off my tiptoes. He bends and inhales the scent of my hair. Primal.
From the other end of the room, Phlix’s timid voice strains to be heard. “I wish to serve our empress.”
Everyone turns to look at her. She sinks to her knees, bowing her head to me. I pale when I see another priestess do the same . . . and then another, and then another. When the men begin to follow and bow down to Kyon and me, my stomach aches. I don’t want to be part of this charade. “You see,” Kyon breathes in my ear. “They believe, just as I do. You’re the one: the daughter of our most prophetic priestess—born of two worlds and two houses—destined to be the Empress of Ethar.”
The stars are no longer aligning for me; they’re bleeding from the sky, turning black, and dying around me. What the people in this room don’t realize is that I’m not the one. Whatever they were told in this supposed prophecy is clearly meant for someone else. Arissa had another daughter born of two worlds and two houses—one who our father protects at the expense of all else . . . of me.
Astrid.
My father and the Order of the Tempest must believe that she’s destined to be the Empress of Ethar. I’m the distraction from the truth. While everyone in Alameeda and the surrounding houses focuses on me, they won’t see what’s really going on until it’s too late. My childhood has taught me that the mark usually ends up the biggest loser in every scenario. Every time. No exceptions. The Order of the Tempest was created to protect one person. It isn’t me.
I want out of this room. Out of this opulent cage. Out of this life. There’s only one place left for me now. Earth. “Are we done here?” I ask Kyon.
“We’ll never be done, Kricket,” Kyon whispers in my ear.
He looks in Fulton’s direction and says, “Phlix stays. Show her to a room in Victory. She’ll be comfortable there.”
“Of course,” Fulton replies. He goes to Phlix and escorts her from the room.
Ainsley’s head snaps up. “You cannot keep Phlix!”
Kyon lets go of me. With a bad-wolf look on his face, he approaches Ainsley, who is still on his knees. Kyon squats down to look Ainsley in the eye. “What did you say?”
“She—” His face becomes flushed and he stutters, “Phlix belongs to . . . Pike.”
“Who owns her?” Kyon asks with a dramatic arch of his eyebrow.
Ainsley searches for support in the faces of the other Brothers in the room, but none of them will lift his eyes from the floor.
“It’s okay,” Kyon encourages, “you can say it, Ainsley.”
Ainsley casts his eyes down at to ground once more. “You. You own Phlix.”
Kyon reaches out and roughly pats Ainsley’s face. “Now you’re getting it.” Kyon rises to full height once more. Coming to me, he locks his arm with mine. “Would you like to see your new room, Kricket?” he asks. There’s warmth in his stare.
I want to push him away, but I can’t react without a plan. Instead, I play along, pretending to be under the influence of giants. “Let me guess—is it in the place you call Hostage?”
Kyon’s smile can warm moonlight. “Your room is in Mercy.” He escorts me to one of the sets of doors in the room. It’s not the way we came in. These doors lead to a different corridor. We exit the tower known as Beauty, leaving the others there on their knees.
The barrel-vaulted ceilings of the hallway are carved and shaped from gray mountain stone. Windows in the silhouette of snowflakes cast light onto enormous tapestry carpets of blue and spun ivory that form an elegant path. Ancient juggernaut armor and weaponry that resembles something pillaged from some long-ago Viking ship line the walls.
As soon as the doors of Beauty close behind us, there’s a tremendous noise: terror-filled screams—shattering glass and furniture. Flashes of blue sparks shine beneath the doors as I look over my shoulder at them. I try to turn around, but Kyon won’t let me. He ushers me down the corridor.
“What’s happening?” I gasp. The thunderous sounds turn my heartbeat stormy.
Kyon is calm. Unaffected. “They were sent to hurt you, Kricket. I cannot allow that to go unpunished. I thought you learned that at our other reception. We have to keep sending the message that everyone who aligns against us dies.”
“They were submissive.”
“They were complicit. I’m not going to kill them all,