Thom swore under his breath. “You traitor,” he said as Obel drew near.
“That’s right, Captain,” Blount said. “My godfather has been quite helpful to me in bringing an end to your so-called Alliance. And now, he’s caught your friends sneaking around the palace.” Hetsked. “Such improper behavior as guests of your new monarch.”
Blount’s hand landed on Evylin’s shoulder, gripping it tightly. “As it is,” he said. “We’re all here now, so the festivities can begin.”
“Festivities?” Evylin asked, scanning their troop. Ethenn bore a cut on his cheek, and a smear of blood marred his coat. Some of Brea’s hair had pulled loose from the low bun she wore. Vayden bore a split lip. Isla looked rather unscathed, aside from a swelling bump on her forehead.
But Deckard had a vicious slash going from his temple down across his cheek, the wound narrowly missing his eye. It wept a slow crimson streak despite its shallow depth.
Blount ignored Evylin’s question as Obel stepped forward. “We found these on them, Your Majesty,” he said, the glowing Relics hanging from his hand.
A pleased smile came to Blount’s lips. He released Evylin to take up the Relics. Night beamed amethyst, Wind swirled gray tourmaline, and Terrae radiated emerald.
Evylin furrowed her brow before she caught herself.
Gratefully, Blount was distracted, slipping the three Relics next to the other four around his neck. “Where’s the Space Relic?” he asked Deckard.
“We’ve yet to retrieve it,” Deckard lied apologetically.
Blount’s skeptical gaze said he didn’t believe the claim, but Rafferty piped up. “It took us bloody forever to get to Estshire,”the weasel said with a shrug. “We were on our way here to fetch it when we heard about your grand coronation. Congratulations, by the way. I think you’ll look ruddy fantastic in Ephren’s crown.”
The quickness of Rafferty’s lie shouldn’t have surprised Evylin. That was his job, smuggling things in and out of places. He knew how to think on the fly. But the memory of Deckard speaking with the weasel so intently before they’d parted made her suddenly suspicious.
Blount turned to Obel for confirmation. The duke raised his dark brow in an unconcerned manner. “We searched them thoroughly,” he promised. “None of them have it.”
Blount hummed, disappointed. “Very well,” he said. “We’ll find the Keep after the ceremony.”
Evylin hesitated at the term, uncertain of what ceremony to which he referred, but Blount kept speaking. “Well now,” he surveyed the troop, “it isn’t every day you get such a grand reception from your enemies. Shall we officially meet one another? I love making new friends.”
He stepped up to Deckard first. “You’re the illustrious Colonel Deckard, I take it. You have a beautiful wife.”
“I’m aware,” Deckard said calmly.
“It’s a pity that you’re so mundane,” Blount said with a flippant scan of Deckard. “You don’t deserve her.”
“No man could.”
A wry grin lifted Evylin’s lips. Hewouldfind a way to compliment her in a situation such as this.
Blount chuckled, the sound light. He returned to Evylin’s side, eyes on Deckard even as he slid his hand over Evylin’s shoulder and up her neck. To her disappointment, a rush of magic raced along her skin. “On the contrary,” he said. “She’ll find I’m quite her equal.”
Deckard’s eyes met hers knowingly. She could sense his annoyance as well as his security. But he was unexpectedly calm, given their situation. The dread of his entrance had shifted, lightening to mild uncertainty.
His eyes, shifting more green than blue, returned to Blount’s face. “I’d advise you to get your hands off my wife,” he said, his tone ice-cold.
“You’re not in a position to threaten anyone, Colonel.” Blount’s smile remained. “She’ll be your widow soon enough. Let’s not rush it, shall we?”
Blount’s hand slid down her back before he shoved her toward Obel. “Keep a close eye on her,” he charged.
Obel’s hands clamped around Evylin’s arm, holding her at his side.
Blount stepped up to Vayden then. He scanned his near twin. Side by side, it was easier to see their differences. They weren’t so impossibly identical as on their own.
“And who is this?” Blount asked.
“Vayden Calder,” Obel said. “The spy I told you about.”
Blount smirked at the name. “Oh, yes. My half-brother, and—” He looked at Ilain, awareness dawning on his face. “Yours. Where’s your other brother?”
