Chapter 22
LYRAE
My wet leathers shrank by the fire overnight and squeezing my aching, stiff legs and arms into them was a feat best left for a carnival contortionist.
Thank the gods I was alone, because if anyone saw me get dressed, I would have never heard the end of it.
Rain pounded on the roof, some of the damp seeping through the stone walls, but when I finally managed to get myself sorted and downstairs, three pairs of eyes greeted me the second I barreled through the door into what could be called the library-slash-morning room.
“Good morning, Lyrae. Sleep well?” Ryland’s voice vibrated with that deep, early morning huskiness that turned my skin to gooseflesh and I’d never been so grateful to have every square inch of my skin covered up.
“Mattress was a bit lumpy, food was shit, but other than that, the accommodations were acceptable.”
“Lumpy mattress. Shit food. What an absolute travesty.” Ryland looked unfairly handsome this morning, the sun outlining every curve of his face in golden light.
And Varian, watching from beside the enormous fireplace…
my skin caught fire as his eyes ever so slowly traveled down my body, reminding me of every fantasy that had kept me awake half the goddamned night.
Two of them.
At the same time.
How, exactly, did that work? My brain was committed to figuring it out.
“I don’t know, maybe Rooke can do something about your dreadful sleeping experience.” Ryland’s grin was half wicked, half mischief as I refocused on whatever we were talking about. “Perhaps find you a softer mattress for tonight?”
Right. The lumpy mattress. Only then did it occur to me I’d stolen Ryland’s bed and had no idea where he’d slept. Probably in that chair, from the look of his sinfully rumpled hair.
Well, it served him right for that bullshit he’d pulled at the tavern.
Varian’s lips quirked. “I’ll see what we can do to improve your sleeping experience, my lady, but today, we have places to be, if you’re up for a bit of reconnaissance?”
“What are we reconning?” I asked, glad of the shift in conversation, easing my aching, strung-too-tight body into the nearest chair as gracefully as my stiff muscles would allow.
“A place called Gravespire,” Ryland explained with an easy smile. “Used to be a temple to the old Fae gods, but now it’s abandoned. I’m assuming the Old Gods no longer need it.”
“Considering they’re all dead, I think it’s fair to say they don’t.”
Varian was heading my direction, carrying a plate over, along with a steaming cup of…
“Is that coffee?” Every cell perked up at the rich, dark smell, my fingers curling around the warm mug as I practically shoved my nose into the hot liquid and took a deep inhale.
“Gods, that smells good. How in the world did you get coffee?”
I peered over the rim at Rooke, brooding sullenly in the shadows dressed in what I assumed was his signature head-to-toe black, and was that a…crow perched on his shoulder?
“I may be a prisoner here, but I am not without my resources.” He sniffed delicately. “Actually, Varian brought me that delicious treasure, but I’m happy to share, given I won’t be trapped here much longer.”
“That’s pretty bold of you to assume.” I took a long, hot sip, scalding the top of my mouth, not that I cared one bit. “After what you did to Varian, I’m tempted to bolt the front doors and leave you here to rot.”
“Well, commander, my suffering is a precious thing. You will have to get in line.” He leaned forward into the sun and I sucked in a muted gasp. His face was bruised, bottom lip cracked open, a bead of red blood welling. I looked immediately to Ry, who just grinned and hooked his thumb at Varian.
“That wasn’t me. Varian evened the score.”
On closer examination, I saw what I’d missed before.
Varian’s knuckles were broken open, as bloody as Rooke’s bottom lip, and every time he clenched his hands, they bled a little more.
But that look on his face…I hadn’t seen Varian grin like that in so long, and the tightness around my heart loosened.
“Dare I even ask what happened?” I muttered into my coffee. “Did you try to beat the asshole out of him?”
“What did you say?” Rooke demanded testily. “I couldn’t quite hear you from all the way over here.”
“I said…I wish I’d seen Varian beat your ass. I probably would have slept better, despite the shit mattress.”
“Regardless, I haven’t spent fifty years locked up inside this mausoleum to wait around all godsdamned day while you three eye-fuck each other over coffee.
