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68
AURELIUS
The rain drummed onto the embassy courtyard, a shard of lightning in the distance. Aurelius sat on his balcony, feet on the railing, feeling more like himself than he had in weeks.
Teigra had left immediately to visit the prince, no doubt to make the demands he’d convinced her were necessary. The prince would say no, of course. A satyr couldn’t wander the streets on the night of the sable moon, not unless he wanted to drink half of his citizens dry.
But the fight they’d have would be the start of their downfall. And from there, it would be easy to pry them apart. Zosime working her magic on Calix and the queen? With Aurelius doing the same with Teigra?
Child’s play.
She wouldn’t last a week once he started digging up all those insecurities, raising all those risks and dangers that would terrify her into backing down. Then, he could resume what they had started. He would get his military alliance and his prince. Mestibes would still be saved. No one would be any worse off.
He sipped the warm liquor.
If anything, this was a kindness. The girl was so pathetic and needy—just like she’d always been.
Princess Teigra?
Queen Teigra?
The little girl from the stables? Ruling a whole polity?
She would have been eaten alive.
The dark wood of the stater rolled across his fingertips.
Calix had kept it all these months—a brief moment of happiness after a great defeat. He’d kept it because he cared about him. Because he wanted to be different. Because he wanted to live his truth! And this was the way he could do that. By accepting someone who valued him for who he really was.
He was about to freshen his cup when hurried footsteps came from the street. Teigra squelched through the gate, the rain so heavy that even the gaggle had departed.
Aurelius almost felt sorry for her as mud splashed all up her stola, just as the tears would surely be splashing down her cheeks.
But she’d been the one who’d wanted to play with power. And now she was going to learn that there were no morals in that game. Now she would learn just how far he would go to win.
Teigra cupped her hands, the sound drowned by a crash in the distance. She repeated it at full volume, again and again, jumping on the spot.
Aurelius dropped his cup.
“He said yes, Aurie!” she screamed against the thunder. “He said yes!”
69
TEIGRA
Tonight was the night!
The Black Night Festival was a strange tradition—every Ardoran dressing up once a year as one of the five therians, drinking and dancing and getting intimate in the streets.
Most people dressed as satyrs, of course, competing to have the most dramatic horns, convincing fur and realistic hoofed boots.
But this year many young maidens were going as eidolons instead. All because of her. All because of their romance.
Teigra slipped the fabric over her skin. The costume of the therian of Mesti was less dramatic than the satyr’s, phoenix’s, siren’s, or gorgon’s would surely be. It was made of a black stola, all the way to the floor and covered in little blue and purple glass beads.
The overall effect did resemble the ghostly stardust described in the codices.
The costume was Ms. Securia’s, from back when she was around Teigra’s age. The beads had come from her family’s glassworks, but the costume itself was barely worn.
