Page 47

CHAPTER 47

LYKOR

T he reek of flowers clogged Lykor’s lungs like a rotting sickness. One of the offending blossoms dangled from a vine coiled around the nearest pillar.

He flicked it. The swollen bulb of nectar quivered and a yellow petal tumbled free. Snatched by the flowing breeze, it spiraled out of the airy villa and down to the courtyard below.

Lykor curled his fingers into a fist, his agitation nearly driving him to beat the marbled column to dust. His talons bit into his palm—an irritating reminder that these winged scavengers had stripped him of his armor. Stolen his gauntlet.

And in the place of his leathers, before they’d even been ushered from the arena, the druids had shoved him into this. Silk.

Sunweave, Aesar corrected.

Lykor’s lip curled. I DON’T CARE WHAT THEY FUCKING CALL IT.

It was the same ridiculous, flowing raiment worn by their leader. That Kaedryn. Supposedly his only option of clothing—unless he wanted to remain nude.

Hardly an hour had passed since the druids had scrambled, bowing and groveling as they tripped over each other, whisking his group away to this gilded prison—the finest chambers in the guild masters’ palace. In an elaborate procession, they’d been herded into carriages drawn by hulking desert beasts, their humped backs arched like the rolling dunes.

Lykor’s jaw tightened as he glared at the lavish rooms sprawled around him. An illusion of openness. Of light and air, as if the wind itself had woven the quarters from sand and stone. Weightless curtains that were nearly identical to his stars-forsaken robes swayed lazily, framing a delicate tapestry of fountains and pools.

A cage.

I’d say this is quite an improvement over the dungeons, Aesar mused, thumbing his chin as he drifted over the mosaic tiles.

Sunlight streamed in patches across the floor, casting glimmers over scenes of dragons flying with druids, their stories entwined.

Lykor kicked off the sandals he’d been gifted—another useless ornament forced on him—and began pacing.

SINCE WHEN CAN YOU CRAWL OUT OF OUR HEAD?

Aesar shrugged. Never thought to try before.

Lykor exhaled sharply, tension twinging across his shoulders. He stalked away from Aesar, who was circling the pedestal where Kaedryn had left her Starshard-adorned jewelry, studying the trinket.

Aesar reappeared at his side, flickering at the corner of his vision.

DO YOU HAVE TO DO THAT? Lykor growled, eyes slicing toward him.

I don’t see what the difference is whether I’m inside our mind or out.

YOUR PRESENCE IS AGITATING ME.

How do you think I feel? Aesar waved around the chambers. All of this restless pacing and brooding. He glanced toward the terrace. I want to see the city this evening— before the moons rise.

Drawing to a halt, Lykor threw his head back and tried to rub away the ache in his skull. But he couldn’t. Aesar was permanent.

He could already picture the events unfolding—Aesar galavanting across the streets, prying into forgotten libraries, conferring with the druids to peel back the layers of history with his relentless curiosity.

And what’s so wrong with getting more information? Saves you the hassle.

Lykor crossed his arms, too weary to argue. He supposed the city seemed safe enough. For now.

An oasis built for lounging, for those who could afford the indulgences of peace. Where butterflies fluttered and birds hummed from flower to flower.

A world removed from war.

It was the kind of haven he’d hoped to find for his people, but he wouldn’t trust this palace of lies so easily. Not until he ripped the intentions of these druids from Kaedryn’s throat.

It couldn’t be as simple as them idolizing those so-called “children of earth and starlight.”

Worshipping. Revering. Their entire wretched flock had sunk down in supplication. Bending the knee like something inextricably spineless.

The image struck fast, unbidden. Out of his control. Down on his own knees, Jassyn’s long fingers cupping his jaw, tilting his chin to meet his eyes.

Lykor’s breath hitched, a sensation flaring hot, nearly violent. Heat surged up his spine, curled in his gut—a primal urge clawing to be let loose.

An annoying gnat, Aesar chuckled at his side. I thought we were stuck in a cage, not a pleasure house.

Forming a fist, Lykor obliterated the thought. He disintegrated Aesar, slamming him back into the farthest recesses of confinement.

He swallowed hard, still parched. Even after draining multiple chalices of water, dehydration lingered, fogging his senses.

