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It had been within his rights. I hadn't signed up for the fucking Blood Rise.
But clearly, I was somehow still bound by its rules.
Draven might have sacrificed me, used me, to get ahead. And it would have been permitted.
My eyes shot to just beyond the treeline. Erion stood there. He was alone.
There was no trace of the dead verdantail either.
“What did the mirror do with Erion’s sister and Selwyn’s verdantail? Where are they?”
“I don’t think you really want to know the answer to that question, Lady Morgan,” Javer replied, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Selwyn... Well, at least he was merciful to his offering.”
The clear implication was that Erion had not been.
He had gone through the mirror with his living sacrifice in his arms. His own sister.
He had not had the guts to do what Selwyn had done and ensure his sister experienced no pain. No greater pain, I reminded myself, than what she already had experienced by being betrayed by her own brother.
I said nothing. Javer was right.
“Focus on the prince,” Javer suggested. “He's all that matters.”
“It's incredible that Selwyn is helping him. You said friendships fray.”
I thought I caught the hint of a smile behind the dark beard. “The prince forges powerful loyalties. It's one of his greatest aptitudes. Where others break and destroy, Prince Kairos creates.”
I drew a quavering breath. Fuck if it didn't kill me to admit it, but Javer was right.
I only had to look around me, at the people by my side, to know he was right. Amidst a cold court, Draven had created his own. He had forged a community.
“If Draven doesn’t die, the mirror won’t have gotten anything from Avriel,” I said hopefully. “Maybe it’ll kill him.”
“We can hope,” Javer agreed. “But I doubt it. Its range is unlikely to extend into the third arena. And you forget, Avriel did give it one thing, though I’m sure it wasn’t what the spirit truly desired. The prince’s pain.”
My eyes went to Draven’s face. Was he in pain? His jaw was clenched tightly, his eyes narrowed. He hid his pain well. He always had.
“Back in Eskira, he was poisoned with bloodwraith,” I told Javer, my voice tight. “Could that have been what Avriel used?”
Javer’s expression turned thoughtful. “Avriel would have had to have known he was susceptible to that. Not all Siabra are. Fascinating. I wonder if...”
He broke off as we both looked down to see Lyrastra shouting at Avriel. He had tried to approach the trio.
But Lyrastra was standing guard. Her blades were out, one in each hand.
As we watched, Avriel tipped his head back and laughed, then gestured to Draven.
“Probably saying something pragmatic about how they should put the prince out of his misery,” Javer suggested. “Oh, she’ll kill him first if he tries to even come close, don’t worry.”
I nodded, nervously. Would she?
Avriel took another step.
To my horror, Lyrastra lowered her blades to her side, then sheathed them in a swift movement.
She backed up, closer to where Selwyn was still working on Draven, forcing the leather jerkin over Draven’s injured chest and buckling it tightly.
Avriel took one step closer. Lyrastra smiled at him.
