Tymon frowns at us. “Not unless my safety is guaranteed.”
“Why would your safety not be guaranteed, Demilord Aldion?” Garroway asks.
“Because you just kicked my damned door off its hinges, which leads me to believe something has . . . happened.”
“In your castle, under your watch,” Skartovius growls. His voice is clipped, raspy. His arms are folded, and I know it’s taking everything in him not to explode on his subordinate. “Don’t forget who you serve, Tymon.”
“You?” Tymon tilts his head slightly. He chuckles humorlessly. “You’ve just finished telling me you’re usurped.What good is a king without a castle, Skartovius? You’renothingnow.”
Vallan takes a heavy stomp beside me, and Aelin gasps at the arrows sticking out of him. His riddled body is a firsthand display of “something just happened,” and there’s no hiding it.
My gaze flips to the other side of the bed. To her credit, Aelin looks more afraid than Tymon or Palacia. Probably because she’s human, with human emotions. She recognizes the real danger she and her family are in, and I thank the True her children aren’t present for this.
“Did you know, Aelin?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“Know what, sister?”
My jaws crack from grinding so hard. I decide to play along. “That there would be assassins in my room.”
Aelin’s eyes flash wide, which she quickly controls. Her gaze flickers over to Tymon, and I can tell by her initial reaction she was kept in the dark about this.
Also, I can tell who is at fault.
“What did you do, dear husband?” she asks Tymon with a flat voice.
The stout demilord flares his nostrils. His grip tightens on the dagger at Palacia’s throat. “Only what was asked of me, dear wife.”
I wonder if he recognizes that even tearing that blade through a jagged artery wouldn’t kill Palacia. She’s like him: a fullblood vampire. It would only injure her, and I’d rather not see that. She’s already had her throat slit once within the past few months.
“Whoaskedyou to kill Sephania?” Skar demands.
“Not kill. Wound.”
“Those assassins didn’t come to wound. They came to murder,” Garro drawls. “Try again. Someone lied to you.”
Tymon’s face sinks. As if for the first time, he realizes the dire predicament he’s in.
“Tell us, unhand the interfolk, and we let you go,” Skar says. “You and your wretched family can leave here.”
“Leave here?” Tymon snarls. His belly rubs against Palacia’s side, pushing her as he trembles with rage. “Leavemyhome? You are a guest here, Skartovius Ashfen—not the other way around!”
“Your ownership of this castle has been vacated, demilord.”
“You don’t have the power to make that command, you arrogant fuck!”
I step in front of Skartovius, arms out so they won’t charge at each other. I don’t want more bloodshed, though I am wondering what the hell Skar is thinking by offering Tymon mercy. It’s not like Skar at all.
“Enough!” I yell. “You can keep your dreaded, wind-rotted castle, Demilord Aldion. Tell us who ordered the attack on me, for your own sake. Or if not for you, for Aelin and your children.”
He ponders that for a moment, frowning. Eyes narrow on me. Then he sighs, slightly loosening his hold on the dagger at Pala’s throat. “A guard in my retinue is a thrall to Aramastun Wyvox. He was given an order via their psychic bloodbond to prepare for your arrival, telling us you were a fugitive.” His eyes crinkle at Skar. “I was hoping you would never arrive, old friend. Truly.”
“Yet you told us nothing of this subterfuge when we first arrived,” Skar points out. “Proving where your loyalties lie.”
Tymon scoffs. “Can you blame me, Skartovius? I am but a minor lord amid an army of judgemen and psychopaths ruled by the strongest bloodsucker in the land.” He pauses, his lip twitching. “Have I not aided you well? Fought in battles alongside you? Prevailed in mishaps with you, such as Trithea Plaza, even when they’re doomed?”
I recall him there, fighting alongside us against Alacine’s scouts and assassins, fleeing with us when Barnabac Craxon and his Red Spawn arrived.
I also recognize when a man is trying to buy himself time or clemency. The problem for Tymon? I know Skartovius has no empathy or sympathy in his bones. Not for someone who has betrayed him.