Muddled. That’s what he was. Still raw from being splayed beneath the sun. Unbalanced from the absence of his armor. And, worst of all, suffocated by fucking silk .

No. He wasn’t thinking straight. He’d never kneel for—

His gaze snapped to Jassyn.

Across the room, Serenna and Jassyn hovered over Vesryn, who lay sprawled across a couch—the lot of them blessedly oblivious to the mortifying way his pulse still pounded, warmth creeping up his throat.

You can try to kill a thought. Aesar’s voice drifted back into his mind as he peered out of the doors of his library, studying his brother through Lykor’s eyes at the threshold. Bury it, scorch it, smother it under your pride. Like you always do. He kicked back a leg, crossing his arms as he leaned against the frame. But you felt it. And that means it’s real. You don’t have to deny it.

Lykor breathed out of his nose, wrestling his hammering heart into submission. IF YOU CAN brING YOURSELF TO GIVE ME A MOMENT’S PEACE—AND BY THAT, I MEAN SHUTTING THE FUCK UP—YOU CAN TAKE OVER IN AN HOUR.

There. The nuisance got what he was after.

Satisfied, Aesar smirked before slipping back into the library, clicking the door shut.

Crimson light waned from Serenna’s palms as she finished healing Jassyn’s sunburns, ensuring he could focus more clearly on Vesryn, who obviously needed mending more than anyone else. In the carriage, they’d worked in hurried unison to stabilize the prince, their combined efforts keeping him from slipping past the point of no return.

From where he lay half-buried in cushions, Vesryn released a dramatic groan, an arm flung across his forehead. Still too drained to do more than bemoan the state of his ruined legs and feet.

A steady procession of palace servants had filtered in and out after they’d been settled into this opulent cell. The druids brought wraps, tinctures, and whatever other useless remedies they thought might aid the prince.

As tempting as it had been to pry the scales from their flesh and shred their wings, Lykor had reined himself in. Instead, he’d flashed his fangs and chased the lizards out.

A rustle from the other side of the room drew his attention.

Fenn. Finally stirring.

Lykor stalked up to him and demanded, “Were you here the entire time?” He fixed his scowl on the lieutenant, who was draped across a chaise. His eyes flicked over an array of fruits that glistened on silver platters. “Drunk on nectar and gorging yourself on figs and peaches while we were poisoned, kidnapped, and roasted in the sun?”

Fenn blinked sluggishly and slurred, “There’s peaches?”

He slowly swiveled to swing his legs off the couch. The absurd ribbons of his robe tangled around his ankles as he planted his feet on the floor. The moment he tried to rise, his knees buckled, sending him collapsing back into the cushions.

“I think they dosed me with more venom than I’ve ever had—and that’s saying something,” Fenn mumbled, squinting up at Lykor as he strained to focus. “When I first roused and realized that Serenna wasn’t with me—that she was tethered somewhere…”

He rubbed his eyes before his head whipped around the quarters, mounting urgency cutting through his glassy expression. The instant he spotted Serenna draining a glass of water, worry etched deeper into his expression.

Fenn lurched to stand again, but Lykor clamped a hand on his shoulder. Doing the fool a favor, he shoved him back down before he fell on his face.

Serenna was at Fenn’s side a heartbeat later, clasping his outstretched claw.

“What happened?” Fenn asked, eyes flaring as they cleared enough to scan her sunburned skin.

Lykor interrupted their reunion with a low growl, nearly compelled to slap their palms apart and put an end to their petting. “Explain to me why you’ve been here, treated like a king.”

Fenn chewed on a lip ring, his gaze drifting away from Serenna’s to meet Lykor’s glower. “The servants insisted that I couldn’t leave to find her—supposedly for my own safety.” His voice sharpened. “They thought I was under the influence of her magics.”

Serenna scoffed, plucking a grape from one of his trays. “Because you’re a wraith like them? Did they not realize that you have Essence too?”

“I tried to explain,” Fenn insisted, his claw tightening around her hand. A trace of anger simmered in his eyes. “They wouldn’t listen. Or didn’t understand. When I warped off that balcony to search for you”—he waved toward the nearest patio—“they riddled me with those darts until I collapsed.”

Lykor’s shoulders twitched. Irritating. But plausible enough.

