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Draven raised one brow. “Odessa didn’t mention that last part.”
“That’s because I didn’t tell her,” I admitted. I stole a glance at Lyrastra. She was smiling at something Rychel had said. She looked almost... happy. “I suppose she was very brave today.”
“She was. She has a bold spirit.” I felt his hand touch my face, pushing a strand of my hair back behind my ear, and I shivered. “Almost as bold as yours. Perhaps that’s why she dislikes you so much. You’re more alike than either of you want to admit.”
“Oh, I think we both know there’s another reason. One that’s tall with black hair and green eyes.”
“Rychel?” Draven said innocently. “I think Lyrastra prefers men.”
“Very funny. I’m well-aware of her preferences.”
“She doesn’t hate you, you know,” Draven said softly. “Rychel wouldn’t have invited her here if she believed that. My little sister is a surprisingly good judge of character for someone who spends so much time in a basement.”
“I heard that,” Rychel called out from down the table. “It’s a workshop.”
Draven grimaced at her, then lowered his voice. “So, we’re back at playing the game again?”
“The game?”
“This.” He leaned over and brushed my lips with his. “The game. You’re playing your part very well tonight.”
“Am I?” I said lightly. “Should I say thanks?”
“After Noctasia, I had thought... Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.” He frowned, his expression briefly turning brooding.
“Look, I wasn’t ignoring you. I had a lot on my mind the next morning.” I hesitated. “I had another dream that night. It was very vivid.”
Draven’s brow furrowed. “Another dream about the war in Pendrath?”
“No, I mean...” I paused. How could I possibly tell him what I had seen? He hadn’t believed me about the other dreams. Why would he believe me about this? It was so far-fetched. “I mean yes, another dream about the war. I think... I think it’s getting worse. I’m worried about Kaye.”
None of that was a lie.
He nodded as if he understood. “With luck, this will all soon be over. We’ll soon set things right in Camelot. Together.”
“Do you really think so? There are two more challenges...”
But something was happening. Crescent and Javer were pushing back their chairs and rising to their feet, their faces grim and clouded.
Avriel strode onto the terrace.
He had changed his clothing, too. He wore a crimson cloak around his shoulders, lined with black leather. The gold scales on his forearms glistened in the light, reminding me of gleaming armor. He moved towards the table, sculpted muscles rippling under the fabric of a bronze-colored tunic. He looked stomach-churningly regal and arrogant.
Rychel rose to her feet. “Get the fuck out of my house.”
“My, my, look at all of the pretty little misfits, you’ve assembled,” Avriel crooned, ignoring Rychel and looking straight at Draven. “It's almost endearing how you cling to one another for support. The weak seek out the weak, I suppose. And that’s why you, my cousin, will never make an emperor.”
“Is that what it was today, Avriel?” Draven's tone was deceptively mild. “When you benefited from Lyrastra and Vespera's generous decision not to throw you off the cliff like you did to Brasad?”
I hadn't even thought of how the women might have turned on Avriel together, but Draven had a point. Lyrastra had proven herself capable, and with a companion's help she might have managed it.
They would all have been safer if she had, a voice in my head said. So why hadn't she?
Avriel glanced at where the black-haired woman sat near Rychel listening quietly. “Forgive me, Lyrastra, my dear, but it's laughable to think two women like you and Vespera could have taken me on. So, yes, it was a weakness,” he said, looking back at Draven. “They did nothing because they had no other choice. It would have been sheer idiocy to have tried to thwart me.”
Lyrastra said nothing. Her face was as still as ice as she watched the two men.
“Now as for you, my dear cousin, the presence of that Valtain woman beside you tells me everything I need to know about your utter lack of real ambition.” He sneered at me. “I suppose it's fitting for a prince who knows nothing of true power to show such blind and pathetic devotion to someone so insignificant. What does it feel like to hang on the prince's arm, Lady Morgan? Is it like clinging to a big strong rock?”
