Page 63 of The War of Wings
I stared up at a sculpture that sat at the side of the altar. A massive carving of a man standing tall on a pedestal, as if it were Noros himself watching over his temple. A silent scream rent from his open mouth. His sword was raised to the sky, the rubies twinkling in the hilt the only bit of color on the otherwise white marble. Did I know that grief-stricken face that was carved into the stone? Had I seen it before? Passed it on the streets in Eserene? No. The features were generic, lacking the details that would make a face definitively identifiable. And it made sense, since the artist hadn’t known what Noros looked like.
But…did I?
Noros came to the Human Realm to protect me. Had he been one of the people I felt watching me since I was a child? Had all the people who’d watched me been sent by Malosym, except one? If he could identify me as the Daughter of Katia, did that mean I could identify him as the Saint of Pain?
I lowered myself to one of the benches, cradling my face in my hands. Cal and Miles sat down on either side of me, their eyes still moving around the inside of the temple. I had no ideawhat to do next, and that fact crept in like an uninvited, unwelcomed guest within me.
When I turned to Cal to ask if he had any ideas, my surrender caught in my throat. His face had drained of color, his mouth parted slightly. “No,” he murmured, turning to the other carvings that adorned the temple. His eyes moved wildly around the room, his head beginning to shake.
His stricken expression sent dread straight to my gut. “What?”
“It’s a coincidence,” he murmured, wearing a disbelieving smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Miles’ gaze was set hard on his brother as Cal turned back to face the altar. He scanned through the inscription again, and I watched as his eyes moved back and forth over the words. Then they moved to the statue.
“What’s going on?” Miles asked, his jaw tight.
When Cal finally spoke, each word was shaky, like he couldn’t catch his breath. “Look at Noros’ sword.”
I turned, narrowing my eyes on the sword carved from stone. My eyes caught on the rubies in its hilt again. I turned, finding a painting on a nearby wall, and even though it was dim in the torchlight, I could see the stones inlaid in the handle. Another painting, more rubies. Another carving, more rubies. My brain was spiraling in on itself, because that swordwasfamiliar. Too familiar, and I couldn’t figure out why, until it hit me.
I stared down to Cal’s sword, sheathed at his hip. The same sword he’d carried since I met him. He gripped the pommel, his thumb moving back and forth over the three rubies in the hilt.
“There’s no way,” I whispered. Lots of swords had rubies in their handles. Right? I had a diadem modeled after Katia’s. Cal probably had a sword modeled after Noros’. I knew nothing about swords or weaponry, but surely, Cal’s couldn’t be the only one crafted with rubies. We were grasping at straws, and this was a strange, cruel coincidence.
But nothing in my life had ever been coincidental. Everything had been meticulously planned. Meeting Cal. Moving into the castle. And the rubies that glittered in the torchlight.
Our eyes locked, a thousand words passing between us in a beat of silence. “Where did you get that sword?” I asked.
Cal remained silent as he moved to pull the blade from its sheath, but a quiet voice sounded from the bench behind us.
“You know better than to unsheath a weapon in a temple, King Belin.”
Cal shot to his feet, instinctively moving in front of me as his sword came flying from his hip, poised to strike at the stranger who’d spoken. Miles was right behind his brother, his sword aimed directly for the man’s throat. My heart beat wildly, pounding against my ribcage as I stared at the man, half hidden by the bulk of Cal’s body in front of me.
“What. The.Fuck?” Cal ground out.
I shifted to the side just enough, and every thought in my head tumbled to the floor, because the face I was looking at was one I’d seen before. Many times, in fact. It was the last face I would’ve expected to see here.
Staring up at Cal from the end of his blade was a man I’d last seen outside the throne room in Eserene, standing at the back of Lord Evarius Castemont.
Tyrak.
Chapter 25
Cal
I wanted to lunge for him. I wanted to rip his fucking throat out. I wanted to push my sword through his chest and smile when his ribs snapped. I managed to leash that anger, but it was thrashing against its chains, and those chains wouldn’t hold much longer.
I stared down at Tyrak, the man who had tirelessly trained me to be a member of the Royal Guard. The man who had been a constant in my life alongside Castemont. The man who’d mourned Tobyas alongside me.
“Stay where you are,” I ordered, my sword poised and ready.
Tyrak just nodded, the corners of his mouth turned up in a ghost of a sorrowful smile. He raised his palms from where he sat on the bench, though the movement was slow and heavy. He looked different now. Haggard. Worn. Defeated. Like good sleep had evaded him for years and he’d resigned himself to the factit would be that way forever. But his eyes… There was a storm behind their dark depths, angry and raging.
His gaze flickered behind me, to where Petra stood. My stance widened, doing everything I could to block his view of her as I pushed my sword closer to his throat. Miles did the same, following my lead. I fucking dared Tyrak to so much as look at her.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said cautiously.
“You could’ve stopped this,” I snarled. “I trusted you. You knew what was happening the whole fucking time.” Tyrak’s face fell in shame, and it pissed me off so fucking much it took everything in me not to swipe my sword across his neck.
