Page 254 of Blade of the Nightking

“At least our slaves retain themselves,” he continued. “They think. They choose. They're housed and fed. They can petition for a new placement if their master proves cruel, receive an education, and even earn—or purchase—their freedom if they possess valuable skills, though doing so requires them to leave Pelaga.” He gave a small shrug. “The Flamelands strip people of their wills. Compared to that, what we practice here is mercy.”

Thalassis watched me closely, as though he could see the illusion of the Court of Flames unraveling inside my mind. Then he drove the knife deeper. “Here, we learned from the Dark Prince's control. In the Flamelands, they were inspired by it.”

The words struck like a blow.

Aedric condemned the Dark Prince for the monster he’d been, yet in Dheren, he'd built an army in the image of the very power he claimed to despise. The realization left me reeling.

Thalassis slapped his palms against his knees, startling me from my thoughts. “I'm absolutely famished! Shall we return to the palace for lunch?”

I forced a strained smile. “That sounds delightful.”

“Excellent.”

He rapped his fist against the wall of the palanquin, and the servants—slaves—turned it around, retracing our route through the city. From this direction, the palace rose above the rooftops, and beyond it, sheer cliffs thrust through the surface of the ocean, their jagged faces disappearing into the world above.

“What's that over there?”

Thalassis followed my gaze to the wall of rock rising through the sea.

“The Cliffs of Malaer.” He folded his hands in his lap as the palanquin swayed gently onward. “Treacherous things. They're riddled with caves and hidden passages, with ruins scattered throughout, though most have crumbled to little more than rubble.” He glanced out the window, clearly uninterested in the subject. “Remnants of the Vaelorii, I suspect, from when they first constructed Pelaga and ruled the coastline from here to what was once Solmire. Though nothing compared to what they built here.”

My attention remained fixed on the cliffs. Rìan was up there. I was certain of it.

A current of brilliant blue hugged their base, flowing alongside the rock face like a luminous river. It glowed from somewhere deep within itself, the radiant torrent disappearing behind the wall of stone before emerging again farther along the coastline, where it continued its endless course through the sea.

“Is that the Tidelands Vein?” I asked.

Thalassis glanced at me, looking faintly impressed. “One of its capillaries. The Vein itself shifted eons ago. You do have an unfortunate habit of spoiling my surprises, Elowen.” A crooked smile tugged at his lips.

His gaze returned to the cliffs, his expression warming with unmistakable pride. “It was from that very capillary that I drew power from the Vein to drown the city. I—” Thalassis fell silent. A faint crease formed between his brows, his gaze fixed on nothing at all. His hand drifted to his chest, rubbing absently over his heart.

“Are you alright?”

“I can sense…” he murmured. His eyes lifted sharply to the cliffs.

My pulse stumbled. As a conduit to the Vein, could he sense Rìan's presence so close to the river of magic? Before I could think better of it, I rested a hand gently on Thalassis's knee. His attention snapped to it immediately.

“Perhaps we could take lunch privately,” I suggested with an easy smile. “I'm very much enjoying your company, and I'm fascinated by the Tidelands. I'd love to continue our conversation there.”

His expression softened at once, the concern melting away like a cat distracted by a bowl of cream. His broad hand closed over mine, keeping it where it rested on his leg.

“What of Aedric?”

I lowered my eyes, forcing a shy smile. “Perhaps I’ll let him rest a while longer.”

The gleam in Thalassis's eye made my skin crawl, but I forced myself to leave my hand where it was. I endured his touch for the remainder of the journey back to the palace.

CHAPTER 53

I'd expected to dine in one of the palace's grand halls. Instead, Thalassis brought me back to his study, that comfortable, private room where he'd first greeted Rìan and me.

He had me sit beside him on the low-backed sofa while the slaves filed in, pushing silver carts so heavily laden they groaned beneath the weight. Within minutes, dishes crowded every inch of the table before us—steaming white fish resting in fragrant broth, split crab legs glistening with melted butter, bowls of tiny pink shrimp, roasted vegetables I didn't recognize, thick slices of warm bread, soft cheeses, assortments of tropical fruits, and crystal decanters filled with chilled white wine.

An enormous silver platter heaped with crushed ice dominated the feast. Nestled in the ice were dozens of half shells, each cradling a glistening, plump gray thing.

He leaned forward, his knee brushing mine. His fingers hovered over the platter with almost childish excitement before settling upon one of the largest ones. He lifted it delicately from the bed of ice and turned back toward me.

"You've never had an oyster."