Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cormal
Cormal hadn’t known what to expect when it came to Trill’s “friend.” They all knew that Perian had guessed correctly about them being a carnalion, but Trill had carefully not given them any information.
Not that Cormal blamed him. He really had meant what he’d told everyone about being willing to do whatever was needed for Kinan, but he knew it would take time for everyone to believe him.
Now that he knew that Trill and Perian were not, in fact, carnalions, he had to admit that he was even more anxious about meeting this actual carnalion.
He’d killed carnalions. Not even the realization that he got along with Trill and Perian was enough to make him certain that this was going to go well.
How different were carnalions? How would this one feel about them?
But Kinan was more important than all of that, so Cormal wouldn’t make a move against them unless they attacked Cormal or his friends.
And given that two of them were children of two worlds, two had gone up against carnalions before, and he and Brannal could wield fire, the only person he was really worried about was Kinan.
The fact that Trill thought Kinan was a walking feast for demons was terrifying.
Cormal didn’t care what anyone else said; he would defend Kinan with every ability at his disposal.
But he was equally aware this might be the best chance Kinan had, and he wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize that needlessly.
The whole situation put him on edge, especially when their guest was cloaked and hooded to the point where they couldn’t see them at all. Seriously, the hood was pulled down practically to their chin. It was extremely suspicious.
On the other hand, if Cormal were a carnalion coming to meet a bunch of Mage Warriors, he’d probably be inclined to keep his identity a secret, too.
They met in the sitting room, and the carnalion made an incredulous noise when they saw the Prince for the first time. Cormal stepped in front of him.
They turned to look at Trill. “You didn’t do him justice.”
“How was I supposed to describe him?” Trill asked. “I’ve never felt anything like him before.”
“Nor have I,” they acknowledged.
Cormal didn’t think this was a very promising beginning. “Does that mean you can’t help?”
Everyone turned to glare at him. He stiffened, because he’d thought it was a reasonable question, all things considered. The Prince did his equivalent of an elbow poke in the ribs.
Perian stepped in immediately. “I’m so sorry; I’m being a terrible host. Um, let me introduce everyone.” He did so, following this up with, “Can I get you anything to eat or drink? I hope you had a comfortable journey here.”
“I have no complaints about the journey,” they said. “The question, of course, is the people at the destination, and whether I have any reason to help them.”
“Yannoma!” Trill protested.
They were looking—as far as he could tell, anyway—at Cormal.
“We’ve sworn not to harm you as long as you don’t try to harm any of us,” Cormal told them.
“And what of the harm that has already been done?” they asked, voice silky and full of danger.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You think my mistrust of Mage Warriors is theoretical?” they said, and he could hear the scorn in their voice. “Would you like to know one of the many reasons I don’t trust you?”
Cormal assumed this was a rhetorical question. The carnalion reached up and lowered their hood.
Gasps echoed around the room, but Cormal could only stare.
They—she, as he could now see the gender beads dangling from an ear—might have been beautiful once.
Cormal assumed so, since she was a carnalion.
But she was covered in burns, the thick and twisted scars marring most of her face and scalp—where only patchy hair grew—the scars stretching down her neck and disappearing into her clothing.
Her eyes were startlingly blue in that ravaged face.
Fire and water. How could he possibly convince her to help Kinan now?
“The Prince didn’t have anything to do with what happened to you,” he told her.
“Does he not direct the Mage Warriors?” The skin pulled as she spoke, looking uncomfortable.
Cormal tried to stay focused. “He is part of the royal family, but he hasn’t been able to speak to anyone except his sister since he was sixteen. I assure you that he is not in any way responsible for what happened to you.”
“Let’s say that I believe you.” Her tone said she didn’t believe him at all. “Tell me, which of you was responsible for the fire at the house of pleasure in the Royal City almost five years ago?”
Perian went rigid across the room. Brannal slipped an arm around him.
Was that where she’d been burned? Without hesitation, Cormal said, “I was.”
Brannal, being Brannal, immediately corrected, “We both were.”
Stupid, noble man. Cormal was willing to be the target for this.
Yannoma turned to look at Perian. “And you say you trust them.”
Perian looked as horrified as he had when Cormal had scared him in the corridor before he’d knocked him out. His lips pressed together in a thin line, but he nodded, even if it wobbled a little.
