Page 10 of The Gathering

Heat rose on Dorian’s cheeks as he avoided Rhaif’s gaze, feeling embarrassed and suddenly wishing he had just stayed in the shadows of the tunnel.

“No one can know about this,” Rhaif said then in a dark, breathless voice. “No one, little brother. You were never here. You were in your bed asleep. You—“

A knock sounded on the door. Dorian’s heart dropped to the depths of his stomach. Rhaif shoved his arm across Dorian’s chest.

“Vasilis?”

Zoria.

Zoria was at the door.

Rhaif turned to face Dorian and pressed a finger against his own lips, but even as Dorian thought his brother was concerned for him, his eyes hardened into a warning of blue fire.

“If I hear that you have spoken of this night, you will find yourself beneath a boiling sea of your own blood,” Rhaif hissed. He pushed Dorian towards the tunnel entrance as another knock sounded, and Dorian backed into the shadows.

“Nod if you understand,” Rhaif warned.

And Dorian did.

The door opened. Rhaif shoved Dorian so hard that Dorian almost stumbled down the tunnel steps. But he caught himself and pulled up to see into the room as Zoria noticed Rhaif.

“Rhafian,” Zoria said, folding her arms over her chest. “Where—“

Her eyes widened as she apparently noticed the blood staining Rhaif’s shirt, face, and hands. The broken bedposts caught her gaze next, and Dorian watched as her eyes traveled over the room, from the blood trail across the floor all the way to the open window.

Zoria ran.

She bolted to that window, screaming Vasilis’s name and almost throwing herself out of it when she saw him in the sand.

“What did you do?!” she cried to Rhaif. “What—Why? Why would you—How could you?!—He was your brother, Rhafian!”

But Rhaif didn’t seem to be bothered by her hysterics.

As though a coldness had filled and settled his vile heart to its final resting place. He was wiping his hands on Vasilis’s dressing gown, and his chilled eyes bore through Zoria as she began to shake.

“Yes, well, it is a shame,” Rhaif drawled in the calmest voice Dorian had ever heard out of anyone.

“A shame?!” Zoria pushed off the wall and rounded on him. “You threw him from a window! You—“

“You should be thanking me,” Rhaif cut in.

“Why in our mother’s name would I thank you for throwing the King out of his own window?!” Zoria hissed. Her eyes darted to the door, and Rhaif caught it as she began to move slowly towards it.

“You have never been anything other than an annoying menace, Rhafian.”

Deflecting.

“Eighteen years of failure,” she continued, as though calling him such names would weaken him and bring him down from the high of his murderous rage.

“You think just because our mother finally gave you powers that suddenly you are worth something.” A forced laugh filled her throat. “You have always been a weak child,” she drawled. “You and your sister both. And the two you are bringing up will be the weakest of us all.”

Her gaze moved to the door again, and Rhaif threw the dressing gown on the bed, Vasilis’s blood now drying on his skin.

“You hear me, Rhafian,” Zoria warned, pointing a finger at his face. “You will be punished for this. You will pay for his death if it—“

Rhaif lunged.

He grabbed her by the throat, picked her up, and slammed her against the wall. Zoria’s magpie squawked into the room and dove at Rhaif’s head. It fluttered with a shrill noise, attacking him with its wings.