“We leave when the storm breaks,” he said.
I nodded slowly. Ronan pried Perri gently from where she had curled up against my ribs.
“Come on, little star,” he murmured, brushing her curls. “Dinner time. Real food. Georg has soup and mutton waiting.”
“I want Veskor to come too,” she said, then paused, “but he doesn’t like soup.”
My throat tightened. I looked away. I didn’t deserve to eat with the others. Not after what I’d done. I wasn’t like them. I was too wild. Too untamed.
Ronan’s eyes softened—damn him—and he crouched to her level. “Veskor will eat here. He needs rest.” His gaze flicked to me quickly, then away. “We will bring meat, and make sure there is no soup.”
He doesn’t trust me. He doesn’t want me around her.
The familiar pang of loneliness and betrayal hit me. It was just like the fighting pits all over again: trust no one. No one will help you.
But they did help you. They carried you here and healed you. The others from the pit would have left you in the snow. Even the overseer would have left you if you weren’t strong enough to save yourself. That was how it worked there. Is that not how it works here?
Perri pouted but let herself be carried out, cuddled in Ronan’s arms as he left with Nasi and Georg, their laughterechoing down the stone hallway. The moment their footsteps faded, Canavar turned to me and glared.
I tensed. This draken reminded me of the fighting pits. He looked and smelled like a warrior. He moved like one. I took a breath and tried to reassure myself.
You aren’t there anymore.
The room shrank as he stepped up to my face, bending down so he was level with where I sat on the bed, his wings casting half the chamber in shadow. His presence pressed like a mountain on my chest. He didn’t move; he didn’t need to. He just stood there, staring at me with quiet, murderous intent.
“What do you want?” I rasped, lifting my chin even as my knees threatened to buckle. “If you’re planning to kill me, do it. She’s safe now. I’m sure no one would be mad.”
His eyes narrowed. “Ronan wants you to face Anar’s mother. What about his father?”
I eyed him warily. “I?—”
“I am his father.”
Panic flared in my chest, then died. If I died now, that was fine. Something in his face flickered—pain old enough to have left scars. I braced for claws, a fight, or the inevitable end in some capacity. He moved suddenly and I flinched. His head tilted to the side, considering.
“You think I blame you,” he continued, “for the vampyre attacks. For the chaos. For the note that sent my son running into the forest.”
A knot formed in my gut. “I didn’t?—”
He leaned forward slightly, claws glinting in the firelight. “Did you send my son that note, luring him off our island?”
“I …” My throat tightened.
Canavar’s expression didn’t change. “Why?”
I swallowed.
“I couldn’t get past your wards. I had no way to contact you. I thought—I thought … If I could get him out, I could talk to him, maybe get him to join me, or have him let me on your island, but he went straight toward Lyoness. I caught up, but I didn’t know how to approach him. He was the first draken I’d met, and I was … I was nervous,” I admitted wryly, licking my lips. “I stayed away and we went to sleep a few miles apart in the trees. The vampyres attacked in the night. I heard his cries and flew to him, but … I was too late. I should have been with him. I shouldn’t have been afraid to approach him.
Canavar stared long enough that the silence clawed at the back of my skull.
“And rallying the vampyres to attack Lyoness?” he accused.
I put a hand behind my head. “I didn’t do that. They followed me to Lyoness.”
Canavar glared.
His gaze felt like judgement all on its own.
