“Future consort,” I correct.
The corner of his mouth tugs up. “The future consort,” he starts with a wink, “Walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright…Meet in her aspect and her eyes. You are…beautiful, Arlet.”
The last words are practically a whisper.
I stop dancing. The way he speaks is too familiar.
There’s only one person I’ve ever known who speaks like this.
A grumpy, traitorous, lying troll.
When I was on my way to Shvathemar, I had hoped he would come during the attack on our carriage. When he didn’t, I lost all hope. I have not thought of him, nor wanted him near me, since then.
The only time I came close was when I took out the Fuegorra. But this man—I cannot see his Fuegorra. Cannot hear the song that might play if it were truly him. Warring emotions rise inside of me. He hurt me, and he’s ruining everything. But what is he truly ruining? I am merely a pawn in this place. Perhaps… I could leave.
And then, I cannot stop myself.
“Vann?”
The candles gutter. I let out a yelp.
“Firelocks, it’s me,” he whispers in my ear, pulling me so close my body melts into his. His voice no longer sounds similar—it is him.
I freeze in place.
He came.
He’s here.
Warmth floods over me. The first feeling since my Fuegorrawas taken last week. I muse over the irony of it all. He without a heart, and I without a Fuegorra. What would he think of what’s happened?
A draft runs like a hand along the walls, turning flameheads in the same direction at once. The room takes in a single careful breath.
“You need to come with me,” he begs, and tears start to fall down my cheeks. “I brought things for you. Please, I know why you went with Arion before, but I’m ready now. I’m ready to be what you need me to be. Don’t do this.”
He came. He came. He came for me.
A shudder runs through the tall windows on the east side of the hall. Arion tilts his head.
The windows explode, and I am thrown back away from him. I bite my tongue hard to avoid shouting his name. Light and sound and shards rush inward together. Red smoke pushes into the room, and a metallic smell billows with it.
I sit up, ribs aching from the impact and my corset. Without the light, I cannot make out exactly what happened to Vann. I look for his costume, the hunter, but realize there are so many dressed exactly the same way.
The first scream comes just as courtiers and guards struggle to restore the lights. When illumination returns, I see the bodies scattered over the ground, see the odd angles some of them lie in as the smoke clears.
I smell the courtiers’ blood.
Most are alive, but enough lie there, too still, as others scream and flee the scene.
I scan the room, seeking Vann.
“Firelocks!” I hear in the distance.
Where are you, where are you?I repeat, begging him through my mind. Since we are mates, he might be able to hear me.
And then, guards gently grab me, pulling me away from the mess. I barely squeak out my surprise when the king appears at my side. Arion’s hand closes over the new collar at my throat, yanking me from the room. The hunt has ended.
Something else begins.