How did she gain entry?
She doesn’t have the key sigil to access it.
Why?
Why is she here?
Did she…
No.
No.
He shook his head. Refused to believe it, to give the question shape. His hand dropped to his side. His vision narrowed on her. She was flushed. Shaking. Wearing a thin white gown soaked through with sweat. Her silver hair was matted to her temple.
“Kail…” she whispered. “I swear it…I’ll find a way…”
But she wasn’t speaking tohim.
She was looking at his brother, silver eyes soft and dazed.
Devoted.
Focused.
And Shu’Khan did not stop her. Did notcorrecther. Instead, he answered inKailorien’svoice. Not the emperor’s polished thunder. No. This was low. Tender. Soothing. A perversion of comfort.
“Hush now,Ilphara,” he murmured, stroking her temple. “Sleep. Heal.”
The word cracked like a hammer across Kailorien’s spine.
Ilphara.
A sacred word. A word meaning beloved. Rarest of epithets.
Something that should have beenhis.
Auryn reached for something in her delirium and found Shu’Khan’s face.
“Your earring,” she frowned. “It’s…gone…”
Shu’Khan caught her hand in his and pressed it to his chest.
“I removed it. Just for tonight,” he said. “Sleep now…rest…”
His twin brother was mimicking him.
Perfectly.
The pitch, the cadence, the rhythm of breath between words—every syllable of it wasKailorien’s.As if he’d studied his voice long enough to wear it like a mask.
Kailorien’s breath turned to knives in his chest.
At last, Auryn closed her eyes. She went still and quiet against Shu’Khan, and his brother—his brothersmiled. Stroked her hair. Her cheek. Her neck.
Over twelve centuries, Kailorien had perfected the art of leashing his own fury, and in this moment, he had to draw on all of that experience. Anger flared through his very pores, a kind of flash that blinded him to everything except his brother’s face. His hands shook, itched for his blade. The runes on his spine, back, and shoulders rumbled as his rage brought them to life.
“Seravael,” he said. The floor shuddered beneath his feet.