“Sure. If it makes you more comfortable, we can discuss how your mother has perpetuated a lie that’s cost thousands of Poromish lives, some of which your own sister is responsible for taking.”
My brows rise. Did she really just—
Mira catches my eye, confirming that she did. “I was going to remind you that it’s probably bad manners to stab our hostess, but you know what?” She shrugs. “Fuck it. We don’t need a luminary.”
Cat blinks at Mira.
“Stop being a wretch, Cat.” Syrena steps into the doorway, dressed in a navy-blue formal tunic that’s hemmed asymmetrically to a higher line in the front and embroidered with gold feathers. “Nice to see you off your dragon, Sorrengail. Is Riorson hiding somewhere in there, or did he actually let you out of his sight?”
“Good to see you, Syrena.” A smile curves my mouth at her teasing tone, and the fire in my stomach dissipates a little. “And he does get a bit protective, doesn’t he?”
“He wouldn’t be if he thought you were strong enough to stand at his side,” Cat counters.
Never mind. It flares brighter than ever, hot, nauseating, and annoyingly strong.
Syrena levels a look at Cat that almost makes me pity her.
Almost.
“Syrena, this is my sister, Mira.” I change the subject.
Syrena’s mouth tightens as she studies Mira. “Your reputation precedes you. I had friends at Strythmore.”
Well, shit. From tense to…tenser.
“I have no remorse for winning battles.” Mira sheathes the next dagger at her waist in plain sight. “And if you’re Syrena Cordella, then your reputation reaches across the border as well.”
“Dining amid hundreds of fliers that root for your death, and you choose to wear a gown?” Syrena arches a brow. “Where is the shrewd judgment I’ve heard so much about?”
“I can kill just as easily in a gown as leathers. Want to see?” Only a fool would call Mira’s expression a smile.
Syrena laughs, her shoulders shaking. “Ah, I see why little Sorrengail is so tough if she had to grow up with you. Let’s get going. The men are already there.”
I shoot Mira a look once the fliers’ backs are turned, and she shrugs unapologetically.
We move into the hallway, and regret stabs deep at my choice of gowns when I see Cat’s in the light. Her hair is pinned in an intricate style and she’s wearing a bold, red silk that leaves her shoulders bare and matches the color she’s painted on her lips.
Suddenly, I feel a little washed out.
Doubt makes my steps unsteady. Maybe I should have gone with color. Maybe she was telling the truth and Xaden is sick of all the black. Maybe she knows him better than I do.
“You all right?” Mira asks as the fliers lead us down the hall, making us the most unlikely foursome to ever walk the Continent.
“Yes.” I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the feeling. What the hell is wrong with me? I never judge myself against other women when it comes to how we look. How we fight? Sure. Ride? Definitely. But nothing ever as shallow as…appearance.
Being pretty doesn’t save you at Basgiath.
“I hear you have an older brother,” Mira says to Syrena when we reach the first staircase.
I keep the marble bannister in a death grip as we start down. The last thing I’m going to do is trip and fall in front of Cat.
“You’re thinking of Drake,” Syrena says over her shoulder. “Same last name, but he’s our cousin, and come to think of it, you’re just his type. He likes women who might actually kill him.”
“Too bad I don’t go for gryphon fliers,” Mira responds as we round the corner to the next flight of stairs.
“Yeah, he’d probably draw the line at a dragon rider.” Syrena laughs, but it’s short-lived. “He’s with the nightwing drift in the north, along the Braevick border.”
I don’t know their unit terminology, but the Braevick border means he’s on the front line.
We make it to the middle terrace—the one we first arrived at this afternoon— and they turn left, away from the winding pool of water and past a line of guards.
“Did Zara not know how to attend your hair?” Cat asks with a pitying glance back at me as we approach a guarded set of double doors. “Surely, she could have come up with something a little more refined than just leaving it down like that. I thought you always wore it up in case of a fight?”
How does she know that? I’ve had enough.
“It would be a pity to kill her now. I’m hunting ten minutes away and I’d miss the show,” Tairn says.
Power surges within me.
“Control it. Now,” Tairn demands, all trace of sarcasm gone.
Swallowing hard, my fingernails biting into my palms, I fight the urge to blast her. What is it about Cat that brings out the irrational in me? “How sweet of you to worry about me, but you’re not the one I’m picking a fight with tonight,” I assure Cat.
“With Xaden?” Her eyes narrow, then drip with false sympathy. “If you don’t already know that he’s not the kind of man who gets flustered or loses control, then there’s really no hope for you. Save yourself the energy, because he’ll simply think any fight you pick is childish.”
Shit. She’s right. What am I doing? Xaden doesn’t get flustered, and definitely not by me.
Wood groaning as it splits, then shatters. The sound of daggers clattering to the floor. The feel of my heart pounding, my breath stuttering as bliss settles in the marrow of my bones. “I’ve never lost control like that.” The flash of memory rocks me to my core, clearing my head just long enough to breathe around the insufferable jealousy I feel toward a woman I don’t even know.
The guards nod at the fliers and move to open the doors.
“Give it a rest.” Syrena’s tone sharpens at her sister. “You’re all of a year older than Violet, and it’s been longer than that since you two were together. He’s just a man, but she’s the best weapon we have against the dark wielders.”
“Are you all right?” Mira asks, her worried gaze skimming my face.
“No,” I whisper. “But I don’t know what’s wrong, either.”
The doors swing open, and we walk into the largest dining room I’ve ever seen. The glass doors that line the back wall are propped open to the terrace despite the threatening clouds darkening the sky. A humid evening breeze flickers the candles along the table as the guards shut the door behind us. There must be over fifty people at the long, ornately decorated table that runs the length of the space.
And every single one of them has turned to look at the four of us.
My gaze finds Xaden’s in under a second, and it’s not because he’s seated at the center of the table, or because he’s one of only two men dressed in black, or even because he’s turned around as if he sensed me coming—which he probably did. I locate him within a heartbeat because he’s the center of my gravity.
As pissed as I am that he lectured me, that he refused to bring me, that there are years of history behind both of us we haven’t discussed, that the tunic he’s walking toward me in isn’t just tailored to perfection but obviously made for him, it doesn’t change the fact he’s a fucking magnet for my heart.