The god of wisdom is the trickiest to placate. Hedeon seems to only answer those who do not pray to him.
—Major Rorilee’s Guide to Appeasing the Gods, Second Edition
The dining room is just as monochromatic as the rest of the house, and the three people seated across the circular table would blend into the pale green wall entirely if not for their heads. Nairi, Roslyn, and Faris are dressed in what my father described as sacred ceremonial robes. They look a little too close to scribe robes for comfort, even if they’re pastel green and their hoods aren’t up.
Out of the ten people at the table, Talia seems the most on edge sitting next to Faris, and Xaden somehow appears completely in his element at my side. Gone are the quick flashes of smiles and tender touches.
The man sitting next to me in his freshly laundered uniform more resembles the one I met at the parapet on Conscription Day than the one I fell in love with. He’s so cold I half expect the temperature around us to plummet.
Five servers are spread among us, each with a hand on a silver dome covering our plates. My stomach churns as Faris flicks his wrist. The servers respond to the nonverbal command, lifting the domes covering our dinner.
“Don’t be a head. Don’t be a head. Don’t be a head,” I chant under my breath, but from the sideways glance Aaric sends from my right, I’m guessing I’m not as quiet as I think. Thankfully, my plate steams with roasted chicken, potatoes, and some kind of stuffing mixed with what appears to be cauliflower. No heads.
“And we’re served,” Faris announces in the common language.
“We thank Hedeon for this meal,” Nairi says, also using the common language. “For the peace in our land, the wisdom he sees fit to gift, and the satisfaction of thriving relationships. We offer to him private confession of our day’s error in sacrifice. May only our minds know hunger.”
“May only our minds know hunger,” the Hedotics repeat, and I’m somehow not surprised when Aaric doesn’t miss a beat.
“Let’s eat,” Faris suggests, picking up his crystal goblet teeming with chilled arinmint tea and gesturing in my direction. “And thank you for your gift. My Talia is quite delighted to serve it.”
“I’m happy to bring her joy,” I reply, and an awkward silence follows as he holds his goblet aloft like he’s waiting for something.
“She’s welcome.” Xaden takes a deep drink of his tea and sets it down a little harder than necessary.
Faris’s smile slips, but then he drinks, too. We all do, but it doesn’t ease the awkwardness as we begin to eat.
“How do you find our city?” Roslyn asks, her brown eyes crinkling at the corners when she smiles.
“Hard to say, considering we haven’t seen it.” Mira plucks a lemon slice off the edge of her plate and tosses it into the glass.
“Hopefully we can change that tomorrow,” Roslyn replies, studying Mira like she’s found a worthy opponent for a chess match.
“After we pass your test?” I ask. “That’s what this is, right? We’re not in a formal setting as is custom, nor are there witnesses, but you’re testing us.”
Cat sets her silverware on her plate, but Aaric digs into his chicken, completely unfazed.
“Talia will serve as witness.” Nairi slices into a potato. “And we thought an informal setting would be best given the…delicate nature of relations.”
Talia’s shoulders curve inward.
“You mean in case I embarrass my mother in a public setting with my lack of wisdom.” Xaden leans back in his chair and extends his arm over the back of mine. “Is that your fear, Mom?”
“No.” Talia’s gaze jumps to Xaden, and her spine straightens. “My reticence about tonight is due to my own shame, in that I asked Faris for a personal favor so that you might be more comfortable during the conversation. I don’t worry about your intelligence, Xaden. You were always a bright boy.” Her hand trembles as she reaches for her goblet.
“Tell me something. When you die, do your dragons?” Faris asks, changing the subject.
“Depends on the dragon,” I answer. “But usually, no.”
“Gryphons do,” Cat adds. “They bond for life.”
Faris blinks. “To tie your life to another’s, especially something as frail and easily breakable as a human, seems a foolhardy thing to do.” His brow furrows. “You respect your gryphon for this choice?”
“I respect her for who she is and trust whatever decisions she makes,” Cat replies. “Gryphons and their sacrifice to bond humans have allowed us to win the Great War and to survive centuries of war after that.”
“Spoken like a royal.” Nairi’s eyes narrow on Cat. “Talia says you are in line for the throne of Poromiel.”
“If Queen Maraya does not choose to have children, then my uncle will rule and eventually my sister will be an excellent queen.” She picks up her fork and knife in a manner that dares them to argue.
Nairi’s gaze flickers from Cat to Xaden to Aaric. “So many young royals here. So many potential alliances. Why are you not contracted to one another? It seems…foolish not to forge futures and provide heirs who could unite your kingdoms.”
The chicken goes dry in my mouth, but Mira shoots me a can you believe these people look that steadies my heartbeat.
