Page 22

Chapter 22

THE LIROCAR LEAVES THE AIRWAY sooner than it should, and I look around to find that we’ve turned toward Thrasher Keep instead of continuing on to King’s Keep. I stifle any reaction to the unexpected detour, keeping the look on my face bored and my body language relaxed.

A multitude of reasons for this deviation flicker through my mind, but thoughts of the warren of dungeons under this keep rush to the forefront of my speculations. Maybe I’m being put in the naughty corner for pissing off Aeson’s Wing.

I get the impression that the drakes expect me to ask what’s going on, so of course I double down on my stubbornness and decide to just roll with the punches. At least the elevators won’t sneak up on me this time.

The proportions of Thrasher Keep are nothing short of astounding. The stronghold is the largest of the four keeps, and the intimidating rust red towers look like they could be their own city. Everything about it is designed to discourage threats and intimidate visitors. It screams you’ll have to go through me to get to the others, and you’ll never go through me.

The lirocar doesn’t angle toward the ground level of the keep like I expect. It floats to the largest tower on the west end and sets down on what looks like a private dock. No one from the keep comes out to greet us, but another airboat drops next to ours, and Herm, Sondar, and Karis climb out.

Cautiously I follow Ogdan and the others inside, careful to keep my eyes on my escorts and not get distracted by the marvels around me. Keeps are big for a reason—communal spaces have to be cavernous enough to house hordes of revealed dragons—but nothing truly prepares you for the scope and grandeur of it all until you’re walking through it.

Our steady steps echo off the wide walls and lofty ceilings, making our small party of eight sound like an army of hundreds. I don’t see another soul outside of my party of sullen protectors, but I try not to be bothered by that as we traverse what feels like a miles-long hallway. Finally, two monumental doors appear in the distance, but I don’t know if I feel better or worse with the destination now in sight.

The dark wood doors slowly open as we draw closer, but of course the massive frames of the guards in front of me block my line of sight. I’m also still pretending to be too cool to ask or to lean around the big drakes to try to get a peek of where we’re headed.

I hear his voice before I see him. It instantly hooks me low in my gut and tries to tug me closer. Goose bumps sweep up my arms and across my shoulders at the sound of his rich timbre and the undercurrent of undeniable authority in it. I try to banish the reaction as quickly as it comes, but then the commander has to go and laugh, and it sends the butterflies in my stomach into a full-blown tizzy.

The Wing members in front of me finally drift apart and move to the edges of the large room. And there he is, Aeson Noctis, in all of his annoying glory. I was hoping my memories of him were exaggerated by my exhaustion and the fact that I’d just escaped a traumatizing ordeal, but nope, he’s just as impressive and pretty as I remember, maybe even more so.

Fucker.

He rises from where he was sitting at a long table, and his bright blue eyes turn to find me. Several other drakes stand as I stride into the room, but my mutinous mind has no interest in them—it wants all of my focus on my make-believe mate.

“The dragon of the hour,” Aeson declares evenly, and then his gaze languidly roves over me, taking in every inch of Fenox’s hard work.

His perusal momentarily pauses on the skin of my exposed shoulders before slowly drifting higher to my neck. With some effort, he once again meets my hard stare, but the look now blazing in his eyes is incendiary.

“You look…” He pauses, almost as though he’s at a loss for words, but I’m not buying it. I know what game he’s playing now, and if he thinks a barrage of flowery compliments are the key to my vagina, he’s in for a rude awakening.

“Hungry,” I insert for him, taking in the platters and trays teeming with food, which are spread across the wide table in front of him.

Aeson chuckles, and his smile grows just shy of wicked. “I was going to say stunning, but hungry has the right ring to it. I too find myself suddenly famished.”

A few quiet laughs move through the room at his innuendo. I have to work not to roll my eyes or glare at any of the other drakes grouped around the table. And we’re off , I declare in my mind like some commentator reporting on a race. The commander is out of the starting gate first, but he won’t claim victory that easily. Let him think he can keep me under his thumb because I’m too moon-eyed and lovesick to see what’s really happening, but I’ve got my own tricks up my sleeve.

Aeson moves to an empty chair on his right and pulls it out. “Have a seat. I’ll introduce you to everyone, and then we can eat before we get started.”

I debate for a second if I should be a good girl and go sit by him, but I don’t want to give in too soon and start mooning over him. That would be too obvious. I need to time my shift from cautious and distrustful to falling for his shit just right. That way, he won’t see that I’m pulling the rug out from under him until he’s on his ass.

