“I’ll manage,” I say, setting the torch on the hearth and pouring myself a glass.
“What’s with the torch? Did you extinguish all the candles again?” Quinn asks, eyes mischievous.
My cheeks heat. “Who told you?”
“Taran. Well, he didn’t tell me, per se, but his denial was weak.”
“Traitor.” I swirl my wine around in the glass as Quinn chuckles.
“He’s been in a mood lately.”
“Taran?”
“All of them, really. The collective ‘him.’ Men really can’t handle their wars.”
I say nothing to this. Having just gotten a taste for war, I can’t say I blame them for reacting poorly to it.
“But yes, Taran. Your brother has truly gotten under his skin. And into other places in his body as well.”
I nearly spit. “What? Please don’t tell me—”
Quinn laughs loudly, throwing her head back. “I know he’s your brother, but you can’t expect him to be celibate. Not with a body like that.”
“Quinn.”
“I’m just saying. Taran’s got it bad. I’ve never seen him this worked up.”
I think of Taran’s recent outburst in the library. “Ronan thinks so too, but I’m not sure. He seems to genuinely hate Seth.”
“Remember what I said about the people who hate you? Well, it goes for the people that you hate too. There’s no one hotter.”
“Is everyone hot to you right now then?”
She grins, tilting her glass to me. “Everyone is always hot to me. Well, most people at least. But more people than usual now, I guess.” She sighs, setting down her wine and shifting her unmoving legs with her hands. “Did Ronan send you to bring me around?”
“No, I offered. I couldn’t take much more battle talk. And I wanted to see if you’re alright. I know things have been hard.”
“Understatement of the century.” She groans and throws her head back against the couch, looking at the ceiling. “I don’t know why I even defended what Father did. I always knew he didn’t trust Ronan, but I never thought he’d act against him so brazenly. I still don’t understand it. Alchemy, magic, relics. It all seems so silly and unimportant in the face of war. Maybe if Ronan was different, maybe if he was open to some of the more questionable methods, it would have mattered, but he was never going to be that man.”
“Which is why Zara wanted him dead,” I remind her. “Are you certain your father didn’t reach the same conclusion?”
“I’m not certain of that, no. He’s never cared for Ronan, never understood our friendship. But it changed during the Festival. I thought maybe the success of everything had finally won his respect, but now? Maybe it was all part of his plan to help Zara. Maybe his interest in Ronan was really more of a way to say goodbye to him.”
“Have you asked him? What did he ask about Ronan?”
Quinn shakes her head. “I don’t know. He wanted to know where Ronan had travelled. If I remembered him going to Nithyria at all, if he ever talked about his time there.”
What would it matter to Cyrus if Ronan had been to Nithyria?
“Did he somehow know the war was coming? Did Typhon know and tip him off?”
“Typhon definitely didn’t know. The only thing I can think is that it has to do with that list of relics. He found it and gave it to me to give to Ronan. It’s over on that table.” She gestures to a desk, and I retrieve a scrap of paper.
It’s parchment again, a thick, old piece of animal skin that has been folded and unfolded many times.
Torch of Vayla – Port Limin Cathedral (stolen)
Sickle of Vahlo – Minar, last seen circa 4thcentury