“My brother will be king,” Aaric says, slicing through his chicken like this is any normal dinner. “Though a horrible one. Heirs and alliances aren’t my concern. I will fight in this war, most likely die, and do so knowing that I protected others.”
“Honor has never been the equal of wisdom.” Nairi sighs, then looks to Xaden. “And your excuse? We received news months ago that your title had been restored to you.”
Which means they have current information. They knew about the rebellion. About Fen’s execution. I breathe deeply to help cool the instant, scorching anger that burns up my throat and level a less-than-friendly look on Talia. She knew and she left him there, didn’t even go back.
Xaden stabs a piece of potato with his fork but keeps his arm around my chair. “Well then as you know, I’m a duke, not a prince.”
“Tyrrendor is the largest province of Navarre,” Talia tells the triumvirate, rushing to her son’s defense. “Much of its territory lies beyond their wards, so its allegiance to the kingdom has always been…weaker than the others. It would not surprise me to find that in the course of this war, Tyrrendor regains its sovereignty, which is why a lifetime alliance”—her smile fades, and she glances at Xaden and me—“was secured. But you’re not…”
Xaden chews slowly, then swallows as everyone stares at him. “I don’t owe you an explanation about my love life.”
Talia flinches, then sets her hands in her lap, but her focus strays to Cat.
“For gods’ sake,” Cat mutters, abandoning her silverware again. “I said yes, he said no. He met Violet, and now they’re…them. They happen to be two of the most powerful riders on the Continent, so in that way, his alliance with her is perhaps wiser. The two of them could break and reshape the Continent if they chose to. And besides—I’m with someone else now.”
My chest constricts in stunned gratitude, but she only rolls her eyes when I look her way.
“Breaking such an advantageous alliance is…” Nairi shakes her head at Xaden. “Unwise.”
Oh shit.
Dinner churns in my stomach. They’re not judging our intelligence; they’re dissecting life choices.
“But easily remedied,” Faris says, looking at Nairi and Roslyn. “It would show great wisdom and dedication to their respective titles were they to contract for three…say four years?”
Roslyn nods. “Long enough to secure an heir for Tyrrendor and put Poromish blood in the line.”
I’m going to be sick.
Garrick huffs a sarcastic laugh. “If bloodlines equaled allegiance, we wouldn’t be sitting here under interrogation.” He glances to Talia at his right. “He is your son, right?”
She chugs the tea to the bottom of the glass.
“A contract marriage would be most wise,” Nairi agrees with a nod, ignoring Garrick’s words. “We could have the legalities performed in the morning at temple, and then hear what will, no doubt, be a plea for our assistance in their war tomorrow afternoon.”
Wood creaks behind me. “Draw up the papers,” Xaden says, gripping my chair.
Bile rises in my throat. What the fuck is he doing?
Cat’s head snaps in our direction, Mira and Garrick both gawk, and Aaric continues eating.
I want the damned bond back now.
“Ah, there we go!” Faris claps twice. “What an excellent decision. Shall we go with three or four years?”
“Lifetime. Anything less is unacceptable.” Xaden slides his hand to the back of my neck. “And her full name for the papers is Violet Sorrengail. Two Rs.”
I’m torn between throwing a dagger at his chest and kissing the shit out of him.
Mira stifles a grin.
“My last name is tied to the title, but we could take yours,” Xaden offers, and his eyes soften just slightly when they lock on mine.
“You could hyphenate,” Garrick suggests. “Or combine? Riorgail? Sorrenson?”
“That is not what they meant,” I whisper at Xaden.
“I don’t give a fuck what they meant,” he responds at full volume, and his fingers drift up and down the back of my neck as he faces the triumvirate. “You may question our knowledge, test our honor or dedication as riders and fliers. Serve up riddles, fake scenarios, chess games for all I care. But if you think I’m going to leave the only woman I’ve ever loved to contract marriage with a woman I do not get along with, then the lack of wisdom is yours, not mine.”
“It’s only three years,” Talia begs, panic rising in her eyes. “And then you’d be back together. Surely the potential of our alliance, of sharing our knowledge would make that sacrifice worthwhile. Think of Tyrrendor.”
Xaden leans forward, and his hand slips from my neck. “You cannot contemplate the things I have sacrificed for Tyrrendor. I lost my father, my freedom, my very—” He cuts himself off and I glance at the floor, half expecting to see shadows swirling at his feet. “Violet is the only choice I’ve made for myself. I won’t sacrifice her for three years. Not for a single day. You would know that if you hadn’t abandoned me, if you knew me at all.”
“I didn’t want to leave you!” She shakes her head, and Faris’s brows knit in disapproval. “Your father wouldn’t let me take you—”
“Do not speak of my father. I am the one who watched him die.” Xaden points to the relic that stretches up his neck. “You left a child to face down a war you knew was coming, on a continent you knew was infested with dark wielders.”
