“The Scala Heir must excuse my temper.” The King clears his throat. “Now that your powers are active, do you wish asylum with the thrax?”

Asylum with the thrax? It’s a tempting idea at that, what with all the yummy Lincoln access. I glance around the table. Sadly, I don’t know if these folks can protect themselves, let alone the Scala Heir. No, I have to go where Verus sends me. I shoot the King an appreciative smile. “I came here to see Lincoln. Mom and I have other plans for what happens next.”

Octavia nods to Connor. “You remember Senator Lewis from the era of quasi rule?”

“Absolutely. Very capable. The only one who predicted Armageddon’s rise, as I recall.”

Octavia points to me. “This is her daughter.”

My back straightens. So freaking cool to hear people talk about the awesomeness that is Senator Lewis. My mouth rounds into a proud smile.

“Interesting.” Connor folds his hands onto the tabletop. “Very interesting.”

The Queen eyes me and smiles. “Do you know how Connor and I met, Myla?”

The King lets out a lively chortle. “Not this story, Octavia.” Clearly, he’s back to a good mood. I feel like I need a scorecard to keep track.

Lincoln turns to me. “It was at the ball to celebrate the spring equinox.”

“That’s the official story,” says Octavia. “It was actually at the winter tournament. I used to fight in those, you know.”

I grin. “Yes, Bera told me.”

I picture the golden breastplate Bera gave me to wear at the last Winter tournament. She’d said the Queen had one like it when she competed. I picture Octavia at that age, all spritely, wired with muscle, and absolutely lethal. Man, I would have loved to see that.

The Queen mimes shooting an arrow. “My skill lay with the bow. The tournament beast that year was a Manus demon. I shot it full of arrows—and was within seconds of winning—when I ran out of time. Connor waltzed onto the field of battle, ran the monster through with his sword, and won the tournament.”

The King laughs his head off. “It was quite a bit more than that, Octavia.” He shoots me a conspiratorial smile. “This was two hundred years ago and she still carries a grudge.”

My eyes bulge. “Two hundred years?”

Lincoln nods. “Thrax live a long time.”

I chew my lower lip, considering. The Scala lives a long time, too. I look at Lincoln’s square jaw, scooped-out cheeks, and full mouth. He’s so freaking awesome I can’t stand it. If we can get through this nasty Scala-Acca-Armageddon stuff, we could have a very long and amazing time together. Lincoln seems to read what I’m thinking (with my skill for hiding emotion, it doesn’t take a genius) and he rubs his foot against mine under the table. Pretending to scratch my nose, I hide my grin under my palm.