considered guests under the protection of the Morgani nation, yes.”
Stolas blinked. Looked to Haven. “And you think you could somehow recognize one of these paintings?”
Haven gave a slow nod. “They’re the last things my mother gave me. Get me near them, that’s all I’m asking. The paintings will do the rest.”
She held her breath as she waited for Stolas to explain how foolish she was being. Without his support, the rest of them would follow suit. Which would be extremely inconvenient because she’d already decided in the last minute that she was going no matter what.
Deep inside, a quiet voice whispered this was the answer to everything.
Her mother had left a map to immortality for Haven and like hell she wasn’t going to scour the realm for it.
Would anyone accompany her? Surai—she could talk Surai into sneaking away . . . probably. Possibly Ember and Bell. The rest were iffy.
And Stolas would get over it.
Probably.
All of her desperate plans came to a halt as Stolas stood, blotted his lips on a crisp white napkin, and said, “Then it’s settled. We leave tomorrow.”
Haven felt her eyebrows crawl up her forehead.
“Why does that surprise you?” he asked softly.
“Because I assumed you would say . . . no.” That was only partway true. She had been thinking of Archeron and all the times he disapproved of her actions. All the times she’d had to fight tooth and nail for her opinions to matter.
Had to fight for him to listen to her. Not talk over her. Not explain over and over how she knew nothing of his world and how he knew best.
Really listen and let her be heard.
That experience had prepared her to battle for Stolas’s approval.
A wry half-grin tempered the hard line of Stolas’s mouth. “Would you have listened if I had disagreed?”
“No.”
The chuckle that left his lips was soft, almost wicked, and inexplicably made her blush. “Then that’s why.”
“Because I would have left anyway?”
“Because finding the painting is obviously so important to you that you would risk going alone, and what is important to you is important to all of us. We rise and fall together, Haven. That is the only way we survive. Although I suggest in the future you remember you are the Goddess-Born and should never answer to anyone, even me.”
His words took hold like nightfall inside her—slowly, and then all at once.
You should never answer to anyone, not even me.
Lips parted, every seemingly plausible reply faded on her tongue as she watched him turn to go.
To go.
“Wait,” she called a little too eagerly. “What about our . . . training?”
Her stomach dropped as he murmured over his shoulder, “not tonight,” without even turning around.
32
Stolas had barely left the table before Xandrian drawled, “Is it just me or does he seem moodier than usual?”
Nasira flashed her teeth at Xandrian. “What did you expect today of all days?”
He shrugged, swirling the untouched wine around in his glass. His golden blond hair was pulled back from his face by a silver ribbon, showing off his elegant brows and perfectly rounded cheekbones. “I mean, it’s been hundreds and hundreds of years since the coup. I assumed the anniversary of the event would become just another day after, say, the second or third century.”
Goddess Above, was today the day Morgryth took over Shadoria?
“Why don’t I force you to push a blade through your mother’s heart,” Nasira whispered, voice strangely emotionless, “but slowly, so you get to watch her every expression, see her fear and pain and sadness as she dies knowing her children are all dead or enslaved? Then we can see how long your grief lasts.”
The entire table quieted. Even the breeze seemed to die. Icy fingers wrapped around Haven’s heart. She couldn’t imagine watching her parents and siblings die in front of her to that depraved monster, but to be forced to end their lives . . . to have the memory of the act ingrained inside your soul . . . that was beyond horrifying.
No wonder Stolas was upset.
Unfortunately, the only person who didn’t seem to empathize was Xandrian. “Considering my mother is now a ferocious creature with gills and an appetite for fish heads and sailors, I very much doubt my mourning period would be a protracted affair.”
Bell’s chair scraped the stone floor as he placed his napkin on the table and stood. “You know, Xandrian, I used to admire you. I thought . . . I thought you were everything I aspired to be.”