I didn’t smile. “What if you lose?”

“I won’t,” he replied without hesitation.

“I’m serious, Ericen.” I folded my arms, the chill of the thickening mist sending a shiver down my spine.

His grin faded, and he drove the tip of his sword into the soft earth at his side. “So am I. Losing isn’t an option. Why do you care?”

Why did I care? Ericen might not be as horrible as he’d led me to first believe, but if war broke out this instant, he would still be my enemy. I’d told Kiva I thought I could trust him in time. But how much time did we really have?

I don’t want to be your enemy. That was what he’d said to me that night in the stables.

Maybe he didn’t have to be.

Twenty-Three

With each passing day, the weather grew colder as Res grew stronger, but he never showed the slightest hint of magic. Even as his fluffy down molted into feathers of iridescent black streaked with midnight blues and purples and he struggled about his blanket, his thin wings opening and closing and pressing against the ground like a pair of arms to steady himself, no gust of wind came to his aid, no spark of lightning erupting in his frustration.

I sent a letter back to Caliza expressing my fears, then threw myself into my training with Ericen. We met each evening, trading blows alongside stories about past teachers and lessons. The ease with which we talked made the ground feel unsteady beneath my feet, as if it were constantly changing its tilt, uncertain of which way to send me, and leaving me unsure where I stood with the prince.

My afternoons I spent training with Res. Caylus and I had created a miniature obstacle course for him, using chicken as bait to encourage him from one point to the other. When he was strong enough, I carried him to the bottom of the stairs, then sat a few steps up with a handful of chicken.

Frustration ebbed along the link alongside a distinct feeling I’d identified as hunger. “Up the stairs then,” I told him, waving the chicken.

In response, he let his wings droop and hung his head.

I stared at him. “Are you begging?”

Caylus stuck his head out from the workshop. “Oh, um. That might be my fault.”

I gave him an exasperated look, and he smiled sheepishly. “I mean, he just…well, look at him. He looks so sweet and adorable when he does that and I—” He bit his lip as my expression hardened. “Well, the point is I think he expects it to work now.”

I groaned, covering my face with my hand. “Fantastic. Now he thinks being adorable will get him whatever he wants.”

“He’s not entirely wrong.”

“Caylus!”