“I saw you the other day.”
Avery’s face falls. .
“Who were they?”
The once confident man before him fades. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“The dozen or so people you brought here on this very ship,” Rydan clarifies, his tone razor sharp. “I saw you from the woods. You huddled everyone together and then had them break off, one by one.”
Avery just looks at him, stunned.
“Who were they?” Rydan repeats.
He fumbles for words. “They’re, well—they’re just some people who needed a ride to Lonia.”
Not good enough. “Where’d they come from?”
Avery presses his mouth into a firm line, his eyes narrowing. “Why are you so interested in people you’ve never even met? Shouldn’t you be focused on your own relationships?” He moves his head from left to right, scanning the area. “Speaking of, where’s Vira?”
“You’re avoiding my question.” His voice doesn’t waver. “Who were they and where did they come from?”
Avery takes a few steps forward, stopping just inches from Rydan’s face. “That’s none of your concern.”
Rydan’s voice comes out as a whisper, speaking the one truth neither of them can ignore. “They’re illusié, aren’t they?”
Avery’s eyes go frank and cold.
Rydan already knows the answer to his next question, but he asks it anyway. “You are too, aren’t you?”
Avery shifts uncomfortably between his feet.
“You know, this would go a whole lot faster—and be a lot less painful—if you’d just open up and talk to me.” A sharp pain shoots through his chest as he recalls that he used to say the exact same thing to Arden after their Cruex training sessions. It’d usually worked and she’d spilled whatever was on her mind.
Hopefully it’ll work on Avery, too.
Avery steps back, studying him for a moment before saying, “I’m only telling you this because of my trust in Vira. If she’s chosen to spend time with you”—he looks Rydan up and down—“then I have to assume it’s for good reason.”
Rydan ignores the less-than-subtle jab and waits for him to continue.
“Yes, I am illusié, and so are the people I brought here.” He lifts his arms and shrugs. “Is that what you hoped to hear?”
Rydan shifts his gaze from Avery’s face so that he’s looking just past his shoulder, out at the vast ocean. The color of the sky and the water match almost perfectly, essentially eliminating any distinction between the two along the horizon. He prolongs the pause, choosing his next words carefully. “The way you brought them here—out of sight, away from the public—it suggests that they’re fugitives of some sort. That they’re not supposed to be here.”
Avery shakes his head. “On the contrary, they are supposed to be here. This is their home.”
“Then why the secrecy?”
He sighs. “Because there’s a good chance I’m going to have to take them back.”
“Back where?” Rydan presses, feeling his frustration rise with every cryptic answer.
Avery looks skyward as a dark cloud rolls overhead, then observes the shore and the forest with furrowed brows. The sudden shift in his demeanor is more than noticeable. “Come on, let’s talk about this inside.”
Rydan follows him along the edge of the deck, plodding down the stairs that lead to the galley. Avery pulls a nearby crate out from underneath a cabinet, gesturing for Rydan to do the same. “So?”
“We’ll talk about the people I brought here in a moment, but first I need to know . . . what’s your ability?”
The question hits Rydan right between the eyes. “I’m sorry?”
“Your illusié ability. What is it?”
“Oh.” He lifts up his hands so that his palms are facing him. “I’m an Ignitor.”
Avery sits back on his crate, amused.
“What about you?”
Avery mimics the motion of Rydan’s hands with one glaringly obvious difference—the flames dancing at his fingertips. “Looks to me like we’re cut from the same cloth.”
CERYLIA JARETH
“HOW COULD SHE possibly have found out?” Cerylia paces back and forth across the White Room. “I’ve been so careful. I can’t even remember the last time I—” She stops in her tracks, her gaze resting on Delwynn’s perplexed face. She knows she’s been rambling on for hours about this, refusing to leave the room like a stubborn child would, but logic defies this situation.
“Your Greatness, Opal’s abilities have only gotten stronger since she’s arrived. She’s sharp, clever, and adaptable. Frankly, I don’t know how she didn’t find out sooner.”
His response does little to placate her. In fact, it does just the opposite. “Please fetch me some tea.”
“I can have one of the serv—”
She shoots him a pointed glare before he can finish his sentence. Without another word, he bows and exits the room. She waits until the doors click into place to indicate that she is truly and utterly alone. Her throne calls to her, but she can’t sit at a time like this.
And so she paces.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
The tea arrives too soon.
Delwynn wheels the cart over to the window, only to push it back the way he came as the queen changes direction. “Your Greatness, if you’d take a seat, I can serve you properly.”
Cerylia halts, then turns on her heel. She knows he’s just doing his job—doing exactly what she’s asked of him—but in her current state, she’d like nothing more than to flip the cart over and bring the dishes and flatware crashing to the ground. As titillating as that would be, it would also be wildly inappropriate; and so she subdues the thought and retreats to her throne.
Sensing her growing irritation, Delwynn works quickly to prepare the tea. The cup and saucer shake in his hands, the scalding liquid nearly sloshing over the sides as he climbs the steps to serve her.
She eases into her seat the moment the brew hits her lips. It soothes her from the inside, her nerves calming, tone softening. “Thank you.”
Delwynn bows his head before walking back down the steps. He waits for her to finish before saying, “Perhaps it’d be wise to just speak with Opal, tell her what she already knows. You confided in her once before and it brought you the truth about Dane . . . ” His voice tapers off at her deepening frown. “She is a loyal ally, Your Greatness. I wouldn’t take that lightly, nor would I take it for granted.”
Before she can formulate a response, the doors to the White Room burst open. Startled, Cerylia jumps from her seat as Delwynn stumbles backward, nearly tripping over the tea cart. She regains her composure, setting her steely gaze on the guard before her. “What is the meaning of this interruption?”