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Then he’d added, as if on second thought, He’s sorry.
She’d slid the stone into her desk drawer.
Sighing, Bryce opened it now, peering at the milky gem. She ran her finger over its cool surface.
“Athie looks miserable,” Lehabah observed, floating by Bryce’s head. She pointed to the tablet, where Bryce had paused her third replay of the opening procession on Hunt’s face. “So do you, BB.”
“Thank you.”
At her feet, Syrinx stretched out, yawning. His curved claws glinted.
“So what do we do now?”
Bryce’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
Lehabah wrapped her arms around herself, floating in midair. “We just go back to normal?”
“Yes.”
Her flickering eyes met Bryce’s. “What is normal, anyway?”
“Seems boring to me.”
Lehabah smiled slightly, turning a soft rose color.
Bryce offered one in return. “You’re a good friend, Lele. A really good friend.” She sighed again, setting the sprite’s flame guttering. “I’m sorry if I haven’t been such a good one to you at times.”
Lehabah waved a hand, going scarlet. “We’ll get through this, BB.” She perched on Bryce’s shoulder, her warmth seeping into skin Bryce hadn’t realized was so cold. “You, me, and Syrie. Together, we’ll get through this.”
Bryce held up a finger, letting Lehabah take it in both of her tiny, shimmering hands. “Deal.”
75
Ruhn had anticipated that the Summit would be intense, vicious, flat-out dangerous—each moment spent wondering whether someone’s throat would be ripped out. Just as it was at every one he’d attended.
This time, his only enemy seemed to be boredom.
It had taken Sandriel all of two hours to tell them that the Asteri had ordered more troops to the front from every House. There was no point in arguing. It wasn’t going to change. The order had come from the Asteri.
Talk turned to the new trade proposals. And then circled and circled and circled, even Micah getting caught in the semantics of who did what and got what and on and on until Ruhn was wondering if the Asteri had come up with this meeting as some form of torture.
He wondered how many of the Asterian Guard were sleeping behind their masks. He’d caught a few of the lesser members of the various delegations nodding off. But Athalar was alert—every minute, the assassin seemed to be listening. Watching.
Maybe that was what the Governors wanted: all of them so bored and desperate to end this meeting that they eventually agreed to terms that weren’t to their advantage.
There were a few holdouts, still. Ruhn’s father being one, along with the mer and the witches.
One witch in particular.
Queen Hypaxia spoke little, but he noticed that she, too, listened to every word being bandied about, her rich brown eyes full of wary intelligence despite her youth.
It had been a shock to see her the first day—that familiar face in this setting, with her crown and royal robes. To know he’d been talking to his would-be betrothed for weeks now with no fucking idea.
He’d managed to slip between two of her coven members as they filed into the dining hall the first day, and, like an asshole, demanded, “Why didn’t you say anything? About who you really are?”
Hypaxia held her lunch tray with a grace better suited to holding a scepter. “You didn’t ask.”
“What the Hel were you doing in that shop?”
