Five. Hundred. Ships.
Who the hell is this man?
“If Vadon has bent, he’s going to be ... problematic,” Rhordyn states, tipping his head from side to side. “He’s vastly protected by the mountains. His only weaknesses are the River Norse which is nowgatedand the western cleft in Reidlyn Alps that’s only accessible by boat. Our options are to either risk certain suicide by taking the mountain pass, or a much safer journey through The Shoaling Seas.” He leans forward, steepling his hands and hammering Cainon with a gaze that would bleed the empty air between them if it had a heart. “We need those ships.”
I squeeze my lips together ...
His words are the fortified walls of an impenetrable fortress.
Safe. Confident.
Unyielding.
Though I want to shelter behind their barricade, something tells me I should do the opposite. That I should run and never look back.
“Well, if your suspicions are correct, he’s only an immediate threat toyourpretty lands,” Cainon responds, tone sharp. “Why should the Vruks be anyone’s problem but yours?”
I lean further to the side, glimpsing Baze’s face, his shoulder nailed to the wall, arms crossed over his chest. I search for any betrayal of expression, considering he’s generally far more animated than Rhordyn is ...
Not today.
He’s just as hard, just as stoic, looking at Cainon like a python ready to strike.
I notice the sword at his hip and my mouth goes dry ...
That’s not his wooden sword.
I’ve never seen that silver hilt before, or the big, iridescent gem crowning the pommel, lording over the length.
“Soon it won’t just be Vruks and the odd disappearance.” Rhordyn’s tone is like the pond in the middle of winter.
Smooth, cold, and deadly calm.
Cainon’s head tilts to the side, barely enough for me to notice. “Is that a threat?”
“That’s afact.”
“Well, The Shoaling Seas chew up a tenth of everything that passes through, so the moment I toss you my badge, I throw at leastten ships down the drain. If we have noformaltie,” Cain counters, shrugging, “I can’t make any promises.”
The temperature drops so suddenly my breath turns milky, and I have to bite down on a shiver as I watch Baze’s hand shift to the hilt of his sword.
Rhordyn’s eyes grow dark. “Choose your next words wisely, Cain.”
“The orphan charge you keep locked in that tower,” he says without hesitation.
My spine locks. I’m so still I can hear thewhooshof my heartbeat thrumming through my veins.
“What about her?”
Rhordyn’s voice is so monotone I picture death.
Cold, grisly, merciless death.
“I wish to gift her my cupla,” Cainon responds, and it suddenly feels like the castle is too small to house the disruptive energy rolling off the High Master of the West.
“Is that so?”
He stands, the motion slow, fluid smooth—like he’s toying with time, striking each movement with an exclamation mark. He prowls around the edge of the table with a strong, steady gait, and Cainon shifts until they’re standing chest to chest and I have a full, unperturbed view of two powerful profiles.