With Serenna’s help, Fenn managed to stand on the next attempt, his legs still unsteady beneath him. Raking his talons through his hair, he shook off the last dredges of haze before flashing Lykor a grin.

“Why haven’t we thought of using venom in our weapons?” he asked. “Do you think we could learn their process?”

“They owe us more than that.” Lykor tipped his chin toward Vesryn. “Speaking of venom, go sedate the prince. I’m sick of hearing him moan.”

“I heard that,” Vesryn snapped across the room, perking up from his couch.

With a strained heave, he propped himself up on an elbow, Jassyn’s mending light spiraling around him.

“I’ll have you know I can’t even feel my toes,” he hissed. Slipping a hand under his knee, he hoisted a mangled leg. His bloody robe slipped down his thigh as he waved his foot theatrically. “Because they’re fucking gone !”

Lykor rolled his eyes at the inconsequential loss. “You’re only missing two .” Reassessing, his mouth tightened. “And a half.” Maybe the lackwit would finally learn some caution—even someone with Jassyn’s skill couldn’t regrow bones. “It’s a shame the druids didn’t think to string up you by the ankles. Those flayers could have relieved us of your tongue instead.”

Vesryn flopped back into the pillows with a huff, the cushions swallowing him as he flipped a finger in Lykor’s direction. “I won’t be able to walk the same.” He sighed dramatically, draping his forearm back over his eyes. “But that’s not even the worst part.” Peeking from beneath his arm, he shot Lykor another scowl. “I’ll never forgive those winged snakes for letting my dick blister in the sun. And poor Jassyn had to—”

“Unfortunately, I was also in the carriage when you prioritized your injuries,” Lykor grumbled, dismissing the memory with a grimace. Any sense of modesty had long since been stripped from them, another casualty of their collective suffering.

Lykor’s gaze lingered on Jassyn, tracking the faint tremor in his fingers as he poured his remaining strength into the prince. Between using coercion on that fucking bird and being shackled under the sun, it was clear that he swayed on the edge of exhaustion. It showed in the uncharacteristic slump of his shoulders, the fatigue pooling in bruised crescents under his eyes.

Movements still clumsy, Fenn finally lumbered across the room with Serenna’s help.

Vesryn’s voice lashed through the air. “You are not biting me.” Mouth set in a stubborn line, he glared as Fenn slid beside him on the couch.

“The venom will numb your injuries,” Fenn insisted, eyes dancing with delight.

“I’ve had my fill of being gnawed on,” Vesryn clipped, failing to shove the lieutenant off his perch. “Thanks to Jassyn’s coercion mind trick, the pain is dulled enough.”

Patience shattering, Lykor didn’t think. He folded in on himself and warped.

Reappearing directly over the prince, he struck. Vesryn barely had time to blink before Lykor seized him by the robe, talons gouging holes into the delicate silk. The prince startled, lips parting in protest.

Too late.

Lykor hauled him up, nose-to-nose, flashing fangs in his face.

“Jassyn needs to rest too,” he growled, eyes boring into the prince. “He can mend faster if he’s not wasting half his focus holding together that fucking web of magic on your skull.”

He could feel Jassyn’s silence beside him—the way he stifled his own discomfort like it was just an inconvenience. Lykor all but bristled, ready to combust.

“You’ll let Fenn do what he does best,” Lykor seethed, shaking the prince hard enough to rattle his teeth. “And if you don’t, I promise you won’t appreciate what happens when I take matters into my own hands.”

Jaw clenched, Vesryn met Lykor’s glare before his eyes drifted to Jassyn, who was still dutifully channeling his power. Perhaps through their bond he finally registered his cousin’s weariness.

Vesryn audibly ground his teeth before forcing out, “I can bear the pain.”

“Doubtful.” Lykor released him, slicing a hand toward Fenn in silent command. “You’ve already passed out twice.”

“You know,” Fenn mused, slowly tracing a talon up Vesryn’s arm before shooting Serenna a wink. “I’ve been wondering if you taste as decadent as my she-elf.”

Vesryn tensed, drawing in a sharp breath. His eyes flashed murder before Serenna placed her palm on his.

She winced, but nodded in encouragement.

Exhaling slowly, the prince sank back into the nest of pillows, scowling at the ceiling. “Fine.”

