I looped my hand through his extended arm, palm resting against the corded muscle beneath his jacket. Strength lay there, contained and patient. He could break me without thought. He might have been only an Ichor, yet that lack honed him. Those denied dominion over flesh learned subtler methods of control.
We turned down a new hall. Lanterns thinned, spaced wide so darkness stretched between them in yawning pockets. My heartbeat climbed into my throat, blood humming beneath my skin. Eventually the lanterns vanished, replaced by thin bands of moonlight spilling through high, windowed slits in the stone.
“Where are you taking me?” My voice barely traveled. I scanned the shadows for movement. Hope sparked despite myself. Escape tempted me, bright and reckless. But if I failed—it might shatter the fragile shield Egath provided.
His grip tightened a fraction, guiding me into silvered darkness. “I think you know.”
“Tallon considers you his friend.” The words tasted thin, edged like cracked porcelain. A frail rebuke, but I had to say it.
“Then he is a fool.” A low chuckle left him as he stopped before a heavy door banded in iron. Hinges groaned when he pushed it open. “In Vellos, you serve yourself first. For me, that means the king before a bratty prince.”
“Did you ever consider him a friend?” I stepped inside. My gaze lifted as moonlight cascaded through the chamber.
A window.
Relief struck when I found it. The arch towered high, wide enough to frame Gyrak’s entire head. Pale light filtered through gauze curtains, turning the room to pearl and shadow. Dust drifted in the beam, slow as falling ash.
Gyrak? Matalino?
I reached inward and forced open the tight place behind my ribs. I sent the call outward like a flare into the night. No one had ever taught me how this worked. I felt like the first magic user, fumbling with a birthright meant to bloom by instinct alone.
“I am an Ichor.” Egath crossed the room with measured steps, boots whispering over thick carpet that swallowed each footfall. He lowered himself into a plush chair upholstered in deep blue velvet and drew me into his lap as though it were the most natural act in the world.
My spine locked. I perched on his knee rather than settling, muscles taut, gaze pinned to the door. Tallon could stagger in at any moment. Deimos might follow. Either would mean ruin.
“I am a servant.” His hand traveled along my arm, thumb grazing the tender skin near my elbow as he leaned back into the cushions. “I cannot command others with my magic. So I serve the most powerful who can.”
“Your neck is bare.”
He carried no fear. Confidence draped him like a tailored coat. He trusted himself not to be caught drinking from me. Trusted the king’s faith.
“Is it?” His mouth curved, slow and taunting. “The neck is not the only place one uses to gain dominance, naïve Nienna.”
Then, from his pocket, he pulled out a simple gilded chain. Tallon’s key. Gaze locked on mine, he pushed it into the small lock at my throat. Warm hands pulled the metal free.
My teeth pressed together to hide my frown.
“Would you like to see?” His palms rested on the arms of the chair before lifting to slide open the buttons of his vest. One by one, they slipped apart with muted clicks—too loud in the quiet chamber.
Breon! Dyre! Artorious?I hurled their names into the hollow of my mind.Hear me. Please!
“I like you, Nienna.” His voice lowered to a near purr as he shrugged off the vest and tugged his tunic loose from his trousers. “You are different. Brave—foolishly so. And curious. It has been too long since I’ve met someone who did not cower or bare teeth at me. You simply exist—content tobe.”
“You must be mad if you think I’m content here.” I rose in one sharp motion, skirt whispering against his knees.
He did not restrain me. His tunic hung untucked, draped across his thighs as he occupied the chair like a throne. Assurance radiated from him, quiet and absolute. He let me roam because he believed the room itself held me captive.
Paintings lined the walls, oils of Velli ancestors glaring with lacquered disdain. Their painted eyes seemed to follow each step. Marble busts rested on pedestals between intricate vases glazed in cobalt and gold. Wealth clung to every surface, heavy as perfume. I ignored it and strode to the window. The glass stretched from polished floor to vaulted ceiling, nearly fifteen paces wide. Moonlight washed the panes in cold silver.
Come for me. I thrust unseen tendrils outward, straining with everything inside my ribs. I didn’t know how to do this. Would they hear? Would Ronan?
My fingers closed around the handle, seeking the balcony beyond the glass panes. Cool brass bit into my palm, then Egath’s hand covered mine. Heat bled through his skin. His breath skimmed my shoulder, stirring the fine hairs at my nape.
“So that’s your plan? Throw yourself to your death?”
“You wouldn’t let me.” My exhale fogged the glass, a fragile bloom that vanished as a cloud swallowed the moon and plunged the chamber into dim shadow.
“No,” he murmured. His arm curved around my waist, fingers grazing the thin fabric gathered there, tracing the line of my belly. The touch lingered, deliberate.
