Aegir set his nautilus down, rotating to look at me. The air around him vibrated softly. Silently. Not violently, though there was something about him that hummed the tune of a storm unpredicted.
“We can do this the political way,” he said, tilting his head just barely as he leveled his eyes to mine. “Tell half-truths, beat around the bush, avoid giving too much away. Or we can take a direct approach.”
“A direct approach to what, exactly?”
“This part.” His lips barely moved. “The part where I question you, you give me answers, and then I decide what to do with you.”
Anger, sharp and cold, nipped below my skin in an instant. “If you refuse to help me and choose to kill me instead, you can at least let my sister go. She doesn't belong to Thaan.”
“Just your sister? Not the other Naiad with you?”
“I met him only hours ago. I don’t care if he dies.”
“We keep no drones here. He’s a rare Naiad in Venusian eyes.” Aegir leaned an elbow against the edge of the dais, crossing his hands. “Perhaps as rare as you.”
“I really don’t care.” The penetrating way he studied me made me itch to shuffle my feet, but I forced myself to stand still. “I don’t want my sister to die because of my choice.”
A small furrow worked its way between his brows. “So then, why did you give yourself away so quickly?”
“Because,” I laughed humorlessly, “when you live in a cage for ten years, you don’t stay still the moment you see a break in the wire.”
Blue iridescent light carved shadows under his throat and cheekbones. Not in a gaunt way but a way that made him seem sharp and unforgiving. As soft as his voice was, something about it left grit in my ears. The way smoke hides ash within its dark wisps.
“After ten years, some creatures find comfort in a cage,” he said.
“Not me.”
He turned his palm over, the thumb of his opposite hand tracing the lines in his palm. His green hunter’s gaze drifted across my face. “And how do you know Thaan didn’t send you with a weak backstory, knowing you’d destroy your own cover the moment we met?”
“It would be foolish of him, as he gave mesanguis proditionisas well. But I suppose he might have.”
Aegir shoved away the dais in slow motion and calmly stalked to me. It occurred to me, as my neck stretched to keep my eyes locked with his, how tall he was. “Where are they? The blood betrayal drops?”
My muscles stiffened. From the way he stared into me, I almost thought he’d try to force them from my body. But he waited patiently, tracking the valley of my face with his dark gaze.
“Under my scales.”
He nodded once. Slowly. “May I see them?”
I exhaled, gauging him. Would he take them from me? Sealed in preserved wax, Thaan’s blood would’ve been valuable to him. Twice as much if Thaan were dead. Thesanguis proditioniswas my only lifeline in here. As soon as a full day passed without ingesting one of the drops, my contract with Thaan would once again seal my loyalty, forcing me back into the trap of my own vows.
Aegir didn’t move. He watched me, patiently enduring the silence as I gathered enough of my thoughts and courage to sew a decision.
“Aren’t you going to tell me you’re not something to fear?” I asked, a slight taunt under my voice.
“No. I am something to fear.”
My jaw hardened. Neither of us shifted. We entered a silent duel, resolve our only weapons. His was sharper. Deadlier. Quieter. But arrogance is a fortress, feigned or not. I lifted my chin, not bothering to glance back at him as I drifted away, my back as straight as a ship’s prow. Two long pools sat before me, but I ignored them. Climbing the steps of his dais, I sat at the edge of the pool gracing his throne instead. Then locked eyes with him again, drawing the bottom of the silk skirt up my leg.
He watched, amused, green eyes dark as I stared down at him. My hand lowered to the curve of my hip, fingers gently prying the patch of bronze scales where they lay flat, and I worked one of the blood drops free.
Aegir cocked his head as I withdrew it. He held out a hand, and I dropped thesanguis proditionisin his palm. A lowhmmof curiosity rumbled from his chest as he tilted his hand, watching the tiny ball of wax roll. “How many did he give you?”
“Fourteen.”
“Do you know how he acquired it? Did he cough his blood or drain it?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, my lip curling in disgust at either possibility. “Does it matter?”
