"It wasn’t a plea," Vale snapped.
Finally, Graves looked at him. Vale stood at the edges of the room. His golden hair was longer, brushing his chin.
"Wasn’t it?" Graves asked quietly.
"There is only so much I can do as the King. What is expected of me—" Vale ran a hand over his jaw. "If I did what I truly wanted, this whole damned world would burn."
The tip of Graves’s dagger stilled. The Umbra trembled, but watched them with greedy interest.
"Maybe it should," Graves muttered.
Silence settled between them. Graves was numb to all but the feel of blood where it splattered against his carefully covered body.
When the Umbra was more exposed muscle than skin, he finally succumbed. The shadows in his eyes shifted from blue back to darkness. He sobbed, the chains rattling.
"What does the Tenebrae plan to do with Luella Eritrais?" Graves asked again.
"You’ll die. He’ll kill you, and it won’t matter because he always gets what he wants."
Graves smiled beneath the cowl. "So do I."
"You haven’t—met him. He’s ruthless."
Footsteps approached. Vale’s shadow fell over the chained Umbra. "So are we," the dragon King hissed.
"He won’t just kill you. He’ll kill everything you’ve ever loved." The Umbra gave a gasp.
Graves and Vale exchanged a glance at the Umbra’s unusual cooperation. Umbra typically taunted until the end, more laughter than coherent words. Yet here, averycoherent, nearly pleading Umbra was—chained and begging.
Graves’s eyes narrowed on the Umbra’s—on the blue shade surfacing through the shadows.
Foamy blood began to bubble past his lips. "He’s taking her… to the Lunar Temples. Deep in the mountains—" The Umbra coughed up more blood. "To wed her."
Vale surged forward, but Graves stopped him, eyeing his bare hands.
Vale’s lips curled, but he stepped back. Graves held the dagger loosely; though, he sensed he wouldn’t need it anymore.
"When?" Graves asked.
"In—three days." The Umbra’s chin dropped to his chest. He began to laugh, and when he looked back up, his eyes were black. "You fools."
Blood spilled over his lips. His body seized, then went limp.
It was quiet.
"He’s dead, then?" Vale asked.
Graves stared at the Umbra’s unmoving chest. "Yes."
Vale turned and strode out. Graves hurried to follow through the corridor, slick with blood, both old and new.
"Where are you going?"
Outside, it was devoid of rain, but Vale’s slitted green eyes were turbulent as he hissed, "To tell the others to prepare. We leave for Luna."
79
BIRDCAGE
