Page 234 of Blade of the Nightking

I lifted a shaking hand and pointed at him.

"Truth," I demanded again. He waited. "How—" My chest seized, refusing to draw another full breath. I couldn't ask it. Couldn't force the words past the grief lodged in my throat.

How had my mate slaughtered my people? My kind?

I didn't need to finish. He understood.

"Pyrestone," he said quietly. "An alchemical compound. It erupts moments after coming into contact with flame. Aedric was supposed to surrender himself to the Eidrae—their condition for preserving the peace after the murder of Caer Leahnn's mate. Instead, he marched an army into the Mirrorlands."

My pulse roared in my ears.

"The soldiers loosed iron-tipped arrows coated in pyrestone. They burst overhead, scattering burning fragments in every direction. In the chaos, the Eidrae were driven back onto the salt flats."

The room wavered around him.

"Once their magic had drained…" His throat worked. "... the soldiers rounded them up and burned them alive."

A ragged sob tore from my chest.

"One Eidra survived. She fled into the Wildlands, hoping to reach the Court of Dusk, hoping to reach me.” His eyes closed briefly. “She never made it."

I swallowed against the bile rising in my throat.

"I tried to stop it. But the Full Circle had planned it all. It was the distraction they needed to summon the Moiraithe."

I knew the rest. "And you were imprisoned in the Veil."

"Yes."

Every muscle in my body was drawn so taut I thought I would come apart. Somehow, I still managed to whisper, "Truth. Please."

A muscle feathered in his jaw, but he didn't look away. Again, he waited for my question.

"The Battle of Nightreach." The words scraped their way out of me.

No. Not that.

Aedric wouldn't have lied about that. Not about the soldiers who'd died there. Not about his parents.

Rìan’s brows knit together, but he gave a slow nod. "Truth. The Eidrae slaughtered five thousand soldiers of the Court of Flames at Nightreach."

My chin quivered.

That, at least, had been true. My people had wiped out five thousand soldiers in a matter of moments. His men. His family.

Did grief not twist people into doing terrible things? Did the desperate need for vengeance not make monsters of ordinary people? Was that enough to absolve Aedric of his actions, his lies?

Had he been too ashamed to tell me? Maybe it had been easier to place the blame on Rìan—the Dark Prince, cursed to the Veil and powerless to contradict him—than risk me looking at him and seeing the architect of a massacre.

The hurt inside me searched desperately for somewhere to land. It found Rìan.

“Eidra—”

"No more." I lifted a trembling hand, silencing him before he could speak. I didn’t know if my heart could take it.

He inclined his head once and turned away. Crossing to the table, he returned to his dagger and drew a whetstone toward him. Steel whispered against stone in slow, measured strokes, the steady rhythm filling the heavy silence between us.

I tore myself away. The ground pitched beneath my feet as I reached the bedroom, and I slammed the door hard enough behind me to rattle the walls.