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“Taly. Come here.”

Taly finished her drink, setting it on the ground instead of the marble. It felt more respectful. Then with a parting grin at Kalahad, she quickly retreated down the hall.

As soon as she was near enough, Kato grabbed her hand and pushed her behind him. She leaned in, voice low. “That’s not Kalahad.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s Bill. He’s using possession magic.”

There was a scoff from the other side of the hall as Aneirin muttered, “Truly, the disrespect knows no bounds.”

Kato’s head immediately snapped toward Aneirin, his expression going from disbelief to unrestrained fury in a heartbeat.

His steps were quick and measured, and before Kalahad could react, Kato’s fist crashed into his face.

Aneirin staggered back, holding his nose. He spat blood on the ground as he laughed. “Oh, Kato. You really are predictable, you know that? It’s the reason I chose you. There you were, wallowing in your own misery. A few digs at your brother, and you fell right into my hands. You were always searching for a reason to see yourself as the victim, and I gave it to you. You have no room for anger.”

Something flickered in Kato’s eyes—shame, maybe. It was gone in an instant, buried.

He marched back across the hall. Grabbed her by the arm, gentle but firm, and herded her away.

“Wait. What about Bill? We can’t just—”

“No,” Kato said lowly. “One shout from him, and 20 guards will come running.”

He had a point. Here, they had nothing—no leverage, no power. Retreat was their only option.

“The offer still stands,” Aneirin called after them. “But don’t wait too long, Taly. Even my generosity has its limits.”

Taly flashed her second one-finger salute for the evening. “Shove it sideways, Bill.”

Aneirin laughed. “I’ll take that as a maybe.”

Chapter 35

Aiden hated the smell of blood. Which was unfortunate, considering the specialization he’d chosen.

Some earth mages learned how to cultivate the land, others specialized in hexes and curses, and still others dedicated their lives to the caring of animals. Few became healers. The Fey’s natural healing gifts made them mostly unnecessary. Except, of course, for during times of crisis, when there were always too few.

He barely looked up when the tent flap pulled aside. The scent of herbs and sterilized linen clung to the air, muted beneath the ever-present undercurrent of blood. He was rolling fresh bandages, fingers moving with practiced ease, when a familiar voice cut through the quiet.

“Shouldn’t you be at the Brenin party?”

He finished the roll before glancing over. Mina stood at the front of the supply tent, arms crossed, an unimpressed look on her face.

“Shouldn’t you?” he countered, setting the bandage aside.

She huffed. “I did my time. An hour of pretending to care about court politics before slipping out the side door. And right in time from what I hear.”

Aiden grimaced. “Yeah, I heard about that.” He wasn’t sure if the rumors were true—if Skye had really been part of what they were calling a bloody massacre—but he made a mental note to check in. Just in case.

Mina stepped out of the nighttime drizzle. “What’s your excuse?”

He wound another length of linen, the motion smooth and methodical. “We had two menders call out tonight.”

Mina shook her head. “I get that we’re dealing with staffing shortages, but you’re not supposed to take every shift, Aiden.”

“And yet, here I am.” He kept his tone light, picking up the basket of rolled linen and replacing it on the shelf.