What Liolen can’t do themselves, they can buy.
All of that makes it easy to bow my head deeply when we arrive in front of the Gilded Liege. Skartovius does no such thing, but again, he’s an arrogant bastard. Palacia tilts her head curiously, as if seeing what she could become if she had enough ambition and years under her belt.
Liolen lifts a cup of blood to their full, black-painted lips, which causes me to start when I realize it’s not a cup at all, but rather a skull that has been cut in half. The blood sits where a brain should be.
The overliege notices my widened eyes. They toast the macabre cup. “Former lover, yes?” They chuckle airily. “It’s a foolish jest, yet I can’t stop myself: Poor Branley lost his head . . . and became my drinking horn. Much better horn than the one he had between his legs.”
Zefyra chuckles, but no one else does. I’m not sure if I should laugh, cringe, or bow, so I do none of it.
“My criminal accomplice tells me we have matters to discuss, which might interest all parties involved,” Liolen says. They don’t move from sitting, only putting down their rouge brush and cup long enough to gaze into our faces. There’s a mystifying purple quality to their irises—similar to mine, in fact—possibly a play of the light.
Liolen says, “Who am I speaking to?” and then points at Skartovius. “Oh. I recognize you, former Lord Ashfen.”
Skar inclines his chin curtly.
Liolen’s eyes move to me, passing briskly over, and stop at Palacia, who stands a step behind Zefyra, almost shyly. “Oh my, who is this beauty? Move aside, criminal accomplice.” They flapa hand at Zefyra and Palacia takes center stage. Standing, Liolen seems to float around the table toward Palacia, smiling demurely before running a gentle hand under her pointed chin. Liolen is very tall, and Palacia is very short. They’re both skinny, but the contrast is jarring. “Ravishing,” Liolen says, rolling the word in their mouth. “Who might you be, my dear?”
“Palacia. Erm. My lord-liege.”
“Enchanted.” Liolen curtsies and steps back to look at me and Skartovius, standing like protective fathers behind Palacia.If only the overliege knew what she wasreallylike, they might have a different opinion of her.
There’s a fae quality to Liolen, almost as if he was from another realm entirely before being turned—one where male and female genders do not exist. It’s hard to fathom for me, because they are both hard and soft, beautiful and hawkish, and kind yet sinister, all at the same time.
“Zefyra tells me you need silver, dears,” Liolen begins, speaking to Skartovius.
“We have a silver procurer,” Skar grunts, then forgets himself and nods, adding, “my liege.”
“Then why are you here?” They lift a thin finger before Skartovius can answer. “A rhetorical question. You’re here because you have nowhere to go, dear, because you have suddenly found yourself in a leprous state of affairs. And because your procurer can not procure the amount of silver you require.”
He has us dead to rights.
Still, Skar’s arrogant ass pushes. “Allies would be nice, but we don’t require them. Are you going to ask us what we need the silver for, Overliege Liolen?”
They chuckle an airy sound, like the laugh is coming from somewhere other than their mouth. “To kill vampires, I’m assuming.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
Liolen’s face veers to Zefyra. “You wouldn’t be here learning my secrets if it did.”
Skar tilts his head. “Perhaps because we share the same . . . virtues?” His voice is too hopeful, and I know he’s misstepped.
Liolen seizes on it immediately. “Don’t begin to try and parse through what I want or need, Skartovius Ashfen. Though Idothink we can help each other.”
“Is that so?”
“Your fair mate’s blood,” Liolen answers. “I want a taste of it, dear.”
Skartovius’ head shakes. “Out of the question.”
Liolen lets out another light chuckle. The air becomes thick with . . . bodies. Through various hidden doorways, ragtag interfolk mercenaries circle the room, ready to wade in.
“Fuckingknewit was an ambush,” Skar scolds.
“It’s not an ambush,” Liolen says. “It’s also not a negotiation. The difference between a trap and this, dear, is I’m still going to give you what you want.”
“What’s that?”
“Access to my silver mines to the north. And you’re going to give me Sephania Lock’s Loreblood.”