“Started with what?” I ask as I cross the room to a different empty chair before pointedly pulling it out for myself and sitting in it.

The big male next to me tries to stifle his chortle as I make myself comfortable, but Aeson’s smile doesn’t drop from his face. He pats the back of the rejected chair once and then reclaims his seat at the head of the table before looking over at me.

“Ogdan didn’t tell you?” he questions, his focus drifting from me to the redhead in the black scale armor, who’s now standing at attention in the far corner.

“Your Wing isn’t currently talking to me,” I inform the commander before eyeing the spread of steaming dishes before me and plotting a war path of which ones I want to conquer first.

That statement lures the attention of Commander Ventis, the older female with salt-and-pepper hair, smooth skin, and light blue eyes, who’s sitting on my other side. The Syphons don’t have as much information about her as some of the other commanders. It’s tempting to try to fill in some of the blanks our spies couldn’t, but asking for her life story and then quizzing her about battle strategy is a bad move to make right now.

“And why is the scion’s Wing not talking to you?” she asks.

I shrug. “They think I’m some bobble-headed princess who doesn’t respect them.”

“And are you?” Commander Drazyn asks from across the table, his striking bronze stare assessing.

“A bobble-headed princess? No. But they’re right about me not fully respecting them,” I confess.

Tove snorts and shakes her head. The other drakes around the table clock it but don’t say anything. I can’t tell if they’re bothered by her departure from typical guard decorum or if this kind of thing is normal here. Aeson’s relationship with his Wing so far has been very lax and unpretentious. I’m a little surprised to see the other drakes embrace that kind of leadership too.

“Why don’t you respect them? They’re Wing, Royal Wing to boot; that alone should earn some level of esteem and deference,” Commander Zeir presses, leaning back in his chair so he can get a better look at me even though I’m sitting right next to him. He sets his burly hands in his lap, and I note the dragon mark on both of his forearms, a honeycomb pattern of black, gray, and skin-tone hexagons covering every exposed inch of his limbs.

I blow out an exasperated breath. I guess we’re not going to eat before moving on to whatever it is we’re here to do. Taking into account that I’m sitting at a table with five of The Horde’s top commanders, I’m pretty sure I’m here to be interrogated. They’d probably phrase it as answering a few questions over dinner , but it is what it is, regardless of their attempts to make things appear more casual by opting out of wearing their scale armor.

Like I wouldn’t know who they were without it.

“For starters, I don’t trust them because they don’t trust me,” I answer, looking from Commander Zeir to Ogdan. “That, and their loyalties lie with someone else. They’ve been assigned to protect me, and that’s all well and good, but none of them knows me well enough to do the job right, and not one of them has taken the time to figure that out. They’ve made a fair number of assumptions about me, probably based on conversations they’ve been privy to that I haven’t.”

I look pointedly at Aeson for a beat and then level all of my attention on Tove. Her scowl deepens.

“A protective detail is more than just babysitting. Does your Charge freeze, fight, or flee when faced with danger? Do they cry? Do they scream? What’s their experience with high-pressure, volatile situations? Can they throw a punch? Handle a weapon? Do they possess any other skills that could help or hinder a life-or-death situation? Will they listen to you? The better you know your Charge, the better you can protect them. Guards who show zero interest in knowing who you are as a person, are guards who aren’t truly invested in your survival.”

“You sound like you have some experience with that,” Commander Galerus—the youngest leader out of the group—observes.

I nod and study Aeson for a moment. He and Lorn were careful not to speak to me about anything sensitive until we were in Aeson’s rookery. I assume that the presence of these commanders here means they are trusted by the scion, but better to be safe than sorry.

“What do they know?” I ask the commander bluntly.

“They’ve been brought up to speed, and this room is secure,” Aeson answers without missing a beat.

I nod and turn back to Galerus. “For my first visit to Four Tiers, my father assigned a protective detail. They were members of the Wing that watched over my brothers. The night we were attacked, those guards sought out the boys they’d been protecting for well over a decade, and they did everything they could to whisk them to safety. However, in all the madness and chaos, those guards forgot all about me. So, yes, I’d say I’m speaking from experience. Knowing your Charge, caring about them, makes you a more effective line of defense, and that’s the only kind of protection anyone should ever trust.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ogdan’s head drop a little, and the room grows quiet with introspection.

“I’m going to go ahead and eat,” I announce, reaching for a bowl of what looks like cheesy potatoes and scooping a big helping onto the plate in front of me. “But don’t let that deter you. Interrogate on.”

