The only problem is Vesilane.
Damnit.
I probe at the shadow I’d left to watch her. Luckily, she’s in her room alone. But I need to get her out of here soon. I can’t wait for Mrath forever.
“My king,” the lord of the North Court pipes up again. “I, for one, would never defect.”
Lies.
“But if there is suspicion, rest assured we will help you cast it out.”
Arion nods pleased. “Lord Faefurt,” he calls.
One of the absolutely ancient elves at the back of the room turns even paler than he already is.
He stands. “Yes, my king?”
“A group of women who infiltrated the city were called the Faefurt Assassins. Am I to presume you will say there is no relation? Or should I just kill you now for your treason?”
The man begins to stutter. “I-I have no idea?—”
Arion stands again, then raises his hand. Black-and-white flames pour from his palm, directed at the poor idiot. A second later, he screams as he is burned alive.
I watch the display through narrowed eyes.
Did you see that?I ask the presence in my mind.
My demon, the one that gives me magic, hums.
It seems our suspicions were correct. He has fully given himself to Abhartach.
But how?I wonder.Doros hates that god. He was cast out of the heavens after his affair with Doros’s wife, Nicnevin. There is no manner in heaven or hell that the god would allow his chosen ruler to sit upon that throne and bear dark magic.
Dirthos makes another noise in the back of my mind.I think something has happened to the throne.
My gaze shoots down to the seat supposedly made from the Elder Tree, a body of one of the first elves. It appears normal.
But, even still…
That magic cannot come from the throne, even if it is corrupted.
Then where? Does he have his own demon?
I’ve been so distracted by my musings and the conversation with Arion that I hadn’t realized we’d been dismissed. The other lords stand around me, and I follow suit. Just before I exit, Arion meets my eye and smiles with a nod.
I return the gesture, then turn and leave.
A stabbing pain shoots behind my eyes.
I need to get back to Vesilane as soon as possible. My mind is mostly blank as I evade the others, stalking back to the wing where we’d been invited to stay.
As I walk through the threshold of the suite, I turn immediately to my daughter’s door and knock. My shadows dance around the area, checking. Protecting. Concealing.
“It’s me,” I say.
Rubbing my eyes, a bright voice calls to me from within. “Father?”
I smile as the door is swung open. Her hair is a mess, and she wears a simple gown. She must’ve been experimenting again.