When Cadmus looked like he was about to go off, Jasen hastily said, “We have burdened our regents with much unwelcome news.” He turned to them. “Your new apartments in the Hall have been readied.”
Thronos hesitated, so she said: —Cadmus will get what’s coming to him. But for right now, Thronos, our army of two needs to regroup off the battlefield.—
With a kingly air, he stood. “I’ve much to think about. We’ll reconvene later.”
As she and Thronos walked from the assembly room, again hand in hand, the knights lined the aisle, lifting their wings above it like an arc of swords. Even Cadmus.
She might enjoy Thronos’s wings; didn’t mean she could tolerate anyone else’s.
—Easy, Lanthe.—
She held her breath until she’d gotten out from under those jagged flares and glinting talons. . . .
The adjoining royal residence was built on a higher protrusion of rock, a wide stairwell leading to it. Inside, there were more roofless rooms and they were larger, but the space was still fairly bare.
As Thronos showed her around, his thoughts obviously preoccupied, she removed her gauntlets, settling in. Home sweet home.
He escorted her to a balcony, stopping just short of it. “From this height, you can see all the way to the edge of the island. I don’t want you to be afraid.”
“I’m not scared when you’re around.” At the risk of sounding mushy . . . sustaining a fear of heights was difficult when she knew he would always catch her.
He led her to the railing, then draped a protective arm around her shoulders.
In the distance, the blindingly blue sky was dotted with other islands, each with its own city. Below them, a thunderstorm hovered, lightning flashing.
The sight was remarkable, but she and Thronos had work to do. She turned to survey his face. “I was proud of you in there.”
“For what reason could you possibly be proud?” He led her back inside, heading for a sitting area.
“Though you were repeatedly kicked in the ballbag, you didn’t look like it.”
“Thanks?”
“Perception is important. When Omort’s rule crumbled, it was because no one believed in him any longer. His powers were still intact, godlike even, but he lost his followers through his behavior, his lack of leadership. I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but . . . these Vrekeners need a strong king right now. They need you.”
He let out a breath. “I never wanted to be king.”
“I always dreamed of being a Vrekener queen.”
He raised a brow at that. “And what about now—can I look as though I’ve been repeatedly kicked in the ballbag?”
“With me, of course.”
He sank into a chair, rubbing his swollen leg. Then her upstanding Vrekener muttered, “Fuck.”
She pulled up a chair beside him, leaning in. “We’re going to get through this.”
“You were right all along. Things are not as I’d imagined them. I had this idea of black and white, and now I’m immersed in gray.”
“I regret that you lost your sibling”—best she could muster—“but you’ll make a great king.”
“I can’t believe Aristo is gone. I know he did evil things—he hurt you—yet I’m still conflicted. Just when I add one member to my family, I lose another.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Was he the one who did those things to Queen Bettina?”
“She told me that she thought the group acted with impunity, as if they were outside of the normal Vrekener command. Who besides Aristo would dare such a thing?”
“You believe him capable of such an act?”
“If you’d seen him as my sister and I have . . .”