Chastain and Commander Galerus both huff out a laugh, and Aeson just shakes his head as I shamelessly execute my plans to vanquish this meal. I’m sure there is some kind of etiquette that I’m breaching here, but they shouldn’t have put food out if they weren’t going to eat it. Especially not in front of someone who’s been starved off and on for the last four months. The blood brokers only gave me meat because they thought it was better for my blood, so there’s not a chance in hell that I’m letting the feast of carbs in front of me go to waste. These Horde bastards can waterboard me for all I care—as long as I get a few bites of these potatoes in me, I’d consider it a win.

“Before you arrived, we were discussing the attack that occurred during your recovery in Lairwood. Do you have any insight to offer about that?” Commander Ventis asks while plucking a few dishes from the table and serving herself.

“Nothing significant,” I tell her as the other commanders all start to fill their plates. “In my experience, blood brokers usually do what they can to stay under the radar. Picking a fight with The Horde is the antithesis of their usual MO. I was as surprised that it was happening as The Horde was.”

“It is unusual for blood brokers to try and take on The Horde. We agree. Perhaps this coven is different, more aggressive?” Commander Zeir muses. “The scion mentioned you called them the Tainted? What can you tell us about this new group you’ve encountered?”

I quickly chew the massive bite of food I just shoveled into my mouth, which is a shame because it’s delicious. This conversation is really going to get in the way of savoring this meal like it deserves.

“That they’re not new.” I take a quick drink of water to wash everything down and note that no one felt the need to check my drink or food for poison like they did at Nixy’s. “That alone should tell you a lot about how careful and calculating they are since they’re not on The Horde’s radar. Initially, we also thought they were an evolution or a branch of blood brokers, but now I’m not so sure.”

“And why is that?” Galerus questions, leaning forward until his elbows are on the table and his fists are tucked under his chin.

“I first heard about the Tainted on a supply run. A merchant was gossiping about a group of sorcai who’d been in the area who smelled like rotten magic. I didn’t think much of it then, just made a note to keep an eye out, and that was that. But as more reports trickled in about this new coven and their stench, a pattern started to form. It just took me a while to see it.”

“Rotten magic?” Commander Drazyn interrupts.

I shrug. “It’s the best way I can explain it. Sometimes they can hide the smell. I’ve also noticed that some Arcs are more sensitive to it than others. Wyverns almost never sense it, but I could always pick out the faintest traces even in a crowd. Today, your Wing caught the scent pretty quickly, so maybe it’s a drake thing,” I tell Aeson, tapping my nose with a finger.

“Wait. Today? You smelled them here in Paragon City…today?” Aeson growls, turning from the table to face Ogdan, the demand for answers clear in the tightening of his fists and the clenching of his jaw.

“Another team is already investigating,” the Burner explains. “We’re pulling everything we can from the feeds in that area and canvassing the businesses and homes in the vicinity. We were unable to track the threat at the time of discovery because we were forced to pursue the Syphon instead.”

Aeson’s head snaps in my direction, and I feel like a kid who just got tattled on and now I’m in big trouble. I send Ogdan a blistering glare.

“Explain,” the commander barks, and something in my chest begins to stir in response to the roiling fury now aimed at me.

“I recognized a male and ran him down. I thought he was one of them, but it turned out he was just paparazzi following us around in hopes of finding a story he could sell.”

“You just…ran him down, in a wyvern borough, instead of letting your guards handle it?” Aeson presses, his tone that eerie kind of calm people use when they’re really pissed.

“In my defense, things happened really fast and I took action, which is something I do when I feel threatened,” I add with a pointed look at all the members of Aeson’s Wing. “And they’re your guards, not mine.”

A low growl fills the room. The commanders at the table tense and look cautiously over at Aeson, the source of the reverberating displeasure now vibrating the dishes on the table.

“Don’t start with me, Spare, I’m not in the mood,” I snap.

So much for my plan to get all flirty and start winning him over.

Shit.

I’ll have to try again tomorrow.

Frustrated, I tighten my grip on my cutlery and match Aeson’s look of disapproval with one of my own. I need a lecture like he needs a butter knife through the hand. He can try to put me in my place about this, but it’s going to end bloody…probably on both sides.

Challenge suffuses both of our gazes, and tensions slowly mount as we continue to stare at each other.

“I already explained the trust thing, so spare me the dramatics, Noctis.”

One eyebrow twitches as his eyes narrow at me even more. “Dramatics?” he questions imperiously, but there’s a peculiar edge to the fire in his stare that gives me pause.

Is he into this?

