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Barith snorted. “Feckin’ eejits.”
Levian snapped her head around to glare at him. “Yes,” she clipped. “They are.”
“Mostly,” Niah added.
The dragon cocked a brow at Levian, who grimaced and turned back to face Sirus, throwing her braids over her shoulder as she did. “Some of the mages are obviously suspicious about how everything unfolded. Particularly how a bunch of paladins were able to breach the infamous protection spells around the ancient Castle of Wolves. But the Zephyr High Court are the only others who know the truth, and they’re never going to tell the Council or anyone else any different,” she elaborated.
“King Thurin wants everyone to think that he defeated Nestra himself. So how are they ever to learn any different? I made sure all the paladins who lived were too scrambled to remember their names, let alone what happened or why. Besides, even if they do find out eventually, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that they don’t until?—”
Until Gwendolyn woke.
No one except Sirus knew what had unfolded on that field between Nestra and Gwendolyn and himself. Not even Niah had witnessed it all. Sirus had been the only one to see Gwendolyn’s raw power.
“They don’t know of her,” Niah told him.
“No,” Levian confirmed. “They don’t. They believe Nestra never found what it was she hunted, which is why she was so easily defeated.” A touch of worry fell over her face. “Though I do think some of the elder mages suspect that whatever object of power Nestra was after might be here.”
Sirus peered out the window to the gray sky beyond. Rath sat with her now, but he could still feel the dull pulse of her presence. If the mages came for Gwendolyn, he would be ready.
Levian let out another deep sigh and looked pensively into the fire. “I received word from Iathana,” she told him.
Sirus bristled, anger bubbling within. How Gwendolyn had managed to return to Volkov, he still didn’t know, but Iathana had surely been involved.
“She told me Gwen chose her path and she respected her choice.”
He contained the growl of rage that threatened to slip out of him. Sirus had known Iathana would be able to sense Gwendolyn’s hesitation in going to the Veil, but not that she would deny her entry for it. That she’d banished Gwendolyn back to Volkov knowing what was happening made his skin hot with fury.
Levian looked at him with weary determination. “I know what you think,” the mage said. “But Iathana is not cruel. There must have been a reason she returned.”
Sirus did not care what the reason was. The mage knew the dryad well, but he held no such loyalty. If he ever saw Iathana again, it would not end pleasantly.
“How are the zephyrs managing to keep the island hidden now that their High Priestess is dead?” Barith asked, clearly trying to move away from the topic of Iathana.
Levian relaxed a little, sensing the dragon’s efforts. “Even without Nestra, the Temple of Light is a formidable source of magick,” she replied, following Barith’s lead. “It seems that the priestesses who remained loyal to Thurin are managing to keep it hidden for now. A new High Priestess will be declared before long, I imagine. One King Thurin can keep well under his thumb.”
“Thurin should send us all a king’s treasure,” Barith grumbled as he poured himself another drink and poked at the wound over his eye.
Levian began to anxiously fiddle with one of her necklaces. “I’ll tell the king you said so.”
Barith lifted his drink to his lips but stilled when her words registered. “What do you mean you’ll tell the king?”
The mage’s cheeks turned a touch pink.
“Thurin has asked Levian to be the zephyrs’ ambassador to the Council of Mages,” Niah told them.
The dragon’s eyes flared with fire.
“Calm down,” Levian declared, anticipating his reaction. “I haven’t accepted.”
“But you will,” Barith growled, slamming his glass down.
Levian didn’t immediately jump at the chance to argue with him, which meant she was considering it. She would be the first ambassador to the zephyrs to ever exist, as far as Sirus knew. Council had to be displeased with the direct request, but they weren’t fools. An ambassador, even if it were Levian, would be a great asset. Or so they would have to hope.
Sirus left the dragon and mage to their bickering to return to Gwendolyn. They didn’t know what it would mean for vampires when she woke. Technically, Gwendolyn would be the first rebirth in nearly two centuries. Except they couldn’t be sure she was a vampire. Not entirely. Not yet.
After Rath had gone, Sirus sat by Gwendolyn’s bedside and lifted her delicate hand in his. He turned it over and kissed the inside of her palm above the thin scar that remained.
Death was something Sirus knew intimately, but as he’d held Gwendolyn’s frail, broken body to him in the field, he’d felt a fear of it he’d never known before. Her confession had broken all reason within him. The moment he’d felt her slipping away, he’d been desperate to save her. Unwilling to let her rest and be at peace. He’d not been ready to let her go.
