Xylos’s face hardened. “The chambers you left me to rot in.”
Her eyes narrowed, her lips parting to form what was sure to be an impolite response.
I palmed my forehead and cut in before the argument could continue. “Both of you stop talking.”
Xylos straightened in his chair. Neya’s eyes moved to me, her jaw tight and shoulders drawn high as if bracing for impact.
I placed my hands on my hips and turned slightly to look Xylos in the eye. “I want the truth. I want to know about the bond, about your father, about whatever story you have been rotting with.”
Xylos frowned. “There is little to tell.”
Neya scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “You could fill entire archives with what you refuse to say.”
“Let him speak,” I said firmly.
She turned away with a huff, stalking toward a collapsing bookshelf that held nothing but dust and a single photo frame with no image inside. She picked it up, turned it once in her hands, then set it back down harder than necessary.
Xylos sighed. “My father cast me to the cells because I was a threat to his crown. I was a son who would have cut his throat to end his tyranny.”
Neya’s shoulders stiffened, but she said nothing.
“That is not fair,” I said quietly. “He was your father, and a father is meant to protect.”
A humorless sound escaped Xylos. “He vowed to protect only his throne. I was not his son. I was his rival.”
Something twisted low in my chest. I thought of my own father—how he would walk into a wildfire for me—and swallowed.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “And Thora?”
Xylos’s brow furrowed.
His eyes searched my face, then Neya’s back. “Who?”
The word barely left his mouth before Neya spun around. She crossed the space in three long strides and stopped directly in front of him, towering over his seated form.
Her finger jabbed into his shoulder.
“Do not play coy, Xylos,” she said, her voice shaking with restraint. “Do not sit there and pretend you do not know her.”
Xylos flinched away from her pokes and caught her wrist gently, lowering her hand to his thigh. “I am not pretending. I do not know of a Thora.”
I cleared my throat against the panic settling in my chest and clarified. “The mortal you entered a bond with. The reason for your exile.”
He let out a rasped breath that was not quite a laugh. “Must be a tale. I told you, I was locked away because my father was a coward. A selfish coward.”
“This does not make sense,” I stated, shaking my head.
Xylos tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “What are you insinuating, little mortal?”
“There was a girl,” I began, my eyes darting nervously to Neya who seemed to be holding her breath.
“There was never a girl,” he cut in, his eyes landing on Neya. “There was only ever Neya.”
Neya’s breath stuttered, her eyes locked on me as if awaiting my reaction. I remained indifferent, even though I wanted to ask so many questions. She was easily spooked.
She sniffled as her eyes began to shine and a single tear slipped free, tracking down her cheek in silence.
Xylos froze, his hands clenching into fists on his thighs.