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Calm as the center of a storm, she was. Brutal. Cruel. Lethal. Even I wouldn’t have fucked with her in this moment, resting her feet on the back of a female whom most of this court was afraid of. I would have fucked her, though.
“It was Malcolm I wouldn’t swear fealty to,” Foley said softly. “I’ll swear it to her.” Well, damn. I hadn’t been expecting that. We’d come a long way from him trying to kill me in the library, it would seem.
“Dancing is like fighting, Osha. It’s also like fucking. And I pride myself on my skills in both of those arenas.”
“You just love flirting with danger, don’t you?” “Ahh, you know me.” He winked at me suggestively. “I’ll flirt with most things, given half a chance.”
Have you stolen all this stuff?” “What? No! How can I have stolen it if it’s all under the same roof? I’ve only relocated it. Totally different.”
It is different. There’s a lot to get used to. But different doesn’t have to be bad, does it?”
Iseabail bridled at Lorreth’s comment but didn’t say anything to him directly. Wouldn’t even look at the warrior.
“We don’t torture people,” she said, her tone full of ice. “Carrion tortures me daily,” I muttered.
“I shouldn’t tell you this, since you seem blissfully unaware of the power you hold over me, but… I will give you whatever you want, Saeris Fane. Always. No matter what it costs me.” It wasn’t a promise, but it was the truth, and I would honor it.
Relief stabbed through me at the sight. In an estate full of valuables and riches, it was the books they were saving.
“Which means Madra has found another way to travel between this realm and Zilvaren,” Carrion said. The occupants of the kitchen all turned to look at him. He arched an eyebrow at us in return. “What, I’m not allowed to theorize?
“Zilvaren,” I said breathlessly. “The city, fashioned after the shape of a wheel. The walls form the wards, but they aren’t spokes. The whole thing…” My head was spinning. “It’s a sigil. This entire time, Madra has been using the city itself to siphon the magic of its inhabitants. Zilvaren is the biggest piece of spellwork ever created.”
“Carrion, stop talking.” Carrion stopped talking.
Tal let out a long, shaky breath, considering the sword. “Tarsarinn,” he said. “It means… redemption.”
There were historians among the crowd. Someone would record this moment—the day the satyr community received the Daianthus heir—and when they documented the first thing their Forgotten King had said to them, it would be this: I really like your horns.
“Kingfisher of the Ajun Gate, I hereby call you by your true name. I declare all oaths you have sworn null and void. Rise, Khydan Graystar Finvarra, in honor of the name you were given at birth! Rise up and fight!”
Khydan’s tone suggested he thought I had lost my fucking mind. And maybe I had. Maybe a little madness was what it would take to make it through this situation alive.
Khydan drew in a deep breath, ignoring the male’s question. “I’ve come for a dragon, as is my right. Summon our father. Tell him I’ve come to make a trade.”
