Even with all the problems still ahead of us, when my head hits the pillow, I fall into a dreamless sleep for the first time in months.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The Vote

Scorpia

Talking to Corvus may have been the hardest part, but dealing with my sisters won’t be easy, either. He and I sit across from each other at the table the next morning, me fidgeting and him perfectly still, as we wait for Drom to finish showering and Lyre to wrap up some supposedly vital chores in the engine room. I untied Shey this morning, though I told her to stay down in the cargo bay until I’m ready for her to step into the conversation. For now, this is a family affair.

“If Drom punches me in the face, it’s all your fault, you know,” I grumble, pouring myself a second glass of whiskey in an attempt to quell my nerves. Corvus snatches the bottle out of my hand before I can fill it more than halfway. When I glare up at him, I’m surprised to see a rare smile lighting his face. It’s a pale imitation of his old grins, but it’s enough for me to smile back despite my anxiety.

“You’d deserve it,” he says, taking a pull from the bottle himself before corking it.

“A normal punch, maybe. A Drom punch will ruin my face forever.” I lean back in my chair and sip my drink.

“Tragic.”

“I know. It’s one of my best qualities.”

“Are you claiming to have other good ones?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Corvus looks up. I follow his gaze to find Lyre waiting in the doorway, a wrinkle between her brows, looking back and forth between us in clear confusion. It takes me a moment to realize how strange this must look to her: Corvus and I sharing a drink and smiling together. It’s hard to believe that just last night, he and I had what felt like a gaping abyss between us. Now, we may not be back to the way things were, but we’re on our way there.

Still, this conversation is serious, and I can’t have any of my siblings thinking I’m taking it too lightly. So I wipe the smile off my face and set down my glass to wave Lyre forward.

“What is this about?” she asks, tentatively taking a seat at the end of the table. She folds her hands, her thumbs twitching nervously. “Is it… have we heard from Gaia?”

“Not exactly,” I say, at the same time Corvus answers:

“It’s not about Apollo.”

We pause, exchanging a look.