“I couldn’t take you,” she repeats. “You are Tyrrendor’s heir.”
“You could have stayed,” he retorts, and my heart aches at the ice in his tone that I know masks his true hurt. “You could have been my mother.”
I slide my hand onto his knee, wishing it was possible to take some of his pain.
“They would have executed me right next to your father, or in secret as was done to Mairi’s husband. I did what I thought best!” she argues.
“For you.” A mocking corner of his mouth lifts. “I’ll admit, you’ve done well for yourself. Who needs to be the dowager duchess of Tyrrendor when you can be the wife to a member of the triumvirate? Mother of two? Live on a peaceful beach, in a peaceful city, on an isle that serves no greater good than its own.”
“This heated show of emotion during an interview is unbecoming,” Nairi mutters, then forks the last bite of her chicken.
“The interview ended before it began,” Mira says, twirling the stem of her goblet between her fingers. “You don’t care that Violet is the smartest person in this room. Or that Xaden tore apart Basgiath to save her, then returned to fight for Navarre because it was the right thing to do. Or that Cat lives in the most hostile environment possible to help her kingdom. You don’t care that Aaric had to step into the light he hates so we’d have a royal representative, or that Garrick has stood by Xaden’s side no matter the cost. We proved our lack of wisdom by coming here in the first place. You were never going to share your knowledge or ally yourself with us.”
“True.” Nairi pulls a jade stone from her robe and sets it in front of her plate. “And the first true piece of wisdom spoken here, which piques my interest. Now tell me, what do you think of our city?”
Mira glances at me, and I get the message. My turn.
“From the air, it seems laid out perfectly.” I sit up straight. “It’s a collection of exquisitely proportioned neighborhoods, all with central meeting places for markets and gatherings.”
“It is perfect,” Roslyn agrees, rolling her own jade stone over her knuckles.
“And cruel.” I give my assessment with a flat tone Xaden should be proud of. He covers my hand with his and laces our fingers together.
Roslyn grasps the stone and places her hand in her lap. “Please, do go on.” It’s more of a threat than a request.
“You razed an existing city to build what stands now, did you not?”
“We improved our capital, yes.” Roslyn’s eyes narrow. “The smaller towns should have their rejuvenations complete by the end of the decade.”
“And in doing so, you destroyed the historical base of the city, homes your citizens had lived in for generations. Yes, it’s beautiful and efficient, but it also shows your intolerance for things that are not.” I swallow hard. “I find it perplexing, too, that you don’t seem to have a port.”
“It is unwise to venture over water when we know next to nothing about what lurks within its depths—” Faris flusters.
They’re…aquaphobic?
Roslyn holds up her hand. “Are we supposed to take criticism from a group who doesn’t seem to know the name of their own continent?”
A deep breath disturbs my ribs painfully, and Xaden’s hand tightens.
Amaralis. That’s what both other isles have called us. Of course. Every other isle worships one member of the pantheon, and though we celebrate all, we hold one above all others. Amari.
“It’s Amaralys, according to ancient royal records, though I believe Poromish records called it Amelekis. The only thing our kingdoms ever agreed on was calling it the Continent after the Great War,” Aaric says, finally putting his silverware down after cleaning his plate. “Rather arrogant of us to simply refer to it as the Continent, as though there aren’t others beyond the sea, but we’ve been torn apart by war for so long it’s hard for anyone to think that we are one…anything.”
For fuck’s sake, what else is Aaric holding on to?
“You’re rather quiet for someone who seems to know so much,” Nairi remarks.
“I prefer keeping my mouth shut until I understand the rules of whatever game is aiming for my throat. Helps me judge the character and acumen of my opponent.” He looks at each of them in turn. “Honestly, I find you lacking, and I’m not sure I want you for an ally. You have no army and you’re stingy with the very thing that should be free to all—knowledge.”
“And yet you seek our favor?” Nairi’s eyebrows shoot up, and she blinks rapidly.
“Me?” Aaric shakes his head. “No. I’m just here because Halden can’t control his temper and Violet didn’t just bond one of our most terrifying battle dragons, but also an irid—the seventh breed. Dark wielders are spreading. People are dying as we sit here. Every day we’re gone could change the battle map in ways we can’t begin to predict. And my kingdom is full of assholes who won’t take refugees under king’s orders, so tracking down the irids is our best hope of not only adding to our numbers but maybe figuring out how we beat the venin six hundred years ago.
“If you fit into that solution, with all your wisdom, then great. If not, it seems all we’re accomplishing here is dragging out family resentment and judgment, which we get plenty of at home. If it were up to me, we would thank you for the meal and get out before we discover what you do to people who don’t pass your test.”
“You are the highest member of nobility in your party,” Roslyn notes, shifting in her seat with a grimace. “Is it not up to you?”
