"What happened in the sacred nest?"
He shook his head, still unable to find the words.
"I need to know, Lysander. You must tell me. We need to prepare our people for what happens next."
What would happen next? Would that man come back? Would he bring more magic with him? And if he did, how in Taetanos's name would they stop him? It wasn't a problem he could tackle on his own, no matter how he wished he could.
Xander sighed and met his mother's worried eyes. "Bring Helen, and then we'll talk."
"I'll bring the entire council—"
"No," he cut in, using a voice he didn’t often use with his mother—one that oozed with the authority of a king. Her brows knotted, but she didn’t argue. She stared at him as though seeing her son as a man for the first time. "No one else. Just Helen, and together we'll figure out what to do."
With a nod, Queen Mariam left. As she murmured instructions to the guard stationed outside, Xander sank onto the stool by his balcony and dropped his head into his hand. The weight of so many questions landed heavily on his shoulders. In the city spread out below, a plume of gray smoke still billowed into the sky. Scorch marks marred the streets. Stone houses lay crumbled. In some places, wood burned, a fire they hadn’t yet been able to contain. And buried within the rubble, he knew, were his people—the greatest loss of all. How many had the dragon killed before it flew away? How many souls taken? How many lives cut short?
If not for Cassi, Xander would have been among them. The arrow she'd put in the dragon's eye was the only reason he was still alive. How incredibly stupid he'd been to go charging at the beast like some sort of noble hero, yet how freeing the moment had been too. He'd never felt so defiant and so strong. There'd been no fear, only foolhardy hope. Though he knew he was no mighty warrior, no dragon slayer, in that brief instant before he'd seen Cassi's arrow, he'd felt untouchable, and a part of him longed to feel that way again.
"My prince."
Helen's voice drew him back from the depths, and he lifted his head. "Let's go to the sitting room."
He was off the stool before either woman had a chance to question. They followed silently as he strode across his bedroom and through the archway. Though they sat soon after he closed the door, Xander continued to pace, his feet relentlessly marching toward some unknown destination.
"How many were killed in the dragon attack?"
"Twenty-three," Helen answered solemnly.
"How many injured?"
"Burned? Nearly three dozen. Crushed by rock? Ten, though we still have some areas left to clear. Injured while fighting? Four guards and an old man with more grit than sense."
"What of the city? How long will repairs take?"
"Months. The northern edge of the castle wall took some blows. A few houses in the noble quarters were crushed. Mostly, it's farmers who were hit—a fire still rages in their sector of the city, though my men have assured me they're close to putting it out."
"Any sight of the dragon?"
"Gone."
"And the sacred nest—is it secure?"
"We have guards stationed there now. All the priests and priestesses are alive and accounted for. Some of the ravens escaped, but most remained in the grove."
Xander sighed and ran his fingers over his chin, absorbing the updates. Then he finally stopped and met Helen's weary gaze, aware that for the first time, some of her uncertainty was turned on him. "And what do the people say?"
"Nothing good, my prince." She glanced to the queen, then back to Xander. He held her stare, a silent plea for the truth. "They saw you return from the sacred nest in bloodied clothes, alone and seemingly mad, with the princess nowhere in sight. They fought off a dragon. They spent the night frightened, abandoned by Taetanos, abandoned by you. Word spread early this morning that your brother disappeared. With everything they already whispered, it was an easy conclusion to draw. They say he ran away with the princess, that he bewitched her and turned her against the gods. And there are some who whisper that maybe he put a spell on you as well."
Xander snorted derisively, but Helen didn’t crack a smile. Her expression was grim—grim and unsure, as terrible a combination as he could imagine. "Surely you don’t believe that's true."
"I don't know what to believe," she answered gravely.
His mother eyed him dubiously, but he wasn't concerned about Helen. If she started lying, maybe then he would begin to question her loyalty. This brutal honesty? This was how he knew she was still on his side.
"Lyana was taken," he said slowly, glancing between the two of them. "But she wasn't taken by Rafe."
"Then who?" his mother asked, leaning forward in her chair.
Helen watched on, a deep groove digging into her forehead.
"When we got to the sacred nest, three people were there, two men and a woman, all dressed in priests’ robes. We didn’t notice anything was amiss until it was too late. They attacked as we began to say the vows, and they—they had magic."
His mother gasped.
Helen frowned.
It was enough to inform Xander that keeping Lyana's magic a secret was the right call. If she ever returned—no, when; when she returned—there needed to be a place for her. He was determined to save her, even if it meant he had to save her from his own people too.
"We tried to stop them, but we were no match. They knocked Lyana unconscious and held me back by force. They would've killed me, but the earthquake intensified. It looked like the sacred nest was going to cave in, so they fled, perhaps to meet with that dragon, I don't know. But they didn’t have wings, so wherever they're hiding, I fear it’s a place we won’t be able to follow, a place only their magic can access."
"No wings?" Helen asked.
He shook his head.
"Then how did they get here?" his mother asked, voice quivering in a way he'd never heard before. "Where did they come from?"
"I don’t know, but I intend to find out."
They spent the next hour going through the details and drawing up a plan. The night before, Helen had gone to the sacred nest to question the priests and priestesses. No one saw anything. No one heard anything. All they could remember was a strange force holding them against their beds so they were unable to move. Xander knew the feeling well—he, too, had been wrapped in invisible binds, forced to hold still as a stranger sauntered toward him with a knife. It was magic, it had to be, which meant it was a power he had no idea how to fight. When he found Lyana, maybe she would. Her magic had been different, a light in the dark, healing all his wounds. Even vanished, she was a beacon of hope—one he had no choice but to follow.
"So what do we tell everyone in the meantime?" Helen asked as their meeting drew to an end. "They need an official statement from their queen."
"We tell them it was Rafe," his mother murmured, the usual malice toward his brother gone from her tone, replaced by weariness. "We tell them what they want to hear until we know more—until we know who exactly we're fighting and what exactly they want."
Both women looked to Xander for approval.
This was his brother's worst fear come to life—to have Xander confirm to the world that he was a usurper, a backstabber, a traitor. For the rest of their lives, he would never again be welcomed in the House of Whispers. His room would remain empty. No more late-night conversations. No more sarcastic retorts. No more fighting. No more fun.