The halls of the A’kori palace are eerie in their stillness, as the weight of the evening falls like a thick drape. Such a quiet is that of mourners observing a funeral pyre that declares the ending of an age. And so it is an end. One that will birth a new beginning for Terr.

My hands grip the marble window ledge, knuckles white from straining as I gaze out from within. Fire dances above the tree line. My vision blurs with tears, ushered by fine tendrils of smoke blown in on the sea breeze. The flames consuming A’kori flicker in hues that might hint at the coming sun were it not for the moon hanging high in the midnight sky. Mournful screams from the city’s inhabitance fall upon my ears, stoking the furnace of rage within me, even as a cool ache begins to settle in beneath my sternum.

“Xeyvian.” The silk of her voice sends a shiver up my spine, stirring to life the fading embers of my heart.

I sigh, leaning into her touch as she steps up behind me, hand gliding over my shoulder. I inhale her scent and close my eyes. A vision of star flowers, glowing with moonlight, is etched into my mind, pulling at a memory I struggle to recall. A memory of pale gossamer, lost among vines of red blooms.

“Mi’ajna.” I greet her, my hand covering hers, before following the line of her delicate arm until my fingers find themselves in her cascade of raven hair. I fist the hair at the nape of her neck, and she smiles. A smile I return before bringing her lips to mine.

She steps into me, the soft form of her body pressing against my own. I find that I am unable to stifle my desire, even as the city burns. She opens for me, head tilted back as a near purr escapes her lips. Her hands glide down my sides, and she grips my tunic. The stroke of her fingers, the fire in her eyes when she breaks from me, every bit of what she conveys is a promise of what is to come in the private moments before dawn.

Her red, velvet lips turn up in a smile as she looks at me and asks, “What will you do, my love?”

My jaw tenses as I consider her question. As I consider every traitor that fled the palace tonight before I could call the oaths and command them to remain by my side. I shove down the weight of their betrayal, wishing that they had stayed long enough to understand what must be done.

Toren and Riah I may have had to persuade, but never did I expect Awri and Riesh to turn from me so easily. Not when I need them, when Terr needs them. Not while A’kori burns.

The toppled remnants of the masque are strewn about the room in an array of shattered crystal and wilting blooms. Glancing behind me, I observe the few faces that remain, as well as those that I have treasured but not seen for an age.

Every set of eyes is on me, waiting expectantly for the command that will shape a new future for Terr, for the Vatruke. Every set but one. Nix plates a small sliver of chocolate cake, licking a dab of frosting from his thumb before he looks back and offers me his familiar smile.

I look to Arda next and then to the mate at his side, long tresses of white falling nearly to her hips. “Sai,” I summon her by name, and she steps toward me.

“Xeyvian?” she replies with a smirk, the deep timber of her tone reverberating through the room.

“You have the Valtoura?” I ask.

Her smile grows as she nods. “Vos has her contained in the brig of a La’tari warship.”

“Good,” I say, “Prepare the ship, and one other. You will take the Valtoura to the Southerlands in Brax and keep her contained at the Vatruke keep until I arrive.”

“Xeyvian.” Sai’s brow dips as she begins to protest. “This is not the time to delay. We have waited more than two hundred years to correct the error of the ancients. What in all of Terr would keep you from traveling with us and rending the power that will see the veils fall?”

“Patience,” I say, “I will meet you there, but first, the La’tari crown is long overdue its recompense.”

Sai’s eyes flick to my mate when she calls her attention, “Ishara.”

Ishara’s gaze darts to Sai and she stiffens so slightly I might have missed it if her hands did not linger on my sides. Her stare breaks from the Vatruke’s only to meet mine when she smiles and says, “Sai is right, we should—”

“I will not hear it,” I interrupt, pinching her chin, my thumb falling against her lips to stifle their movement. She knows I could never refuse her request; I am not strong enough to deny her anything.

“It is a small delay,” I say to her. “But it is necessary. If the veils fall while a mortal king still rules La’tari, it will only mean more feyn lives lost to this needless war.” I turn to Sai when I continue, “Or have you forgotten what exists in La’tari outside of this veil?”

Sai raises her chin defiantly, before she slowly nods her concession and says, “Then there is no time to waste. I will have a ship prepared to depart within the hour. Make yourself ready. I will journey with you, in case you have need of me.”

I dip my chin, though she and I both know that only two souls exist within this veil that have the power to challenge my gift. With the Valtoura secured, there is only one I need to consider.

“Captain,” I say, and a tall feyn male with dark hair and scarred hands steps forward as I continue. “Your report claims that it is the resistance who set the fires in A’kori.” He nods. “And you are certain that Vakesh is among them?”

He clears his throat, hands clasped behind his back when he says, “I have not seen him myself, but the reports I have received by those who knew him are undeniable.”

“Leave him, Xeyvian,” Sai says. “His part in all of this will be resolved the moment the veils fall.”

