Page 83 of The War of Wings
He swallowed hard, some piece of him settling at my confirmation. “And Tobyas?Miles.” This question was quieter, the words stunted.
“Miles…” I started, trailing off. “He’s a good man. Of that, I am sure. But there’s a side of him, a self-loathing, cynical, angry side. I recognize it because I see it in myself, sometimes,” I murmured, this sudden, unexpected moment of introspection tightening my chest.
“I couldn’t let him die,” Tyrak whispered, dark eyes hollow and haunted. “He was just a boy.”
I straightened, my breath going still in my lungs. “What?”
“I was the one who shot him with the arrow the day Cal thought he fell from the cliffs. I was supposed to kill him. Malosym wanted him out of the way so he could get closer to Cal. I just couldn’t let him die.” His breathing quickened for a moment before he regained control. Silence stretched between us, rife with so much unsaid, so much that would never be said.
And then I gave him the words I knew he needed to hear, words I wouldn’t have given him yesterday. “You’re a good man, Tyrak.”
He blinked, his empty expression a picture of disbelief. “It’s easy to feel good about yourself when you hold the title of Saint. It’s much harder when you hold no title at all, just the beating human heart inside your human chest.”
An unfamiliar pain lanced through me, spearing me straight through. My brows slanted as hot tears burned the backs of my eyes. “What of the heart that beats in my chest? I am somehow the product of Saints and the product of an Extos. But I’m also the product of darkness itself.”
I’d never given much thought to the threads that had woven together to create the fabric of my soul. But now that I knew one of those threads had been spun from hatred and darkness, I couldn’t help but feel every ounce of shame clinging to each strand.
Tyrak leaned closer to me, the look on his face so sincere it almost broke me. “And despite that, Petra, you are a light.”
???
I floated through the day, hardly listening as people with far more military experience than I discussed and planned and argued. How were we supposed to lead an attack on an enemy with a location we didn’t know in a different realm? How were we supposed to succeed against an army of Occulti?
We couldn’t. And thanks to Tyrak, we wouldn’t have to, because I was going to end Malosym’s life myself. No army. No soldiers. No horses or cannons or trebuchets.
I lost count of how many times I opened my mouth to tell the leaders to call off their armies, to stop preparations. But each time I mustered up the courage, it was like Cal’s steady presence beside me was magnified. I became so aware of him, it clogged my throat, kept the words from spilling out. Hecouldn’t know my plan. And not because I was worried he’d try to talk me out of it, but because of what it would do to him when he couldn’t.
So I had to sit by while time and energy and resources were wasted on building an army it turned out I never needed in the first place. Cal, Miles, Tyrak, and I shuffled through a steady stream of meetings, none of which I paid attention to. The early evening had fallen, darkness settling over Araqina like a blanket.
My mind was in a hundred places, and none of them were here in this room.
“Queen Petra?”
“Hmm?” I blinked, staring at the face of a man whose name I’d been told but had promptly forgotten. Commander Dashiel? Dansyn?
“I was inquiring as to what you thought of the plan.”
“The plan.” The plan they’d been discussing while I’d been busy fielding off a wild stampede of worries. “I, um…”
“Queen Petra would like to discuss her thoughts in private first,” Cal offered, his voice diplomatic as he addressed the table full of leaders. “Commander Desmund, we will call upon you once she has conferred with her court.”
Commander Desmund.That was it. I nodded as the dozen or so men filed out of the room. Tyrak and Miles excused themselves, leaving Cal and I alone in the meeting hall.
“What was the plan they were talking about?” I asked as soon as the door clicked shut.
“Roast chicken for dinner.”
My eyes shot wide. “They were talking about dinner?”
“Military strategy has been known to make people hungry.” He reached over and pulled my chair to face him, pinning me with his stare. “What’s going on?” he asked, those gemstone eyes earnest.
I tried to feign something like innocence as I shrugged. “Nothing more than the normal dread.” The truth was anexplosive on my tongue, begging for me to open my mouth and let it ignite. I swallowed it back, but it lodged in my throat.
“I’m so fucking proud of you, you know that?” he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against mine.
Saints, I hoped he’d be proud of me when this was all over. “Cal,” I breathed, shaking my head and fighting to avert my eyes.
“I mean it, Petra.”
