“I can dream walk,” I repeated again, a bit more of my usual confidence lacing my tone.
“Right. And why is that?” Razia asked, skepticism apparent in both his words and body language.
There’s the doubt.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I have . . . theories, but nothing concrete.”And nothing I will willingly discuss with you in the room, I added silently.
“Care to share those theories?” he probed, and I tensed, my expression closing off immediately until I wore the mask of Cael, the Matriarch’s feared and formidable general.
“No,” I barked, and Razia, thankfully, backed down even as fire shone in his eyes. I could easily overpower him with my magic, especially with Folami at my side, but I didn’t want to resort to violence. Harsh truths may be permissible in Lord d’Leocopus’ court, but openly attacking his general would not be.
“But it is something we could use. If I could teach someone else to do it,” I added.
“Who do you dream walk to?” Folami asked carefully.
I gulped, my throat constricting as my eyes flew to Peytor quickly then back to Folami’s steadfast gaze.
“Ellowyn,” I nearly whispered, and heard Peytor suck in an audible breath.
“The Warlord’s whore?” Razia immediately spat, and I felt the temperature of the room drop a full ten degrees at his clear hatred. His outburst caused power to leak from my fingers as my anger froze the ground beneath my feet, icy tendrils reaching to where he stood. Peytor’s gaze turned murderous as he spun to face Razia, and even Folami appeared disgusted by his comment.
“What. Did. You. Call her?” I gritted through my teeth as I took a menacing step toward Razia. He stuck his chin out in bravery or stupidity, I wasn’t sure, but he stood his ground, desperately trying to conceal the slight shake of his knees.
Good. He should be afraid.
“The Warlord’swhore,” he hissed. No sooner were the words dying on his tongue than I had his feet encased in a block of ice, frozen to the floor. He gasped slightly as the cold bit through the thick leather of his boots and the bottoms of his pants as the chill slowly crept up his legs.
“That was a rhetorical question. I heard you loud enough the first time.” My voice was deceptively calm, barely restrained anger and violence simmering beneath the surface.
I turned from him, not trusting myself to look at his repugnant face any longer.
“You can report this back to Lord d’Leocopus. But please also inform him that I will no longer tolerate your presence in my war room after your disgusting comments about my future wife andPeytor’s sister.” I released his feet with a wave of my hand. “Go. Now,” I commanded.
Razia’s feet shuffled across the floor before they paused. “General d’Eshu, I really must insist?—”
“I said, GO,” I roared, Fire licking up my arms with my anger.
At my display of magic, Razia fled the room, the door slamming behind him.
I closed my eyes, desperately calming my racing heart as I fought for control over my magic.
“Why don’t we ask the Bondsmith?” Peytor asked quietly, and I tilted my head back and forth in thought. “She’s a goddess—or a half-goddess? There’s probably some way for her to help, right?”
“It’s not a bad idea,” I agreed, logic finally returning once more.
“Why don’t you go speak with her, Torin. Folami and I will try and . . . smooth any edges that came from your treatment of Razia,” Peytor said, and I hummed quietly, finally opening my eyes.
Folami and Peytor looked simultaneously amused and annoyed.
“Just try not to set the Bondsmith on fire if she gives you an answer you don’t like, okay?” Peytor teased, and I rolled my eyes as I clapped him on the shoulder.
“Thank you,” I said, and he smiled in return before nodding at the door.
“Go. Figure out how you can communicate with one of us. And if she asks for a volunteer for a rune tattoo . . .” He gestured at himself, and Folami chuckled.
“Yes. It’ll have to be you. There’s no way anyone is ever tattooing me again,” she scoffed, and I smiled grimly at her.
“Thank you, both of you. Hopefully I’ll return with answers.”
