But Calira prowls toward him like she knows performance when she sees it. One hand is wrapped around a blade, and the other is balled into a fist.
“Danger was forced into me before I even knew what it was,” she says, voice cold.
“That’s a fairly concerning parenting philosophy, if I’m honest,” Ronyn quips casually.
Calira raises her fist, and Ronyn braces for the impact.
But her palm opens, revealing a violet powder pooled there. She blows into it, spreading a fine dusting of the powder over Ronyn’s face.
It smells of cinnamon and sugar.
And before he can recognize what’s happening, the world goes dark.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The crown may claim the greater good
The dead still pay in flesh and blood
Calira waitsuntil the sedative begins to clear from their system before waking them. Alchemy is about precision. Timing, dose, duration, delivery.
The cavern smells of volcanic ash and the bitter medicinal smoke curling from the herbs burning slowly in her bronze dish. The Melders remain unconscious—dose and duration is always longer for them. Their breathing is deep and even beneath the effects of the sedation tonic.
Precisely as intended.
Transporting Melders is difficult enough when they are cooperative.
Calira crouches before Ronyn first.
Street-wise.
Observant.
Annoying.
Worst of all, he hides intelligence beneath humor. Men like that are difficult to predict because everyone mistakes amusement for harmlessness. The kind of man who survives by performing to the exact rhythm of the world around him.
Even unconscious, his body remains tense. One hand curled loosely like he expects to wake fighting.
Jax is worse.
Stillness radiates from her in the wrong way. Not calm.Definitely not. This is containment. Like violence held together by will alone.
Calira reaches for the smoldering herb bundle beside her and lifts it beneath Ronyn’s nose.
Blackbriar leaf. Unpleasant enough to force consciousness upward quickly.
Ronyn recoils almost instantly, coughing hard as awareness slams back into him.
Efficient.
Effective.
Jax is next. A low, enraged snarl tearing from her throat as she comes to.
“Should’ve left that one sleeping,” Vren grumbles from behind her, jerking his head toward Jax, and dragging his hand through his onyx braids. “Isn’t that why we do it to the others? Can’t argue with us while they’re unconscious.”
Calira’s used to Vren’s intolerance, but she huffs out an irritated breath all the same.