I lean forward in my chair, not so far that I look like I’m outright threatening the commander, but enough to flash a little extra skin.

“What else would you call all this growling and snarling, Aeson? Very unbecoming of a commander, let alone a scion, if you ask me.”

Anger pulses through his clenched jaw at my taunt, but a flash of surprising heat blazes in his gaze, and it’s all I can do not to gasp and point it out.

Holy shit, he is into this!

Aeson Noctis likes ’em feisty. I can do feisty. My plan to turn the tables just got way easier. I can’t help the smile that pulls at my lips. I feel like I just found buried treasure, and now I need to figure out how to keep it secure without anyone else discovering it.

His scorching gaze drifts to my solitary dimple, and something alights in his eyes that I can’t decipher.

“She had these,” Herm announces, dousing the moment as he approaches the table and deposits both of my trusty butter knives in front of Aeson.

I jerk back, shocked and affronted.

“Hey!” I protest and then hurry to check the hidden sheaths inside the tops of my boots, which is the last place I put my makeshift weapons. My fingers find the place where the knives should be, but, sure enough, they’re now empty. “How the fuck did you get those?”

The Stormer offers me a cheeky smile but doesn’t answer the question as he reclaims his position on the other side of the room.

Aeson blows out a long exasperated breath, and I’m annoyed to find his bossy asshole mask firmly back in place. Commander Galerus eyes the flatware and promptly covers his mouth with his hand, I’m pretty sure to hide the grin that’s sneaking across his face.

“Why did you have these?” Aeson asks, lifting one of the dull knives and inspecting it as though he suspects it might transform into something more akin to an actual weapon if he stares at it hard enough.

“Are you really not getting the whole ‘I don’t trust any of you’ thing? Because there are only so many ways I can say it.”

I take a bite of something that looks like a vegetable and pause because it’s unexpectedly sweet. I quickly sample another mouthful and bite back a groan of approval. I may not trust The Horde, but damn, whoever is in the kitchen knows what they’re doing.

“And this is the answer?” Aeson challenges, holding up the butter knife so the rest of the table can properly see it. “What can you even do with this?”

“Plenty,” I tease and then throw in a saucy little wink for good measure.

“I, for one, wouldn’t mind seeing that,” Commander Galerus murmurs as he smooths a hand over his man bun.

Aeson snaps his glare toward the other male, and Galerus’s grin dies a quick death. I try not to laugh when Aeson inhales deep and slow, looking around the room like he needs something to ground himself so he doesn’t rip the other male’s head off and spew fire down his throat.

Dragons really are so damn possessive.

“We will address this and the guard issue later,” Aeson grumbles after a long agitated moment. He drops the butter knife back onto the table, and an insulting ping rings out instead of the hardy thunk a good knife would make.

I really need some proper weapons.

Despite that, I’m still tempted to grab the knife currently resting at the side of my plate and shove it in my boot. Embarrassing as it is, it’s still technically better than nothing. The thought that sticky-fingers-Herm will probably just magic it away again is the only thing that stills my hand. Well, that and a girl can only get caught with butter knives so many times before it starts to affect her reputation.

“What do these Tainted—as you call them—smell like?” Ventis asks, redirecting everyone’s attention back to the important subject at hand.

I wait for a beat for someone from Aeson’s Wing to answer, but when I look up, I realize the female commander is addressing me specifically.

“Um, like a dead body that’s been festering in the heat of the deadlands for days. It’s like cooked meat that’s gone bad, but there’s a distinct hint of that peppery magic smell that a sorcai cast has.”

“Are you sure they’re sorcai?” she counters.

“Yes. I’ve seen them wield just like the sorcai do. They look the same, their magic smells the same, they use the same methodology to cast and manipulate magic. If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck, even if it smells like rotten foie gras,” I joke.

Nobody laughs.

“You mentioned you found a pattern to their movements?” Drazyn inquires. “What was it?”

I pull in a deep breath and quickly weigh the pros and cons of telling these commanders the truth. Earlier today, I probably wouldn’t have, but earlier today, I wasn’t confident I was right. The Tainted showing up outside Nixy’s, however, confirmed it.

“Me,” I answer simply. “I think they’re hunting me.”

Aeson stiffens and each of the other commanders seems to sit up a little straighter, their polite demeanors instantly growing more serious.

“And before you ask, I don’t know exactly why. I didn’t even start piecing it all together until after Lairwood, but today cemented it. For some reason, the Tainted really want my blood. And, from the look of things, they aren’t afraid to take on The Horde to get it.”