“No. I’ve thought it over for years, believe me. But keeping Alaric alive is better than killing him and watching someone worse ascend to his throne. At least with this devil, we know what to expect.” Alaric smirks, reaching for a half-filled wine glass still standing on the table. He downs it quickly and adds, “Besides all that, Alaric pays me well, and he’s afraid of me. I’ve got a good thing going here; why would I give it up?”
“Ithel was so wrong about you,” Helena wheezes, all the fight leaving her as quickly as it had been stirred. “He told me you were a quiet, decent man. But he was wrong; you are just as bad as Alaric.”
“Hey, I do what I can to discreetly help the people,” Andras replies, slamming the wine glass on the table with enough force that it cracks at the stem and shatters.
“The best way to help these people is to kill the king. Start a revolution. Do something to make them wake up and realize they are oppressed, stifled under the thumb of a wealthy bully. That would be far more useful than playing along with the king’s plans.”
“What do you know about it? You’ve been in prison for years. You’ve stood all high and mighty on your principles, happily locked away where you couldn’t actually do anything useful for these people to whom you claim such loyalty. You’ve been languishing in a cell. I may have dirty hands, Helena, but at least I’ve been doing something,” Andras growls, leaning against a chair as the alcohol begins to affect his balance. “Now go get some sleep. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us.”
“Fine,” Helena huffs, floating away on the breeze before she can do anything rash. Her hands itch to go back and slap the smile off Andras’s face. However, provoking the assassin she’ll be travelling with hardly seems like a wise decision. And he did just save me from Grimshaw, Helena remembers, sighing to herself as she drifts toward her room in the infirmary. “Why does everything have to be so complicated?” she cries, wishing she could curl up in Ithel’s arms and forget the events of this night.
Chapter 13
“Come on, Iris! Join the party,” Grouse hounds me, grabbing hold of my arm and endeavoring to lift me off the ground. “Cyrus and Goldeneye want to dance again. Let’s go!”
“You go ahead,” I reply, refusing to move an inch. “We’ve been partying for at least two hours. I need a break from all the noise.”
Once word spread through the ranks that Cyrus and I were officially coupled, the spirit amongst the Cadogans and Ddraigs lifted. Then Drake pulled out a few nomadic flutes carved from thick tree branches. Within minutes, the entirety of our crew was laughing and dancing, twirling around the campfires without any signs of worries or fears.
But my heart is no longer invested in the party. After about an hour, a burden like a heavy stone resettled on my shoulders. Nothing I did could restore my lighthearted joy. All I can do is sense the impending doom on the horizon, and I know I must act to stop it at all costs.
Grouse pouts but says nothing more as she scurries back over to Goldeneye’s side, tugging on his arm and begging him to dance once more. Cyrus catches my eye, and I wave at him enthusiastically, offering up my brightest smile as my heart skips a beat. I really do love him. I recognize the sentiment with a soft sigh, wishing the knowledge of my feelings changed everything as much as Siri believed it would. And it is because I love him that I must do what I can to protect him.
Sensing my distress, Siri stomps up to stand beside me. “What’s going on now, Iris?”
“I have to save him, Siri. The coupling bond brings us one step closer to the fulfillment of my visions.”
“Not this; not tonight,” Siri begs, but I do not listen to her pleas.
“And I’ve realized that in every vision I’ve seen that included death, Cyrus and I were together.” Holding my breath, I struggle to quell the scream I can feel rising up in my blood. My stomach burns and aches so powerfully that I double over, putting my hands on my clammy forehead. “I love him, Siri. And it’s because I love him that I will do what it takes to spare him from death. Even if that means leaving him behind. “
“You’ve decided to become Vibría then?” Siri asks, her tortured tone unable to mask the depths of her despair. “You’re asking me to give up Suryc too. To leave behind all of the Ddraigs, to give up my place as their leader, to watch you walk into that wretched land—a place where I cannot follow. Do you see how unfair this is?”
“I don’t like it any better than you do. From what you’ve told me, I’ll be an abomination in the eyes of the Ddraigs. Exiled, hated, probably hunted by them. But if I am successful in bringing down the king and protecting everyone I love, won’t it be worth the pain?” I wonder, leaning against Siri’s warm scales, dropping my forehead down to rest on her side.
“You understand that this is permanent, right? There is no changing your mind and undoing the Vibría ritual,” Siri stalls, searching for any weakness in my resolve, any argument that might persuade me to change my mind and forsake this whole scheme.
“I will not stand by and watch Cyrus die, Siri. What if the situation was reversed? What if you were facing a future where Suryc dies, and I asked you to let it happen? Would you honor my wishes?” I mutter as I stare into the flames of the fire, entranced by their swirling, writhing forms.
“You are asking me to live without Suryc now, which is just as bad,” Siri explains, bowing
