Page 132 of Brimstone

I wheeled around, fist still poised to knock. Zovena strolled along the hallway toward us, her bright blond hair scraped back into a severe braid that looked so tight it must have been giving her a headache. The rope of hair fell over her shoulder and dangled almost to her waist. Her black, high-collared dress clung to her curves, accentuating her hips and cleavage, which was almost spilling over the lace cups. I hadn’t seen her since the coronation; I could have lived withneverseeing her again and been perfectly happy, but no. Ammontraíeth was vast—a person could get lost in the windowless, dark corridors of this place—but it was still just one building. It had only been a matter of time before I crossed paths with her again.

She smiled smugly as she knelt and sat back on her heels, making herself comfortable.

I lowered my hand, looking down at the female, crossing my arms over my chest. I didn’t know precisely what had gone on between her and Tal, but I knew enough. She was the reason he had come here and given himself over to Malcolm. He had loved her, and she had abandoned him somehow. Now it seemed as though she wanted nothing more than to see the Keeper of Secrets dead and buried in the ground.

“Your Majesty.” The greeting was sweet as rotten fruit. When she spoke, a gust of something sensual and exotic rose from her and hit the back of my nose. The scent was intoxicating. It made my head spin a little.

“I have a bone to pick with you,” I said.

“Me?” Zovena laughed prettily, tossing her braid back over her shoulder. “What haveIdone to offend the queen of the Blood Court? Tell me, and I’ll be sure to make reparations immediately.” I’d met women like her back in Zilvaren. Women who would have traded their own family members to the guardians in exchange for the smallest of luxuries. The kind of woman who would sell her soul to the devil if it guaranteed her power, temporary or otherwise. Zovena was far more dangerous than those women had been, though. She was Fae turned vampire. If she played her cards right, she’d live to see this empire crumble to dust—and a part of me knew she would have something to do with its fall.

“You’re a Lord of Midnight,” I said.

Malice shone from her eyes. “Oh! My, my. I really thought you’d forgotten that.” The sound of her laughter made my skin crawl. “I am a Lord of Midnight, yes. My beloved makerbestowed the title upon me seven hundred and eighty-three years ago. May I rise?”

“Your beloved maker.” I nodded, huffing down my nose. “Malcolm?”

The metallic tang of anger marred the air, and yet Zovena’s face showed nothing of it. “You would havecrawledto speak his name in another life, King Killer,” she said.

Oh ho ho, boy. She wanted to play. “I suppose I haveyouto thank for that honorific, Zovena. Is the name supposed to upset me? Because, personally, I’m rather proud of that accomplishment. Tell me,” I said, before she could reply. “In Ammontraíeth, is it considered incest if you sleep with your maker? ’Cause it sounds to me like someone was fuckingDaddy.”

“Bitch!” Zovena’s serene façade disintegrated, revealing the depths of her hatred at last. Her features warped, her mouth suddenly too large, pulling up at the corners. She lunged, but her body immediately recoiled, held in place by the fact that she was prohibited from hurting meandI hadn’t given her leave to stand.

Carrion grabbed hold of the doorframe, clutching hold of it as he pretended to stagger sideways. “Gods and martyrs! What’s wrong with yourface?”

Zovena hissed like a hellcat. “Be mindful of that tongue, sheascah. I’m no fool. I know who you are. There are those who would pay handsomely for delivery of your head on a pike.”

I stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the smuggler. “You won’t touch him. You won’t look sideways at him again. You won’t tell anyone anything about Carrion, do you understand me? You’ll rip your own tongue out trying.”

The Lord flinched under the weight of the command. She saw me as a little girl, wandering blind and scared in a dark forest.She had forgotten who she was talking to—impressive, givenshewas the one on her knees.

“Say it. Tell me that you understand.” I could have spoken with anger or a hatred that would easily have matched hers, but I served the order up in a bland, disinterested tone instead.

“I . . . understand.” Zovena tried to trap the words behind her teeth, but even she had to obey a direct command from the queen. “Anterrian goaneth tiel ran lir—”

“Stop.” The air vibrated, and Zovena rocked back as if I’d struck her across the face. I tilted my head to one side, frowning down at her. “You are the Keeper of Missives, are you not?”

“Yes.”

“What exactly does the Keeper of Missivesdo? Tell me.”

“It’s an important role,” Zovena blurted out. “The Keeper of Missives is in charge of all communication in and out of Ammontraíeth. Battle orders, news, secrets. All must go through me.”

“Sounds like a glorified message runner. We have those back in Zilvaren, y’know. But the job is considered prettylowlythere.”

The female had almost regained her composure; her facial features had returned to normal, but her eyes flashed like knives at this. “May . . . I . . . rise?” she gritted out.

“No.”

“You have no idea how difficult it is to deliver messages to the spies we have sequestered abroad—”

“How hard is it to deliver a letter to a high blood, right here in this court?”

She blinked, taken aback. “A letter? Here?”

“Mm-hmm. A piece of paper, in an envelope. Sealed, I assume.” I looked at Carrion. “Letters are usually sealed, aren’t they?”

“Usually,” he agreed.