Page 91 of Blade of the Nightking

“Never heard of it,” I muttered.

I was done with her. Whatever House she belonged to, whatever name she carried, it changed nothing. She stood with Rìan. That was all I needed to know.

She let out a short, bitter laugh. “No. I don't expect you would have. House Thren has been gone since before the Veil. The Court of Flame annihilated it during the Firstborn Wars.”

I remembered the look on Aedric's face the night we'd been caught—how it had changed the moment she'd spoken her true name aloud.

“Did House Thren stand with the Dark Prince?”

“Without question.” No hesitation. No shame.

“Then your kin killed themselves.”

Her hand shot out, fingers clamping around my shoulder hard enough to wrench me off balance. She stepped into my space until we were nearly nose-to-nose.

“Be very careful about the next words that leave your mouth, Eidra.”

I held her glare without flinching. “There are two sides to every war, Segolayne of House Thren. When you choose the wrong one, you can't be surprised when the axe falls.”

Her fingers dug deeper into my shoulder.

“If I had to watch them die again,” she hissed, her face drained of color, rage tightening every word, “hear their screams, lie beneath them as their flesh sloughed from their bones—I would. I'd endure it a thousand times over before I ever chose to stand with Flame. Let alone spread my legs for it.”

She pushed me toward the looming library doors. I stumbled through as they opened.

“Sairus may have done it,” she went on as I steadied myself, “but it was your mate who gave the order.”

I froze, her words ringing in my ears.

It was your mate who gave the order.

Was it true? Could Aedric really have done something like that?

“Move.”

Segolayne shoved me hard between the shoulder blades.

The sun had set. What little light remained seeped through the ash-streaked windows in thin streaks of gray, weak and fading against the ruined shell of the great library. Burned shelves loomed around me like broken ribs, rubble crunching beneath my feet as I staggered forward.

Aedric had done this. This.

This was the shape of his vengeance. The justice he'd delivered upon the Court of Dusk.

I swallowed hard around the pain in my chest and tried to focus on my footing instead. In the gloom it was difficult to see.

And then—a flicker of light. Small and unsteady, somewhere deeper within the library.

The feeling struck again without warning—that wrenching pull deep in my chest. As though some invisible hook had sunk into me, reeling me inexorably forward. I forced my breathing steady, trying to ignore the hammering in my ribs. What if they’d figured it out? What if Levinica’s riddle had an answer? What if Rìan knew how to break the bond?

What if this could finally be over?

A fae light perched above a charred table, its glow warm and steady against the blackened wood. And behind it sat Rìan.

He was hunched over a thick tome, a stack of worn volumes at his side, a deep furrow between his brows as he scanned the brittle pages. The scrape of wood cut through the silence as a chair slid back. Rìan didn’t look up. “Sit.”

I stepped forward and sat as I was told. I was grateful for it—I wasn’t entirely certain my legs would have held me much longer between the wine swimming in my blood and the fear humming beneath my skin.

I waited. The minutes stretched like hours.