day, the pants rolled up to knees while Chessie and I did our chores, stomping laundry into submission and carrying baskets of wool to the weaver’s cottage to be spun into yarn. I let the memories sink further, stretching wide, until my entire childhood came into startling focus. Blake was there, a constant presence, someone I thought I knew. Someone I loved. Someone I deeply cared for… idealized like a god.
I only dragged myself from bed when the sun set, and darkness swept through the room, the heat of day draining so swiftly, I shivered as I moved downstairs, where I ate a quiet, sparse dinner. The only words whispered were from Lis, the only other person in the house, who’d said, “The pantries at the pack house are empty again. Fae guards came and raided it,” while swirling her spoon around her practically empty bowl of spent grain cooked in water–no salt, no sugar.
She didn’t need to explain why the pack house was raided, why there is now barely any food left for anyone in the Glade. It’s punishment. My punishment. Kaleb’s punishment, directed by the king. Punishment for simply surviving longer than I should have.
Kaleb didn’t return that night. I slept in my old room instead, finding it dim and stale. Only in the earliest, still dark hours of the morning did he come to fetch me, giving me a fresh, thick cloak made of wool and clothes that actually fit in a somewhat modern style, which was surprising, but I didn’t have a chance to ask questions, and to be completely honest, I couldn’t find the nerve to even say a single word to him.
He’d made things clear enough. I’d echoed his sentiments even though every fiber of my being screamed in protest. We are mates–that’s all. It’s not that deep.
Kaleb looks worn and withdrawn as he knocks hastily on the door in the alley behind Silas’s manor. The sun hasn’t even risen yet, and the streets are empty, save for a few fae guards walking in pairs under a cloak of shadow. We were met at the gate in the Glade by a trio of guards, and it became clear almost immediately that they were not wholly aligned with the king. They made a great effort to make it look like they were escorting us somewhere by force, but when we reached the long stretch of manors, their facades cast in dim, silver moonlight, they disappeared, having escorted us to what I realize is safety.
I will not be returning to the Glade.
That knowledge sweeps through me, pummeling me like a battering ram when the servants’ hallways give way to the almost blinding, warm light of the formal foyer, where Silas and Blake are waiting.
Kaleb falls back, standing a foot or two behind me so I can’t see his face, but my gaze is locked on my cousin.
I’ve been thinking about this moment since I found out he was here. Part of me yearns to slam into him, to hit him, to scratch his eyes out and demand answers, torturing him until he gives them up. But I was there the day he showed us how powerful he really is–when he extinguished Maeve’s eternal flame with a single flick of his wrist. I’ll never forget the look on her face.
And I’ll never forget seeing Blake like this.
Something has changed. His face is the same–the same sharp lines, the same depth and shine to those strange eyes–but it’s the new shadows and creases, the lines of exhaustion and hope, that are so desperately unfamiliar. His hair is longer than I’ve ever seen it, the same dark, wine red as mine, nearly black in the right lighting. But it’s longer now, mussed, ruffled, and curling viciously at the ends, a far cry from the gelled back style I’ve always seen him in. He’s dressed causally in color–a creamy white top, navy blue pants, his hands tucked in the back pockets.
He looks–if it’s possible–bigger. Stronger. Broader in the shoulders, like he’s spent these past weeks fighting, or training, for whatever he already knows is coming.
If I had seen him like this back in Moonrise, I wouldn’t have recognized him at first glance.
He looks at me in the same way for several long moments, no one saying a word, but then his gaze drops to the mark on my neck, and he closes his eyes and grits his teeth.
Silas clears his throat, sensing the shift in the tension threatening to ignite between our sorry group. He holds out his hands in surrender, stepping into the center of the foyer. “All right, then. This is how this is going to go.” He glances over my head at Kaleb, arching a brow that screams to dare to challenge him, but Kaleb remains silent. “I must return to the Highwoods. Lexa will stay here with Blake until the next Trial. The guards aligned with the rebellion will be at your disposal, Kaleb, in the meantime. You’ll be able to move freely across the city to see her–”
“That won’t be necessary,” Kaleb cuts in sharply, and my heart cracks.
Silas purses his lips for a moment, lowering his gaze to his polished shoes, then says, “You’re being called before the king today. I doubt anyone will be sent to the Glade to fetch you until this afternoon, but I wanted to give you ample warning. I don’t know what he wants or what’s planned. The king has been keeping me at arm’s length lately, not allowing me within his circle, which begs the question of how much he knows about our resistance and who is feeding him information about its members. Blake will take over my efforts for now.” He motions to Blake, who still hasn’t opened his eyes.
