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I’d forgotten—before Demos was imprisoned, the two of them had worked together.
Demos smirked, and his eyes met mine. “I’m difficult to kill—when I haven’t been starved and imprisoned for two years. I heal quicker, move faster, and hit harder than most. When I train, my body adds muscle much, much more quickly than anyone else. I can wield any weapon, and when I’m fighting, my mind allows me to see tactics that others wouldn’t see.”
My mouth had gone dry. “What do you call that kind of power?”
“Death,” Madinia remarked idly. “You call it death.”
Demos’s expression turned hard. “Or you call it life.”
Time for a change of subject. I reached for the next question on my list. “What’s the status on the jewels we stole from the castle?”
Demos and Vicer glanced at each other, and my heart tripped in my chest. “Please tell me we still have them.”
“We do,” Madinia said. “They’re in my tent. Under my cot.”
“Sounds secure,” Asinia remarked.
“Where doyousuggest?” Madinia asked.
“Maybe not where anyone could wander in and—”
“What about our food stores?” I changed the subject as Madinia snarled. “Our weapons and armor?”
Demos sighed. “Food isn’t a problem. The fae have been feeding our people for decades now, likely their attempt to overcome their guilt. But most of the weapons are old, blunt, only useful for training. We need armor as well.”
“The jewelry we stole from the castle… How do we turn all those jewels into weapons, food, and armor for our army?”
Vicer shifted in his chair. “There’s a fae town several days south. The fae love glittering things. We can take the jewels and sell them there.”
Word would definitely reach Conreth, but we needed resources.
Madinia’s face had turned cold. It was clear she didn’t trust the fae. Of course, she’d seen her father beheaded in front of her the night she’d learned just who Lorian was.
Vicer went still. “Someone is coming.”
“We’ll meet again as soon as we hear anything about the hourglass,” I murmured.
The tent entrance shifted, and Margie poked her head inside, her gaze instantly meeting mine. “Is this a private meeting, or can anyone join?”
CHAPTEREIGHT
The boy’s brother didn’t know what to do with either a crown or a child.
The crown, at least, he had advisers to help him with. His father’s court hadn’t been perfect, but most of the infighting had been resolved long before the boy was born.
The boy was given to nannies, who attempted to console him each time he woke screaming for his mother.
One of them lasted longer than the others. Each night, Darielle would rock him, humming a lullaby as he shuddered in her arms.
Eventually, she began to mutter to the other servants.
“A child needs a family,” she said. “The poor thing has already lost his parents, and the king hasn’t seen him for weeks. Weeks!”
One day, when the boy grew so inconsolable he couldn’t be reasoned with, Darielle scooped him into her arms and took him from the nursery.
“His Majesty is asleep,” a low voice said.
“How nice for him,” Darielle spat, and a hint of fear took up residence in the boy’s gut even as he sobbed. “Wake him.”
