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“You’re one to talk. He made you his whore, and you protect him, Hel? Really?” Khel snorts. “As I said, I won’t hurt you. It’s Devar they want. And once they’re done with him, we’ll have everything we wanted, everything we need for the lane. A hospital, money, a school.”
Oh, the idiot. “Neledalies, Khel. That’s all she does, as easy as breathing.”
He sighs. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. We’ll talk when it’s over.”
Whatis over? I want to ask, but he’s done indulging me.
“Out.”
I want to push, but the coldness of his eyes warns me not to. I get out of the hovercraft, and follow after Zale.
Khel shifts the blade to my back, between my shoulder blades, and we walk in silence to the house.
Each time I entered it, I was greeted by footmen and bright lights. The butler was never far, nor were the servants, ready to provide refreshments. Now, it is still and silent.
“To the right,” Khel tells Zale, directing him to the duke’s bar.
Zale stops at the entrance and looks over to me with concern before crossing the threshold.
I enter and gasp.
My mother and the duke are both present, though both are tied to chairs, hands bound behind their backs. Neleda’s eyes widen when she sees me, and she fights against the ropes in vain.
Her mouth is gagged, but the duke’s isn’t. She must have run her mouth, as we Stovrj are wont to do.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Zale demands.
I was so focused on the odd, unexpected sight of my mother in chains, I didn’t notice her jailers. I don’t recognize the three men at first, though I can tell at first glance all are coldbloods, with their pale skin and the general aura surrounding them.
Then I do identify one of them, the oldest-looking one, still thin and glowering; he’s the duke’s butler who hated me so.
“This,” the man snarls, “is comeuppance.”
Khel drops the dagger at my back, and take my shoulders, leading me to one of the empty chairs. “Stay here if you know what’s good for you.”
He doesn’t bother to bind me, but he remains close, with the hilt in his hand.
“I don’t know who you are, and I do not care.” Zale’s voice is slow and low. I can hear the contained rage. “You will release Helyn and her family this instant, or face suffering a thousandfold before I grant you the mercy of death.”
The butler chuckles. “Hear him roar, the little king. He’s a true Devar, all right.” He shows his teeth. “You shouldn’t have made it. You should never have survived then.”
“Givon, this is madness,” the duke roars. “Zale isn’t responsible for what happened to you, for what happened to any of us.”
“He’s a selfish tyrant, like his father. And look at who he’s brought to his bed: a lowborn, common swine. Just like you.” The butler practically shakes with fury. “You don’t deserve to rule.”
“Whoever told you ruling was about deserving anything?”
The butler crosses the room till he stands in front of Zale and strikes him, hard and fast, the punch resounding through the room.
Zale chuckles and spits ice-blue blood. “Givon,” he says. “I know that name. I remember that song.”
The butler lifts his hand again and this time, Zale’s ready: he catches his wrist and moves to twist it behind his back. The butler moves with both speed and agility, freeing his hand.
Zale’s hand lifts at the level of butler’s face, and crushing to fist the air, calling to his magik. The other man’s hand mirrors the gesture. Two pointed spears made of ice appear out of thin air, hurtling at great speed, one toward Zale, the other, the butler.
And both men block them with a wave of their hands.
Zale’s cruelest smile crosses his face. “Hello, brother.”
