The Golden Son wipes his hands on his trousers, wincing at the raw blisters and scratched skin. I spot a waterskin on deck and, in a rare moment of consideration, toss it to him. The leather strikes his blistered palms, and he winces again. I study the way his scarred face contorts and find the sight… interesting.
He nods at me, the same wordless gratitude Orios would offer, then lifts the waterskin to his lips and drinks long and deep. When he finishes, he exhales, wipes the last drops from his mouth, and looks up at me from beneath his shaggy blond hair.
“How is she?”
I hesitate, weighing the truth, but he has earned my honesty, even if I will never admit it aloud.
“She is no better. No worse. For now, Reon holds her in time.”
His gaze drifts to the horizon, and both our ears prick at the distant cry of seabirds. “We’re close. Then you will take her to the Grove?”
I nod.
“You must take me first to the Legion camp. They must know you mean no harm. If they see you unannounced, they will attack.”
I bark a mocking laugh, the sound lost to the wind. “If they dare attack me, it will be the last thing they do. I will show no mercy. Amara must reach the Grove.”
“What of the beast Ashen? I could ride him if you are not willing,” he offers.
Another laugh bubbles inside me. Who does this human think he is that he could ride a demon of the void like it’s a fucking pony? But that lunacy is least of my thoughts. I square my shoulders. “Ashen has not been seen since Baev’kalath.”
The Golden Son narrows curious eyes at me. “Can you not summon him? Do you not control demons?”
I dislike the way this human presumes to know anything about me. Still, I answer.
“He does not answer me.”
“Does that mean… but isn’t he immortal?”
“Demons die as easily as humans do. As easily as Fae do. If he died protecting Amara, then he served her well. What do you care anyway? He was a demon, after all.”
The Golden Son leans on the railing. “Demon or not, I saw bravery. I saw loyalty in the beast.”
A flash of feathers and smoke, and Zyphoro descends from above, landing deftly between us. “Then you and Ashen are alike in that sense,” she says with a grin. Her gaze sweeps over the ripples of his sweat-slicked muscles, and I roll my eyes, stomach churning.
“I will take him to his Legion,” she says abruptly. “You do not need another pair of hands to get Amara to the Grove.”
I eye her suspiciously. “And why are you so eager to escort this human, who hates us, to his army?”
Zyphoro shrugs. “Curiosity, insanity, boredom. Take your pick, Daedalus. Regardless, I’ll be happy to see him delivered.”
I shake my head. “I did not promise him safe passage.” I inhale, letting the weight of it settle. “I promised him death. A promise already overdue.”
Zyphoro laughs, sharp and wild, and both the Golden Son and I are caught off guard by it.
“Then stop going on about it and kill him already,” she says.
Her taunts fuck me off to no end. I should kill him just to show her I’m not bluffing. But perhaps that’s a little childish. So I do not. I stand there, brow furrowed, fingers twitching as if summoning Death Singer. Yet my sword does not come forth.
Zyphoro sighs, mocking my frayed patience. “He has done all you asked. He protected Amara and your daughter to the best of his ability.”
“And he failed,” I growl.
“So did you. So did we all,” she retorts sharply, yet her words cut like a dull knife. Slow and agonizing.
I release a low rumble from my chest, grudging acknowledgment in my throat.
“I’m curious to see what he will do next,” Zyphoro purrs, amusement threading every word.
