Symphony for a Deadly Throne (Mousai, #3)

by E.J. Mellow

azure. Arabessa Bassette was imprinted on his soul, and nothing in Aadilor could hide that fact, not even the desperate lies he tried to bury himself in.

His gifts wanted to lift from his skin and go to her. Urged him to touch her. Pull her close. Our music, it pleaded once more. We want our music.

Home. His magic spun in his veins. We want to come home.

“Like we are nothing but acquaintances owed surface-level pleasantries,” said Zimri. “Despite what has happened between us, I still know you. And you me. To pretend like we don’t, it makes a mockery of what we had.”

“I want to be able to salvage something of our childhood. Of my . . . love for you.” She rushed out the words that both stung and soothed. “I want to be able to keep the memories of us together unspoiled, for even if we can’t ever again have this”—she looked between them—“I’ll always know we once did and that it was beautiful.”

When she learned you could finally hold more of Macabris, she could not stand in the way of that. Not even if that meant losing you.

“I am not angry with you,” he eventually said, noting her scent of relief. “I still do not agree with it, but I now understand why you refused me.”

“But I will tell you this.” Zimri stepped closer, their bodies a grain’s distance from touching. “If there was a way to still convince you to say yes, I would hunt it down.”

“I understand dreams are not given; they are worked for. I also know what it is to want a thing.” His gaze momentarily fell to her lips. “To burn for it. You taught me that, my music, how to burn brightest for that which you love.

“You are never too late. You are all the pieces of my heart.”