Fenn brushed away Vesryn’s hair as he leaned closer, baring the column of the prince’s throat. “Ask nicely,” he crooned.

“ Lieutenant! ” Lykor snarled. Fenn’s grin vanished as his spine snapped straight. “Skip the foreplay and stop fucking around. Just get it over with.”

Crossing his arms, Lykor fixed his attention on the luminous threads weaving around Vesryn’s shredded calf, stitching muscle back together over exposed bone. He sensed Jassyn glancing at him, but he pivoted toward the chamber’s entrance, unwilling to acknowledge it.

While he’d been busy imposing order, a new stream of palace servants had slunk back into the quarters, burdened with offerings. More food, more nectared wine, more frivolous indulgences. The druids had hardly left them alone for minutes before returning, hovering at the edges of the room.

Lykor’s eyes sharpened as he caught the pattern, something he should have noticed earlier. The way they seemed to gravitate toward Serenna first—presenting her with the initial choice.

They deferred to her with subtle bows, a slight quiver in their wings as they dipped their trays, a quiet reverence he wasn’t sure she’d even registered yet.

An idea began to take shape—one he could twist to his advantage. But for now, there were more immediate concerns.

A male drifted toward Serenna, a tray laden with an array of delicacies balanced in his claws. Lykor warped, thrusting his arm out to intercept the servant’s approach.

“Where’s our armor?” he demanded. “I want our weapons. Supplies. Now.”

The servant’s wings tightened against his spine, the claw-tipped peaks curling inward as he lowered his gaze. “Your belongings have been placed in the sleeping chambers on the upper level,” he said quickly. “But your armor is—is being cleaned,” he stammered. “The artisans are crafting new gear, suited for—”

“I didn’t ask for new gear,” Lykor hissed, nearly flipping the tray out of his grip. “I asked for our armor.”

The servant flinched.

“Fenn!” Lykor barked over his shoulder.

More steady now, Fenn sauntered over, having finished with the prince.

Lykor jabbed a finger at the druid. “Don’t let this one out of your sight until he sees our armor returned.”

Fenn shrugged, his attention already on the platter. “Easiest watch you’ve assigned.”

The servant’s wings twitched, crimson eyes flitting between Fenn and Lykor. Fenn’s talons skimmed the air over the spread of diced fruits, spiced meats, and snowy blossoms that were as wide as his palms. Tilting his head, he plucked one of the white flowers.

The druid shifted his weight and found his voice. “The nectar from mistpetals is a gift from the desert,” he explained. “More hydrating than water.”

Fenn’s eyes glowed with interest before he popped the entire bloom into his mouth.

The servant choked on a gasp, the clawed tips of his wings seizing. Eyes bulging out of his skull, his gaze flew to Serenna—as if she had any knowledge of their sacred decorum.

“Lykor, have you tried these?” Fenn asked, clapping the druid on the shoulder as he reached for another flower.

Lykor rolled his eyes, leaving the lieutenant to his sacrilegious feast. He couldn’t bring himself to care if Fenn’s antics dismantled their diplomatic standing.

But he took note of the druid’s scandalized reaction. Useful.

Lykor stalked back toward Serenna, who still hovered near Jassyn as he mended the prince. Thinking better of physically dragging her to the terrace in front of their gracious hosts, Lykor jerked his head to the patio when she glanced up.

Serenna pursed her lips before squeezing Vesryn’s palm, peeling herself away from his side. Her slippers whisked against the marble floor as she glided out onto the balcony without a word.

Eyes glazed and distant, the prince frowned at the hand she’d released, slowly trying to count his fingers like he’d forgotten how many he possessed.

“You’re supposed to have six,” Lykor muttered under his breath as he passed.

Jassyn snorted, and Lykor’s eyes swooped to him before he could stop himself. Jassyn’s lips twitched, the subtle motion snagging Lykor like a hook. Vesryn spluttered something nonsensical that Lykor didn’t register—he was too caught in the steady orbit of amber eyes.

Jassyn’s mouth parted, but Lykor—the coward he was—didn’t give him the chance to speak. Jaw tight, he wrenched his gaze away and strode through the archway after Serenna. Fleeing.

Something was faulty with that stupid organ in his chest, battering against his ribs like it wanted out. Perhaps he’d stoop low enough to ask the girl to assess it.