“Nobility doesn’t play into rank, at least not for me.” Aaric glances my way. “Andarna chose Violet, and though there are four superiorly ranked officers with us, it’s Violet’s mission. She’s in command. And with the exception of her rather questionable taste in men, I’ve trusted Violet’s wisdom since childhood.”
Our eyes meet, and I shoot him a small smile.
The door opens, and servants pour in. The room falls quiet as they remove our dinner plates and disappear back into what I assume is the kitchen.
“You are truly bonded to a seventh breed?” Roslyn asks me.
“I am.” I raise my chin. “She was left behind when her kind left the Cont—Amaralis, and we seek them. Now, are you interested in speaking to us about an alliance?”
“I am curious.” Roslyn sets her stone in front of her plate.
“Two down. You’re doing well.” Faris grins. “Unfortunately, it must be a unanimous decision and I’m a little more…shrewd with my approach. Tell me, if you truly seek knowledge, why do you not worship Hedeon? Why would you not take up residence here like others who seek wisdom instead of allyship? Our libraries are unparalleled, our colleges centers for learning and culture, not death.”
“I was taught that wisdom is never to be prayed for, but earned, and as much as I would revel in your library, I’m not interested unless it contains information on the venin.” I shrug. “I’m not going to hide on an isle while the people I love are condemned to death by draining.”
The door opens behind Faris again, and a server leans in. “Sir, are you ready for dessert?”
“We are,” Faris answers, and the man returns to the kitchen.
“Please tell me you’ve done something with all that chocolate Talia has been stockpiling for weeks. I swear, she’s bought every shipment that’s come in, and you know how rare it is,” Nairi teases, but a second later, her mouth purses and she adjusts in her chair. “Though I’m not sure I’m feeling up for sweets tonight.”
“Me either,” Roslyn agrees, holding her stomach.
“What kind of information?” Faris prompts me, his smile sharpening. “A weapon to destroy them, perhaps?”
“She already is one,” Xaden remarks as the door opens, and Faris’s eyes narrow on me slightly.
Servers stream in, then place our dishes on the table in front of us.
Oh…shit. A silver fork rests beside a perfectly sliced piece of chocolate cake.
Xaden’s hand goes lax on top of mine.
“Is it still your favorite?” Talia’s voice pitches up with excitement. “I know your birthday isn’t until the end of the month, but you’re here now.”
Xaden stares at the cake like Halden stared at Anna’s head.
“Phyllis,” Faris calls out to one of the servants as they file back into the kitchen. “It seems the four of us are missing our forks.”
“Of course. I’ll fetch them immediately,” the woman replies before the door shuts.
“Please, don’t wait on our account.” Faris waves at us. “Chocolate’s an uncommon treat this far from Deverelli.”
And she’s been hoarding it for weeks. My mind begins to race.
Weeks. She knew we were coming.
I prefer a Deverelli approach to an alliance. That’s what Queen Marlis said.
Courtlyn must have informed the other isles.
Talia knew Xaden was coming.
“If you don’t like it anymore, that’s all right.” Talia’s smile trembles. “I’ve been away from you longer than I was with you, and I know tastes can change. You’re an adult now, after all. But just in case yours hasn’t, we tried four recipes, and I think this one is closest to what we had in Aretia. You used to sneak into the kitchens when the cooks were baking—”
“I remember.” Xaden drags his gaze to meet his mother’s. “And it’s still my favorite.”
That scene on the beach where she acted so surprised was all…fake. My stomach sours. This is wrong. Something’s wrong. I’ve missed a detail I shouldn’t have.
Her smile brightens, and Faris wraps his arm around her shoulder.
“You did well, my love.” He kisses her cheek.
My gaze moves to Mira’s, and her brow knits. She slides her hand backward on the table, and my heart begins to pound. We’re being played. Talia knew Xaden was coming, which means Faris knew…and he’s more shrewd in his approach to testing us.
The four of them conveniently don’t have forks.
Something’s in the cake.
Xaden reaches for his fork, and my fingers dig into his knee. His gaze snaps to mine, two lines forming between his brows.
I shake my head, then whip out my right and snatch the fork from Aaric’s grip.
Cat drops her silverware, and it rattles on the plate.
“This tastes just like home,” Garrick says, lifting another bite to his mouth.
Oh Amari, he’s already eaten a third of it.
“Stop!” My heartbeat trips over itself.
Garrick pauses, then sets the forkful on the plate. “He said we could start—” He blinks once, then wobbles. “I feel…I feel—” Time seems to slow as his eyes flutter shut and he collapses, falling toward the table.
“Garrick!” Xaden shouts, shoving away from the table as Aaric lunges, catching Garrick’s head before it can hit the surface.
Aaric’s gaze swings wildly toward Xaden. “He isn’t breathing!”
