Page 98 of Interion

“I'll ask one last time. What do you want from me?”

The eye on the other side studied him with greater intensity, as if deciding whether punishing the general for his petulance was worth the trouble. Zion held his breath—he'd be ready if it came to that, but he didn't want to fight again. He'd already lost decades of his life to pointless battles. After a few seconds, the large eye withdrew.

“The provisional general is waiting for you at the royal palace. The meeting with the king is in one hour.”

“What should I know about this?”

Military meetings with Elitium weren't normal. His fists clenched as the thought that Kyller might be in danger seized his mind.

“Find out yourself, boy. I'm not your babysitter.”

Zion felt the presence recede and sighed with relief, sealing the window in his shield. Then he marched out of the bathroom, certain it was going to be a difficult night.

Δ

Exactly one hour later, he materialized at the entrance of the royal palace.

As custom dictated, Zion was expected to enter the king's tower on foot. He tied his hair in a bun while the guards opened the palace's double doors with ceremony, as if the general visiting the king were a special occasion. The moment she saw him, Sirena, the royal secretary, rose to guide him to the throne, but Zion simply pointed at her desk, signaling for her to stay seated.

“That's not necessary.”

The woman devoured him with her gaze, and the general felt the urge to tear out her disgusting eyes so she'd never dare look at anyone that way again. Shadow tendrils bristled on his shoulders like a startled cat, and if they could make a sound, they'd be hissing.

Sirena was a gorgon, but her race wasn't what bothered him—he'd always gotten along well with gorgons in the army. The problem was that Sirena had no concept of boundaries, and the king simply found all the chaos she caused amusing. He kept her here not just as an advisor, but also to contain threats.

“I must accompany you, dear. King's orders.”

She smiled, approaching like a snake about to strike. Her skin was pale, and her blonde hair—like stalks of wheat—fell to her hips, marking her, by the matriarchs' hierarchy, as a powerful and untouched medusa. Her locks were thick, shiny, and voluminous in a way that mesmerized. But no one was fooled by the beauty. Like her teeth, the hair was dangerous. When a gorgon lost control of her hunger, the strands transformed into serpents, and the longer they were, the greater their attack range—their bites released paralyzing venom. This one wore a red dress that clung to her perfectly sculpted body, and her walk might have been considered attractive, if not for the hunger in her eyes. Zion didn't like the woman, and his skin crawled involuntarily whenever he was near the leech. Years ago, she'd done something that left them both paralyzed.

He pressed the elevator button and the doors opened.

“I’ll tell him it’s not your fault you couldn’t come with me.”

When Sirena kept coming toward him, Zion commanded the shadows to seize her ankles. She stumbled when her feet tried to move but couldn’t. It wouldn’t last long, but it was enough for him to get away—as long as she didn’t transform. If that happened, the shadows would be useless.

“Running from me? Still afraid, General?” she hissed at Zion as he stepped into the elevator and regarded her with indifference. Not disgust, not contempt—just indifference.

He stood motionless, watching Sirena struggle to keep her balance with her feet pinned to the floor. But gradually, as always, she managed to break free.

“I still smell your urine every time I step into this elevator, and I’m the one who’s afraid?” Zion retorted, his expression blank. The doors closed slowly, and she couldn’t reach him in time. As the elevator rose, he finally let his posture relax.

Sirena wasn’t just a receptionist—she was also the king’s mistress, which meant he always had to be careful around her. The shadows couldn’t stop her, and the only way to keep her at bay was to fight. Letting it come to that would be shooting himself in the foot.

On the way up, he organized his thoughts, burying anything that might cause problems with the king. Then he projected an illusion of his psyche outside his mental shield. If the king entered his mind, he’d find something close to reality—but stripped of secrets. Maintaining that second consciousness was exhausting, but he was used to it by now. Serguei wasn’t the best man in the world, but he was definitely the best psychic.

On the fiftieth floor, the doors opened and another escort of guards waited to take him to the antechamber outside the throne room. The interim Interian general stood before the two enormous golden doors that led to the king. He was still dirty from the journey, wearing the black and green military uniform, his posture so rigidly straight it looked uncomfortable. Cauê had been the class trainer before they’d swapped positions for the duration of Zion’s leave.

Zion stopped beside him and adopted the same posture, since the king apparently liked his subjects uncomfortable in his presence. Power had always been his greatest obsession, which was why the general always made sure to appear submissive around him.

“My respects, General,” Cauê said beside him, offering a slight salute.

“You know you don’t need to do that. You’re the general here.”

“Only provisionally, gods willing.”

Zion glanced at the man: deep dark circles under his eyes, hair greasy and disheveled.

“It’ll get better. You’ll get the hang of it soon.”