I brace my hands on the bar, breathing deep, willing myself to be still. But stillness is impossible. Not when I burn for her.
I pour another rum, polishing it off quicker than the first, when at last I hear the steady rhythm of boots descending the stairs. I don’t need to look up to know it’s Zyphoro. She slides onto the stool beside me, one hand tightening the straps of her leather harness while the other helps itself to the bottle of rum.
“Not for a moment do I believe that was their idea,” I say, my fingers tightening around the empty glass.
“They seemed eager to prove a point, and I was not about to refuse them,” she replies, her tone light. “What’s the matter, brother? Jealous I got there first?”
“Watch your tongue, sister,” I warn, low and sharp.
She grins, unrepentant. “My tongue has been doing far more than watching. In fact, it's exhausted.”
“Then by all means, be silent. It clearly needs the rest.”
Her laughter is quiet, a purr of amusement as she swirls the rum in her glass. “I don’t doubt the love you have for Amara. It’s one of the few things I find admirable about you.”
I exhale through my nose, pushing past her jibes. “You are too kind.”
“But you’d be a fool to think you are not desired by others,” she continues, tossing back her drink in one smooth motion.
I finally glance at her, my gaze narrowing as she slams the glass onto the bar. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re not so clueless as to miss the way Solena looks at you.”
The scrape of my chair against the wooden floor is sharp as I push back from the bar. “I’ve heard andseenenough from you for one morning, Zyphoro.”
“Fine, fine.” She raises her hands in mock surrender, though mischief lingers in her smirk. “Forget I mentioned it. Perhaps I’m mistaken.”
“You are,” I snap, leaving no room for argument. “The bond between Solena and Orios is a strong one. I can attest to that and her runeweaving has been invaluable.”
Zyphoro hums, watching me with a knowing glint in her eye. “Indeed, brother. And I’m sure the long hours with your bare, muscled flesh beneath her hands have had no effect on her at all.”
I don’t reply. I don’t indulge her. Zyphoro wants a reaction, craves the sport of getting under my skin. But I won’t fill her boredom with easy bait. Not when Driftspire sails the skies above us.
The arrival of Solena and Orios is timely, though neither of them meets my eyes. The air between us turns thick, awkward. I cut through it.
“Let’s collect Reon and get back to the ship. This has been a complete waste of time.”
“Where is Reon?” Solena asks, her voice quiet, her gaze darting to her boots the second I meet it.
“Hopefully, just where I left him. In Lady Marlayna’s bed. I’m in no mood to go searching for him.”
By the time we leave the inn, the streets are already alive. Awnings unfurl, shading stalls nestled between the towering sandstone buildings, while a cloudless sky and a blazing sun promise a blistering day ahead.
We weave through the chaos, dodging wagons brimming with fruit and vegetables, sidestepping vendors who bark at us to clear the way as they push wheelbarrows stacked with fresh-caught fish, some still gasping for breath. The desperation in their round, glassy eyes lingers with me long after they vanish into the crowd.
Only the enormous domed estate of House Taramethos and Lady Marlayna stands untouched by the morning frenzy, as if it exists solely in the realm of night, thriving in darkness and abandoned by daylight.
When we climb the steps, we find the door ajar, the menacing guards of the previous night nowhere in sight. A long creak echoes as I push it open, my eyes adjusting from the blinding sun to the ballroom shrouded in shadow. Heavy curtains are drawn, though thin slivers of light break through in places, illuminating the aftermath of excess. The once-vibrant obsidian dance floor lies empty, goblets strewn across the floor, platters abandoned with only a few stray grapes and scraps of last night’s indulgence.
But the silence. Gods, the silence.
It is as if we have stepped into a tomb rather than a place where hundreds of Fae had danced, drunk, laughed, and fucked in a decadent display of indulgence.
I glance up the grand staircase, then back at my companions. I signal to Orios, a silent understanding that I will go first, and he will follow. He straightens his shoulders, offering a nod in return. Solena and Zyphoro linger near the entrance as Orios and I ascend.
Still, not a soul in sight. No guards, no lingering revelers slinking away in the harsh light of morning. Only silence. We move deftly, our steps ghosts upon the wooden floor.
We pass the slightly open door of the parlor, and in the sliver of space, I catch the glint of the mirror.
