And of course, I follow.
What else is there to do but obey and surrender to whatever bargain she’s ready to make?
Chapter 11
Daed
Isee the echoes of House Taramethos woven into the bones of this place, the remnants of a world before war, before destruction. Before the rebellion that burned their legacy to the ground. Marlayna has done what she can to salvage that lost grandeur. The walls bearing the mark of artisans, etched with intricate filigree, pulsing with old enchantments that no longer have purpose. Gilded archways curve like the delicate strokes of a painter’s brush, their edges adorned with faded sigils of prosperity and power, now little more than relics of a dynasty that chose exile over honor.
Once, House Taramethos ruled over Thyros, a stronghold nestled within the embrace of the Thraelis Mountains. Their castle had been more than a seat of power. It was a temple of creation, a sanctum where magic was not merely wielded but shaped. They crafted artifacts that could shake empires: crowns that made kings kneel, blades that turned the tide of war, mirrors that could unravel the very fabric of fate. But time tarnishes even the finest craft.
Here in Ballamar City, what remains of that splendor is a poor imitation of its former self. The artistry, the tapestries, the hoarded relics of a lost age. They do not inspire awe. They clutter, they crowd, as though Marlayna is desperately trying to press the past into the narrow walls of a place unworthy of its history. I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.
Because I have not forgotten. When the war came, when the firestorm of the Legion rose against us, House Taramethos turned their backs. They fled, taking their weapons, their magic, their carefully hoarded power with them. They abandoned the Mordorin warriors at Greenmist Gorge, left them to be slaughtered while their promised reinforcements never came.
As if sensing the bitterness in my gaze, Marlayna glances over her shoulder, her lips curling into a sly smile. I return it, forced and placating, though my mind is still with the bodies that once littered the gorge.
Like its mistress, this house wears its splendor like a mask. Dazzling, breathtaking, but hollow beneath the surface.
Marlayna guides us into a large room, and the moment I lift my head, I realize we are not alone.
The parlor is steeped in darkness, shadows flickering over silk and skin. Candlelight trembles across the walls, painting the silhouettes of writhing bodies, limbs entwined, sweat-slicked and glistening beneath the spill of moonlight slanting through the open windows.Scents of musk and wine linger in the air, threaded with sighs and whispered names. Those not lost to pleasure lounge on velvet divans, sipping wine dark as spilled blood, indulging in silver platters piled high with cream-filled confections and sun-ripe fruit, their sweet juice running down eager chins.
Ballamar City is far more of a hedonistic pleasure nest than I ever imagined.
I turn to Marlayna, ready to demand why she has brought us here, but then I see it, past the haze of desire and debauchery, a small cluster of Fae huddled in the farthest corner. Unlike the others, they are not indulging. They murmur in hushed tones, their gazes fixed on something between them.
I strain to see, stepping closer, and when the figures shift, my breath stills.
A gleam of tarnished silver. A surface I would recognize anywhere.
The scrying mirror.
I move toward it, but before I can take another step, Marlayna’s hand presses against my chest, fingers curling, kneading as if she can make my body yield with touch alone.
“There will be time for that,” she murmurs, her voice silk-soft. “I have many, many questions. Please, you and your companions must eat. Drink.”
I shake my head. “The mirror…”
“Eat and drink,” she interrupts sharply, the command hidden beneath honeyed words as her guards close around me.
My eyes narrow, but she shows no regard for my irritation. Instead she laughs, light and musical, her lashes lowering as if in feigned modesty. But there is nothing coy about her.
“You are in my kingdom now,” she says. “And we will play by my rules.”
I lean in, my voice low, edged with warning. “You are brave to think you hold any true power over me. Especially when you know exactly what I am capable of.”
Her brows lift, amusement curling at the corner of her lips. “Oh, I know,” she says, stepping even closer, so close I can feel the warmth of her breath. “But the fact that youhave not murdered me and my guests already tells me you will not use that power. And that makes me curious.”
She tilts her head. “So, please,” she breathes. “Eat. Drink.”
I turn my back on Marlayna for only a moment, my allies pressing in close. We take in the scene with guarded detachment. The moans, the clinking goblets, the scent of sweat and spice. These indulgences do not rattle us. Such things are common in our world.
But we are not in our world.
And the Fae cannot be trusted.
“What does she want?” Zyphoro murmurs, arms folding across her waist, long, dark nails tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm against her ribs.
