Arkyn moves into his suite, its walls obstructed by near-toppling piles of treasures he’s scavenged over the phases. Mostly things other folk wouldn’t blink twice at were they to stumble across them. But Arkyn knows better than most that some of the world’s more precious treasures are often things that have been lost or tossed away.
Forgotten about.
He pockets the scavenged copper weald and stops before a stout cage, crouching to flick a metal bar. The miskunn coiled at the back twitches, digging deeper into itself as it turns its head, silver eyes wide.
Despite the bars protecting it from the bloodlusting male, ittremors.
Arkyn chuckles low.
He rubs his hands together. Palms still tingling with satisfaction from armoring his Fire Lark for the first time in phases, he moves through a doorway, into his overstuffed office lit by a raging hearth. Pauses when he sees Sereme perched on a pale wooden stool before his desk—back straight as an arrow, hair coiffed, coat clinging to her body like a closely shaved pelt.
At the sound of his footsteps, Sereme stands, spins, and drops into a low curtsy. “Elding.”
For a long moment, Arkyn scans the space, noting that there is less dust in the air. That his desk has been tidied, one of his scavenged vases now polished and displaying a purple spray of dried lacyloom blooms—so at odds with his muted surroundings.
Before his ornate seat is what he assumes to be a meal capped with a shiny silver dome, another on the table before Sereme.
Very presumptuous.
Arkyn moves around the desk like a seep of ink. “Those don’t grow this far south,” he murmurs, flicking one of the lacylooms. Some of its petals break free, dusting the table.
“No. I picked them near the wall and dried them on our journey here,”Sereme says as she sits, tone rich with saccharine devotion. “A gift, from my post to yours.”
Draped upon his chair, Arkyn reaches forward to dance his fingers over the pointed tips of his crown sitting atop the desk—something he came to retrieve on his way to the fighting pits. Now he’s growing itchy with the unwanted presence of the female seated before him.
“Given this is, in fact,mypost, you seem to have made yourself quite comfortable.”
Sereme opens her mouth, closes it. Clears her throat as she leans in, lifting the dome from Arkyn’s meal. “I thought we could enjoy a—”
“I’ve eaten.”
Her cheeks redden.
Slowly, she sets the dome back down, bringing her hands to her lap. She weaves them together, struggling not to fidget beneath Arkyn’s shadowed gaze. “Forgive me, Elding. I presumed—”
“Wrong.”
The rest of Sereme’s sentence sputters behind pinched lips, something brewing in her keen gray eyes. Something Arkyn recognizes—an emotion that often brews in his own chest despite his efforts to hide it.
Insecurity.
She lifts her chin, sitting impossibly straight. “I understand you’re upset about—”
“Your failure to keep me properly informed about my Fire Lark’s trial? Her supposedexecution?”
“Incorrect,” she’s quick to push between pinched lips, her tone bitter-tinged. “I struck her name off on the ledger. It’s the fault of others for not passing the message on.”
“Is that so?”
“It is,” Sereme snips. “Besides, I knew she’d find a way to claw back. She always does.”
“Interesting.” Arkyn’s eyes narrow on the fluttering point of Sereme’s carotid as she sits otherwise statue still. “My Elding Squire sent a lark I’ve just recently received. Reported you appearedsurprisedwhen he hand-delivered you my latest orders. But perhaps he was mistaken?” he asks, tossing her a bone she eagerly snaps up—face softening.
Posture easing.
If only a little bit.
“Indeed.” She huffs out an exasperated sigh, reaching up to smooth her perfectly coiffed hair. “Despite Raeve’s …burdensome ways, it’s been a trialing time functioning without our sharpest Elding Blade while she’s been off enjoying her sabbatical, given the many preparations you’ve kept us busy with.” The slightest lift of her chin. “When do we plan on moving forward with the invasion?”
