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The sea witch was horribly beautiful. Pale hair slicked and knotted at the base of her neck. She wore a black gown of satin and lace and moved as through a gentle tide.
“It is such a pleasure to see earth fae in a proper place,” said the sea witch, nodding at me as she accepted Larsson’s hand. “At our mercy.”
“Clever, Fione.” My fists clenched. “Now that you’ve finished pining to be a king’s bedmate, you’ve had time to practice your wit.”
“Come now, Lady,” Larsson said once Fione was seated at the table. “You berate Fione when you are much the same.”
“I am queen.”
“You are a delusion,” Larsson said. “One my younger brother conjured in his own mind all so he might believe someone actually wanted him for exactly who he is.”
The way Larsson flouted my connection to the Ever King was astonishing. He’d spent weeks with Erik and me. He knew our devotion.
With a wave of his hand, he gestured for a chair. “Sit. We have a great deal to discuss. I see you’ve already met the princess of this isle, but have you met her betrothed? Prince Arion, my cousin.”
Larsson’s lip curled as though I ought to be impressed. I was not, only puzzled.
“Betrothed?” I whispered at Skadi.
The princess shuddered, but simply turned away, gaze on the floor. I would get no more aid from her, at least not surrounded by the others. Skadi believed knowledge of this place was how I would find a way to be free. I took to heart the notion of it. The more I knew of Larsson Bonekeeper, the more I could use against him.
“You are elven,” I said, voice a whisper.
Larsson plucked a wet, green fruit from a platter in the center of the table. “Half, yes.”
“Erik . . .” I swallowed the pain of his name on my tongue. “Erik didn’t know?”
“No one but Fione knew.” Larsson wiped his fingers on a linen cloth. “I am the son of the fallen Ever King and a noble elven woman from the Ljosalfar clan, the light—”
“I know the clans. Skadi explained them,” I said abruptly.
“Quite a powerful combination, wouldn’t you say?”
Anger I’d come to expect burned low in my gut, but now I could hardly stomach it. “Yet, you have no sea voice.”
Larsson slapped a hand on the edge of the table. A bark of laughter followed. Arion blew out his lips and tossed back a goblet of a sweet-smelling drink. Next, Hesh. Chortle and snort and guffaw. The blade lord sounded more like a sea hog than a man.
“I have a voice, Lady. I merely forgot to reveal it.” Larsson waved his fingers from the side of his head. “Must’ve slipped my mind. Without Fione blocking him, I’ve few doubts that Heartwalker would’ve felt every desire and learned the truth.”
A cinch burrowed in my chest at the mention of Tait. “He was your cousin too.”
“True.” Larsson’s grin faded. “I didn’t mind him, not really. Another reason I hated killing him, but he is so damn loyal to Bloodsinger, it’s for the best. He never did find out my voice. Amusing how Thorvald’s sons both carry a gift of blood. Bonekeeper might be the adopted title, but my gift does not lie in the bones.”
My tone was clipped. “So proud, yet you admit to nothing.”
“Elven blood is interesting,” Larsson went on. “My cousin takes from the light, like his future bride takes from her darkness. Being both sea fae and elven, well, I take from the blood.”
“Take what?” I despised the tremble of my chin.
“Abilities. Voices. Magic.” Larsson’s brows waggled, like I ought to be delighted.
“You steal the magic of the blood.”
“I do. The more blood I devour, the longer I can steal another’s ability. Seems to work best on sea fae.” He lifted the chain of bones he kept around his neck. “Death is the best way to get the most blood. After a time, I began collecting the bones. A sort of memento.”
Gods, he was deranged. “I wonder how your elven folk trust you not to drink their magic away.”
“Alliances have been signed in blood.” Larsson frowned. “But even without, I would not harm Arion or his court. Or even his betrothed. We’re kin.”