When I don’t immediately agree she steps toward me and says, “He is not yours to manage. Leave him to Vos.”

I nod hesitantly before turning to the others, “Nix, Arda. You will travel with your sister and help her keep the Valtoura contained.”

Arda only glances to his mate briefly, a ripple of hesitation defining the line of his jaw, before leaving the room. Nix follows behind with a wicked grin on his face, discarding the empty plate before disappearing into the hall.

“Come, mi’ajna,” I whisper, my lips brushing the shell of Ishara’s ear. “There are still hours before the next tide.”

She smiles at me knowingly before she looks to Sai and says, “We will be prepared to leave by dawn.”

I should have more care for my people. I know I should. But when Ishara takes my hand and leads me toward my chambers, there is nothing left in my mind but the thought of how I might see to every desire that will spill from her mouth.

Her laugh raises the hair on my arms, and I smile when she darts into my chamber playfully. But when I turn from the corridor, entering the room behind her, it is not the sight of Ishara that pulls my lips up into a wide smile. It is that of a female I thought I would never see again.

It has been nearly two hundred years, and she stands before me unchanged. She is just as I recall. A wild, untamed braid is draped over her shoulder, falling to her waist with a pliant vine woven through it. Her eyes are the clearest blue I’ve ever known, like that of the brilliant Braxian streams. Her feet are bare against the cold marble, her gown of pure white melding with the porcelain of her skin as if she might be an apparition. I have always wondered if she had been born more fea than feyn.

“Xeyvian,” she says, moving from where she stands by the fire, the light patter of her feet but a whisper in the quiet of the room.

“Ur.” Her name comes out under my breath, and the smile that parts her lips nearly brings me to my knees.

I rush to embrace my oldest friend, cradling her petite form so that her head rests against my sternum as I lay my cheek on top of her head.

“Foc, I missed you,” I push out.

“I’ve missed you more,” she replies, pulling me tightly against her.

I wipe a tear from her cheek when she pulls away, leaving her hands against my chest. My eyes drift along the curve of her perfect feyn ears. Unlike those of the other Vatruke, hers do not bare the leaf like edge that boasts of stolen power.

“Will you excuse us for a moment?” Ur directs the request to Ishara, who only hesitates briefly before moving from the room without question.

My brow dips curiously as I watch my mate depart. I cannot help but wonder what reason Ur could possibly have for dismissing her.

I turn back to my friend, the evidence of my curiosity written upon my brow when I begin, “Ur what—”

She gives no warning before her gift rushes through me in an agonizing flood, and I can’t help the startled shout that flees my lungs. It is not lack of trust that brings my gift to battle against her own, only surprise. For among the Vatruke, it is only Ur whom I have always trusted with my life.

“Xeyvian.” Her brow draws down in determination when she begs a plea I do not understand. “Let me in.”

“Why...?” I trail off in a grunt of pain when she presses in with her gift again, just as Nix’s voice comes from the hall.

“There you are, mi’ajna,” he says, sauntering into the room, Ishara in his wake.

He looks between us, noting her hands against my chest as he clicks his tongue disapprovingly. Ur’s hands drop to her sides, and Nix’s lips kick up at the edges as he observes her like the predator he has become.

“Couldn’t wait to see him, could you?” Nix drawls with palpable jealousy, just as he always has. I can hardly blame him. What exists between them now is a phantom of the love they bore each other long ago. Time is a thief of many things. Precious memories and blinding love among the dearest to degrade by its passing.

“It’s time to go home,” he says, gripping Ur’s forearm and pulling her out of my reach. “But don’t worry, mi’dair’a, Xeyvian will never leave us again.”

The smile he gives me when he says it raises the hair on the back of my neck. And it takes every ounce of self-control I have within me not to lunge at the male when Ur stumbles over her own feet as he drags her out of the room. There is no pleading look in her eyes, there never has been. Only acceptance for the path she chose long ago.

Ishara takes Ur’s place in front of me, her hand on my arm when she says, “You worry too much, my love. Nix will take care of them all, just as he always has.”

With a great amount of effort, I tear my eyes from the door, the delicate fall of Ur’s footsteps are quickly drowned out by the heavy clap of Nix’s boots striding down the corridor. I palm my chest, the ache of my mating bond so strange when she stands before me.

“Come,” she says, threading her fingers with my own and leading me toward the bed.

She tugs me closer, guiding my hand to her waist as she looks up at me through thick lashes and says, “Show me what it is that you desire.”

The moment the words leave her, every thought of Ur, of A’kori, is stripped from my mind and I step into her, pinning her against the end of the bed. I lean down, my lips brushing against hers as my hand grips her waist, while the other cups her jaw.

“What do you want, Xeyvian?” she whispers sweetly. “Tell me.”

“Only you,” I admit, capturing her mouth with my own and tearing her gown before letting it fall to the floor.

And as if the fires could mimic our passion, A’kori continues to burn.