Silas looks around, waiting for one of us to argue. When we don’t, he continues, “I have eyes on my manor. Lexa is safe here, Kaleb.”
“It’s not his problem anymore,” I quip, then I’m moving like the wind, my body propelling me forward through space and time before my mind can catch up. I’m upstairs and alone within seconds in a house I don’t know well enough to immediately find a private place to unravel, but a snug alcove does the trick.
Male voices lift from downstairs, but I can’t make out the words. Silas is arguing with Kaleb, who gives him a gruff reply before his footsteps sound, fading. There will be no goodbyes. There doesn’t need to be. Kaleb was firm when he said I’d be staying here, and I am not in the position to argue.
Silas will come to show me to my room, I’m sure. A maid or someone will ensure I have everything I need, which is nothing. I brought nothing with me but the dragon scale I found in the maze and haven’t let out of my sight since. It’s tucked in my pocket. It’s the only tangible thing I have in this world that’s my own.
It’s not Silas who casts a heavy shadow over the fine, shallow carpet covering this wing of the house. Blake comes to a stop in a streak of hazy sunlight, turning his head to me. Silence hangs between us like a bell waiting to be rung. He’s obviously waiting for me to make the first move, to start the fight he thinks is coming his way. He knows me. Knows what I’m capable of. Our fathers are twins. We’re closer than cousins in that sense. Our blood is nearly the same.
“I knew you’d be called here,” he says, his voice booming toward the angled ceiling without much force at all. “I saw it. Not you specifically, but what She called the Warrior’s Daughter. You are Aviva’s child, and thus, I came to the conclusion that something would happen, and you’d be pulled into the mess our family has been fighting for almost four years now. That vision gave me the clarity I needed to find Hannibal and come here, to his door, without needing to use my daughter’s powers to strengthen my own like I feared.”
“You’re welcome,” I manage to grind out. I’m shocked at how calm I am, but anger still rushes through my veins, driven by my racing heart. “For making this so easy for you.”
“This has not been easy–”
“Did you know that my entire regiment would die?”
He rolls his lower lip between his teeth, shaking his head.
I step out of the shadow of the alcove, anger turning to rage that I ball in my fists, keeping them locked at my sides. “Did you know Chessie would die? Did you see it?”
He holds my gaze for several seconds before replying, “I did not–”
“Did you even care to look?”
“Everyone believes I have infinite power to see the future, to follow every single fucking lifeline thrown from the stars, but that’s not how this works. We have free will, Lexa. One step, one single blink, can throw a prophecy off kilter. I see outcomes, Lexa, not the moments leading up to them. I see a war so vividly I can taste the blood and smell the rot, and that’s why I’m here. That’s why I gave up everything, and everyone, to be here–with you–so we can stop it from happening.”
“You threw me into hell!” I shout, but he doesn’t flinch. Color heats his cheeks, his skin tinged darker than usual, now a soft, golden hue instead of his normally pale, icy undertones. Like he’s a living being again and not a shadow of death that has been haunting our family for a decade.
“There was nothing I could do to stop this from happening. That’s what you need to understand. I’m here now. I’m fulfilling my own vengeance and stopping a war before it’s begun. I’m here with a purpose.” He looks at my mark again, taking a shallow breath before his eyes meet mine in the golden haze. “And so are you. You can believe this is my fault all you want, but do you honestly believe the Goddess would have blessed you with a mate you’d never have the opportunity to meet?”
I edge toward him, pivoting at the last second to avoid a collision, and snarl in passing, “Do you realize that Kaleb and I have no future after this? I cannot stay. He cannot leave his people.”
“So you’re giving up that easily?”
“I am giving up nothing,” I hiss, trying to ignore the gaping hole in my chest now growing with every passing second. “I’m in this situation against my will. Kaleb and I are mates–that’s certain–but we can’t even feel it under the yoke of his king. We had one night, Blake. It will never be like that again. He made that clear. My prerogative is going home.”
“You’re not giving him enough credit for what he has to do–and be–in this regime.”
“I can’t get through to him, just like Marianna couldn’t get through to you.” If I slapped him, it would have had the same effect.
I walk away with no destination in mind, but I can’t do this. I can’t have this conversation now. Maybe not ever.