Page 63 of Prince of the Phantom Sky

Aryn nodded. “He thought it was vengeance for Eleanore. Taking one life for another.” He gestured to Kora where she curled onto her side, fidgeting in her sleep. Raiden’s chest squeezed and he leaned forward, pressing his thumb against her warm browbone until it relaxed.

“I still don’t like him,” he muttered. He exhaled slowly, glancing at the betrayer. Erick’s chest rose in time, slow and deep. Raiden winced as his mind dizzied momentarily, the heat overcoming him notching up a couple degrees.

“You don’t like anyone,” Aryn chimed, twiddling with his bowstring as his eyes bore into Kora.

“How much does she know?” Raiden asked quietly. There was still so much to unpack with the Huntress, for her to understand the gravity of her role within the islands—within Raiden’s world.

“Nothing. Erick hid her well, he also trained her well. There were moments where . . . where I thought it was her again. A quick look and it’d be like she’d recognise me, remember me for who I was to her, and then it would disappear in a flash.” Aryn rubbed his hands on his legs. “Now we know, it was a twisted version of Kordelia underneath, all this time.”

“I fear the truth may break her,” Raiden replied, his stomach hitching. “That last day . . . the history of this place. What we once were.”

“She’s not as fragile as you may believe.” Aryn pointed to the scar on her beautiful face, then to the ashen streaks on her arms. “Kora survived the Darkoning Trials. She nearly won them. She’s suffered more than any person I know. Kordelia was strong, she was cunning and calculated in her plans, but she was a cold person, Rai. She loved to her own advantage.”

Raiden swallowed, his jaw working. It’d been ten years without Kordelia. He’d been so dead set on reuniting with her, on rescuing her from the empire, from the horrors he’d witnessed in his dreams, that he wondered whether his perception of her had warped. Had he forgotten who she truly was? Did he only remember a version he desired? Last night’s dream echoed, a chill skittering through him.

“Kordelia only cared about one thing, which was Barron’s death,” Aryn continued. “She may have loved you in her own way, but you never came close to her true love of violence.”

“I . . .” Raiden sighed, rubbing his aching jaw from clenching it too tight. “I feel like I’m forgetting her. Like the version of her I remember isn’t the same as who she was.”

“You were in love,” Aryn shrugged.

“I still am,” Raiden admitted sheepishly. “But with a shadow that I can never seem to grab hold of.”

“You need to look to the present.” Aryn’s eyes flashed, the gold appearing and disappearing within a second. “Kora has passion. She still cares for this war, but she cares because of the people involved, the people suffering. She wants to save everyone, and she would put her life first if it meant someone else would have a chance. That’s why she took the deal. In her mind, Barron’s death means everyone lives—including Erick.”

Raiden pondered in silence. Aryn was right, there were similarities between the two, and perhaps he was holding onto something his mind had twisted to remember differently. Recalling only the great moments with Kordelia. Moments in private, with tangled limbs and sweet kisses, the way she laughed, and her hair flowed across her body like pure moonlight. How they would fly across the ocean, playing with their elements until they were in a cocoon of water and air, shielding them from the world.

He regularly forgot how ruthless she’d been, how cunning she was in her attacks on the empire. How she’d been prepared to sacrifice droves of innocents if it meant she’d get one step closer to the Citadel. How she’d often embarrass Raiden in front of his father, ridiculing his lack of title as a reason not to listen to his advisement on strategies.

How many times she’d spoken of humans being less than, scarily bordering on the same mentality as Barron himself.

“I won’t force her to remember,” Raiden conceded. “If Barron has tainted any of her past, it’s not worth the risk.”

Aryn’s gaze softened, observing how Raiden’s body tensed, his fist curling besides Kora’s limp hand. “Are you prepared to let her go? To accept that she may never remember?” They both knew that, with time, Barron’s remaining magic within Kora’s mind would absorb what was left of Kordelia, eventually dissolving in the void, the memories along with it.

Raiden nodded sharply, his heart thundering with the realisation. Kordelia had been gone all along, and she wasn’t returning. He’d spent a decade in darkness holding onto a mirage, and in turn had been gifted with a new soul, full of fierce loyalty, and gods-damned sexy defiant temperament.

“When did you get so wise, skildaj?” Raiden thumbed the single tear away from his cheek before Aryn noticed it.

“I have an abundance of time,” he spoke blandly. “Speaking of . . . when are you going to tell Kora her real age?”

Raiden drew a sharp breath. “She doesn’t know? Does she know anything at all?”

“I told you, she knows nothing.” Aryn raised his hands. “I, for one, will not be having that conversation with her. Skildaj or not.”

Well, fuck.

29

Kora

Weak, pathetic human.

Kora’s eyes flew open, a familiar stench of earth and disinfectant filling her nose.

She was back in the dungeons.

Panic seized her in a chokehold and Kora rolled off the bed onto the white-tiled floor, crisp white sheets tangling with her legs as her body smarted with the descent. Ouch.