“The goblin is the least of my concerns right now,” Baz said. “I owe you guys some explanations.”
Lev arched a brow and bent to pick up his pipe. “Like why you’re bonded to the woman you shouldn’t allow in the same territory as you, let alone close enough for her to lunge and try to kill you again.”
“Fair point,” Moncho said. “I barely recognize myself with all this agreeing with Lev. The sooner we get rid of her”—her, meaning me—“the better. Time to get back to normal.”
Baz laughed darkly, sparking memories of how ferociously we’d consumed each other in the dungeon’s darkness. “There’s no going back to normal, not anymore.”
Lev flicked a spark to life, then let it float above his bowl while he and the rest of Baz’s friends anticipated whatever he would say next.
“The reason I’m bound to my prisoner with a Rillis rope is because Mauldrene seems to be friendly with her.”
Ed sucked in a breath that sounded like affront. “What, really?”
“Maybe not ‘friendly,’ but Mauldrene doesn’t seem out to get her like she does us.”
“That’s some dragonshit,” Lev exclaimed on a cloudy exhale.
Baz sighed loudly. “There’s more.” He looked at me, and I thought I could feel his regret that he was going to share my secret.
“I know who she is.”
“I thought—” Ed said.
“I know what I said, or rather what I didn’t say. I had my reasons.” Again, he looked at me, his ocean eyes warm in the yellow lumoonlight.
“Before you react, remember that she’s collared, and that it’s Cal’s collar. No way is she accessing her powers. Cal won’t let her, not ever.”
“Oh-kay…” Lev said.
Baz inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly.
“Oh, for dragon’s sake,” I said, and stood. “I’m Soravelle Davana, ‘Power Princess’ of the D’Arcos. And in four days, everyone in this castle is gonna know it.”
Chapter 9
The Furious, Savage Bitch … We’ve Got a Major Problem
My revelation was met with a stunned silence as dense as the olandule smoke and the shadows clinging to the parlor. The Bazrians gaped at me and Baz while the castle—Mauldrene, apparently—played its usual orchestral soundtrack. The violin, viola, and cello had the chance only to strum a few hurried chords that sounded like danger, danger! before Baz’s group of friends erupted.
Moncho, Edwidge, and Lev spoke over each other, Lev waving a smoking pipe in front of him as he gesticulated. Night stalked around the room to stand behind Baz and me. Félix remained where he was, but narrowed his eyes, just barely. On the otherwise implacable elf, the expression was as noticeable as Lev’s jumping eyebrows. Aziza slid closer to me on the couch, a mordari clutched in either hand, their blades facing me.
After sizing up the many threats pointing at me, I sidled next to Baz so that the Rillis rope—an ensorcelled object, it seemed—hung limply between us. That put Baz at my left, Edwidge to my right, with Night behind him more than me now, and Aziza directly in front of me where I could monitor her mordaris. Given that I was collared by and bound to my mortal enemy, my position was far from a tactical advantage. Rafaela would want to lock me in the cage for failing so spectacularly.
The assassin princess I’d once been, who had mastered sophisticated subterfuge to complete mission after mission to great, if quiet, success, had been overridden by the furious, savage bitch who’d woken in her underwater tomb to discover her twin brother taken from her. I should have been more careful to ensure I would succeed in killing Baz. But the creature inside me had been roused. It had tasted pleasure. It had felt freedom for the very first time.
For long centuries, since I’d been rebirthed, I’d been so damn careful to remain, as much as any sänglure could, a woman and not a beast. I’d taken every precaution to avoid bloodlust. Now that the choice had been taken from me, and twice over, my habitual care and precision felt foreign. Instinct drove me, perhaps even impulse. I needed action, not forethought; results, not caution.
I stood loose and ready to move. I had no weapon nor access to my fae power, but my body could cause damage. I had killed with my bare hands before, and I would surely do it again.
After Moncho, Lev, Edwidge, and Aziza had barked at Baz: “What the fuck? She’s Soravelle Davana? Are you insane?” Baz didn’t say a word to them.
He faced me. “What happens in four days?”
“Who the fuck cares what happens in four days?” Lev exclaimed. “If she is who she says she is”—Baz glowered at him—“we’ve gotta kill her, like, right this second.”
“No one’s killing anyone,” Baz grit out.
“Yeah? Did you inform her of that?” Lev jabbed his pipe in my direction. “’Cause she looks pretty damn murderous to me, and that was before I knew she was the most dangerous woman to ever walk the Opalese.”