His voice was scratchy. “Even if they did that then, I don’t believe they’d do it now.”
She made a scoffing noise. “Oh, to be so young and naive.”
Brannal shifted so that he was standing protectively half in front of Perian.
“There were reports of nightmares, and when we investigated, we found a room full of them and a carnalion who was endangering all of her clients and every member of the town.”
Yannoma made a scoffing noise. “Ah. She did like to take risks.”
“It wasn’t you,” Brannal said.
“No,” she agreed. “She perished in the fire. Along with several civilians. Isn’t that right?”
She directed the question to Perian, who nodded, that awful expression still on his face. Brannal had twisted to face him.
“Perian?”
He bit his lip, looking everywhere but at Brannal before he finally whispered, “It’s where my father died. They said… they said the fire was an accident.”
Fire and water and all the elements.
Was it possible for this to get any worse? And she’d been here for, what, five whole minutes?
“Dear heart,” Brannal breathed. “Oh, Perian, I’m so sorry.”
Perian let out a sob. Brannal pulled him into his arms and Perian wept on his chest. At least he didn’t seem to be about to repudiate Brannal. Cormal turned back to the carnalion.
“That was cruel.”
A brow arched, though there was almost no hair there, just a mottled ridge of skin. “You would speak to me of cruelty?”
“Perian hasn’t done anything to hurt you,” Cormal snapped.
“Does he not deserve to know the truth about who he is with?”
“But you weren’t trying to tell the truth. You were wielding a weapon.”
Her lips curved up into a mean smile. “A good deal more precisely than your bludgeoning with the elements.”
“It didn’t go smoothly,” Cormal agreed. “We received erroneous information that the house of pleasure was deserted except for the carnalion. Patrons and workers were all supposed to have been escorted out.” Cormal winced.
“She tried to unleash the nightmares on us. It turned out that several rooms had been missed, and someone overturned a lamp in their panicked retreat. She barricaded herself in her room. The, uh, other bodies were only discovered after the fire was finally put out.”
Two men, one woman, and the carnalion, who had been burned almost beyond recognition. It had taken them too long to break down the door.
“Then it was called an accident,” she hissed.
Well, it certainly hadn’t gone according to plan.
“It was agreed that it would cause unnecessary panic if the people of Royal City knew that a carnalion and nightmares were in their very town. The”—he faltered briefly—“threat had been eliminated, and so yes, we claimed it was an accidental fire—that much was true, but we obscured the other details. We were trying to protect people.”
“And are we not simply trying to feed ourselves?” she challenged.
“Not if people die,” Cormal protested.
“And I suppose you checked to see if that was the case?”
Her gaze pierced him.
He shook his head and admitted, “No. Until recently, I didn’t realize I needed to. I treated all demons the same.”
She gestured at herself. “I am aware.”
He winced. “Was it me, then?”
“Your father, little Summus.”
Cormal swallowed. “If you were doing no harm, then I apologize.”
“Cormal,” Kinan hissed.
She seemed… almost amused?
“You don’t do a very good job of courting people, do you?”
Cormal swallowed. “Uh, no, not at all. I tend to lose my temper and throw fireballs and make everything worse.”
Kinan stepped in front of Cormal, making Yannoma suck in a breath. Cormal itched to move him.
“He’s been working so hard to be better,” Kinan told her earnestly. “He’s learned so much since Perian came into our lives. We’re all learning how much we still don’t know, but we’re trying to be better, I swear.”
“I have heard promises from humans before.” She looked unconvinced.
“But not from us,” Kinan answered, his voice painfully earnest. “If you hold us responsible for what everyone has done in the past, how will we ever move beyond it? We must acknowledge the harm we’ve done, but can’t we try to move forward from here?”
“It’s easy to say that when you’re on the winning side,” Yannoma answered.
Cormal didn’t think that was fair at all, given what had happened to Kinan, but Kinan nodded.
“You’re right. We have a lot of work to do. Perian helped me and has been exiled here. That’s not acceptable.”
Cormal nearly groaned. Because telling her another way they’d failed would surely be helpful at this point.
“What are you doing about it?” she demanded. “Telling me pretty words?”