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“I’m starting to understand why they stay,” she says softly as I take my place beside her. “Even though this place is terribly cold, things are so different here… to the rest of the empire. I’d imagine it’s the complete opposite of what goes on in Lukiria.”
“It is, and that’s precisely why I don’t live there anymore.”Although I’m going to have to go back to that cesspit soon.
Finley’s mother could be there, in the Imperial Palace.
Is she still alive?
Have they tortured her? Killed her?
How in the Goddess’s name am I going to break it to her?
The first round of wrestling is about to start. The fighters are in the ring, bare-chested and gleaming, their hands covered in talcum powder. Kaithar is in the middle, holding them apart with his immovable hands, reciting the rules that both fighters know by heart.
“Begin.” His deep voice reverberates across the great hall. The two fighters encircle one another warily, searching for an opening.
Hermother.
The cold anger in me is now directed solely at my father.
Aralya.
The only one that knows about Finley’s abilities.
If I found her, would this exquisite creature sitting beside me start to trust me just a little bit more?
I know I’m a monster, but still…
I’m not a bad guy.
Mostof the time.
27
FINLEY
The night passes in a blur. I watch as impossibly skilled fighters clash with terrifying ferocity. Corvan sits beside me on his throne-like chair, and he’s being mightily restrained. He hasn’t humiliated my father any further, even though it would have been easy for him. He hasn’t raked my younger brother over the coals for his earlier rudeness.
He makes genuine conversation with the boys, showing interest in their training, their hobbies, their views on Rahavan politics. To my surprise, he has an easy way about him when it suits him, quickly putting them at ease.
It’s only my father that he acts cold toward. The Baron of Ruen is completely iced out by the Archduke of Tyron. It’s a rebuke; a subtle public humiliation.
My father says nothing, watching the wrestlers with a sour expression.
It’s astonishing. Father, who used to cause me such trepidation, is completely sidelined.
Corvan reaches across and picks up a crystal decanter filled with crimson wine the same color as his eyes. “May I serve you a drink, Finley?”
His voice is deep and decadent; an overture heard only by me as the others become lost in their own conversations.
Suddenly, it’s as if we’re in our own little bubble.
“As long as you haven’t laced it with anything that would cause me to do strange things,” I say wryly, giving him a wary look.
“Trust me if I swear that I haven’t?”
“For now.”
He raises an eyebrow, somehow managing to look both wicked and earnest at the same time. “As much as I would love for you to benefit from my blood’s healing properties, I wouldn’t dare give it to you again until I understand why you were able to do that. We can’t have you melting the table in front of your family now, can we? They’ve got enough on their plates already.” He chuckles softly. “They’re still coming to grips withme.”
