Page 8 of Vicious Is My Throne

Our home.

The way he said that reminded me of the warm little fire that ignited inside me whenever I thought about Nightcairn. “I think, Tristan, you could live wherever you wanted. And if that’s Wingcrest, then…”

“Stop saying that name like it means something to you.”

He dragged his hand down over his face and blew out a breath. “Shite. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so pissed off today. Just…I don’t want to talk about this, Anaria.”

“I shouldn’t have pried, Tristan. I was only curious.”

“And I shouldn’t have bitten your head off, but I’m not used to talking about my past. Or anyone asking.”

“Fair enough.” After that, the quiet got louder as we threaded our way through the trees, then finally, jumpy nervous anxiety urged me to fill the silence up with something.

“I never had a home.” I forced myself to smile, but that simmering anger in Tristan’s face had me swallowing instead. “I only had a pallet in the slave barracks, then a room at the Citadelle, then a few nights here and a few nights there. I suppose the longest I’ve stayed anywhere is the Keep, but I hate that place.”

Tristan didn’t respond, but his eyes never left my face, like he was trying to figure something out.

“I liked Wingcrest,” I went on. “And I like Nightcairn too. At least they felt like they could be home if I wanted them to be.”

I sighed. “Maybe I’m a fool for imagining there’s a future ahead of us right now, given we might never see Solarys again, but I’m just…tired, I guess. Of never staying anywhere long enough to catch my breath.”

Tristan didn’t smile, but a glint of gold rimmed his hazel eyes like fire. “I always forget you’re not like the others. That even though you’re so young, you’ve seen things most of us haven’t.” His shoulders hunched in, and mine did the same, preparing to face the dark gray storm clouds billowing up over the tops of the trees.

That frigid chill grew deeper, everything inside me went on high alert. I scanned the sky for a flash of Simon’s golden wings, trying to remember when I’d seen him last.

“The past is difficult for me to talk about,” he finally admitted, the words so soft I could barely make them out. “It’s complicated and ugly, and I’ve never had anyone to tell.”

“We have hours. You can tell me as much or as little as you’d like. And I know what you mean. It’s not like I’m used to laying my soul bare, either. There isn’t much to tell…but at the same time too much to put into words.” This time, he did smile. Warily, as if he was afraid to give away too much.

“So.” I slid him a sideways look that I hoped would get him talking, because now I was curious. “That place is ancient, huh?”

He rolled his eyes but answered. “My great, great grandsire built Wingcrest. Back when Solarys was a brand-new realm and the brothers’ war had only begun. He chose that exact spot because the updrafts were strong from the trade winds blowing in off the ocean. Easy to take flight in case of an attack.”

“So wyvern’s were common back then?” I asked softly. “I’ve only ever read about them in books.”

“Only our bloodline had such magic, as far as I know. There were three royal lines, over a hundred of us in all. We DeVaynes were the largest house. My grandsire believed in big families.” Darkness crossed his face as clearly as Simon’s shadow rippling across the ground in front of us.

“In a new, hostile realm still finding its feet, we thrived. The Shadow King needed eyes in the air to spy on his brother, to anticipate the Caladrius army’s movements, so our family served a great purpose. Arial surveillance, trips to the outer islands for trade, across the mountains to the High Barrens and beyond.”

“So were you in Serpens’ court or his army?”

“We served in the army and became part of his court. For our years of service, he rewarded our bloodline with titles and land and endless riches. Wyverns and dragons are the same in that one regard—we do love our gold.” His eyes glinted once more, only this time there was a glint of red flame amongst the green.

“For a time, my family was treated like royalty, my father gained more and more influence over the court, but then came the day the Shadow King realized he’d given us too much power.”

Tristan’s gaze slipped over the trees like he wasn’t even seeing them. “Not that we would have done anything to usurp him, only that Serpens sensed he’d lost the advantage and his ego could not tolerate any threat to his throne, real or imagined.”

His voice went so low I held my breath.

“I don’t know how long the Shadow King plotted, but he hit us in a single night. Killed every one of us, down to the very youngest child. Boarded up our castles with the bodies rotting inside. Hung signs on the doors proclaiming us traitors to the throne. After a few hundred years, even he forgot about us.”

“A few hundred years?” I blurted, but Tristan was completely lost to his story, his eyes staring inward over some long-lost past.

“The king came to Wingcrest personally to make sure everyone was dead. They killed our guards, our servants. My mother and father. Even my…” He swallowed audibly, his throat bobbing. “But the king missed one DeVayne. Serpens took everything away from me that night. Everything. I’m glad he’s dead. I only wish I could have been there to see him bleed out on his own godsdamned throne.”

I gripped the reins hard enough my hands hurt. “Gods, Tristan, if I had known, we would have done that day completely different.” I whispered.

“You would have been part of that fight; you should have fought side by side with us that day instead of being out on the battlefield.”

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