” His expression was empty, the look of a male locked up for too long, slowly withering away.
“When are you leaving for Gravespire, and how long will it take for you to come up with a solid strategy to retrieve the artifacts?”
“I’m not eye-fucking anyone,” I muttered, sliding deeper into my chair.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, just sleep together and get it over with.” Rooke’s eyes brightened. “If you want a fourth, I wouldn’t be opposed to joining. I’ve been dreadfully lonely.” I picked up the stale biscuit off my plate and heaved it at him.
The bastard was faster than he looked, ducking out of the way, the raven cawing balefully as it flapped down to peck the biscuit apart.
“After you retrieve the artifact and free me from my eternal prison,” Rooke’s dark eyes gleamed with wickedness as he sank back into his chair with a drawn-out sigh, “we can talk about bedroom arrangements. After all, it has been fifty years, and I have so many delicious fantasies to explore.”
“That is never happening,” I hissed. “So stop…thinking about exploring.”
There was plenty more on the tip of my tongue, but he just sighed. “For now, I’d kiss every single one of you if you brought me those godsdamned artifacts and freed me from this dreadful place.”
Setting down my coffee, I debated how to play this. I came here for a single purpose, as crystal clear and cold as the ice-covered lake surrounding this island.
I came here thinking I had no chance at a future, other than the one I’d been living.
But now…now I wondered if I couldn’t have everything I’d ever wanted.
Besides, Torin told me to use whatever methods necessary to get the job done.
“I’m Commander of the Dreadwatch and I serve Queen Anaria of Valarian,” I met Rooke’s dark stare with one that had seasoned soldiers shitting their pants. “My duty is to protect my queen and kingdom. I want to make that perfectly clear, so there is no confusion.”
“And if that duty…interferes with our purposes here?” Rooke asked smoothly.
“If you and the relics pose no threat to Valarian, if you are not the sick fuck who sent my soldiers’ heads back to me in a burlap bag, then I don’t have a problem with you, Rooke. Now, if you can point me in the direction of whomever may have killed them, you can consider me an ally. Of sorts.”
He spread his arms wide. “Given I’ve been a prisoner in here for nigh fifty years, and have a distinct shortage of burlap sacks, I am not your culprit. But I know who is. Find the Triune, and I’ll give you a name.”
“Convenient, you getting your way while acting the hero,” I observed. “Name first, then the Triune.”
Of course, I had no earthly idea how we could find the Triune, but my money was on Varian, and the way he was nervously pacing along one side of the room made me think he knew exactly where the relics were.
“I’ve waited fifty years to get out of here. My father was killed for those relics. Triune first, then you’ll have your name, commander.” His face softened slightly. “You have my word on this.”
“Let’s say, for the sake of argument, the Triune is actually real. How will a bunch of old, dusty artifacts set you free?” I asked carefully. “The last thing I want to do is unleash some awful power on this realm, much less, hand it over to someone calling himself the Dark Prince.”
“Didn’t pay much attention in school, did you?” Rooke leaned forward, hands clasped between his spread knees, looking nothing like a dissolute nobleman, playing lord of the manor.
No, Kaden looked dangerous.
The kind of dangerous that shifted power paradigms, that overthrew kingdoms.
I shivered, because I recognized that look all too well. I’d seen that same fervency on Anaria’s face. On my own. In every single one of us as we’d fought and schemed to unseat two corrupt kings and kill a pair of even more corrupt Old Gods.
“My father was murdered, my entire family eliminated because of those cursed things,” Rooke was explaining in a voice devoid of any feeling, like he was, indeed, reciting history.
“Legend has it our bloodline stretches all the way back to the Old Gods themselves. Our bloodline possessed terrible magic, too powerful for some of us to control. At some point—the family history is admittedly a bit fuzzy here—the artifacts were forged in secret at the behest of one of my ancestors.”
There was nothing kind in his face when he snared my gaze with his dark eyes, nothing remotely soft or weak. I held the stare of a male determined to see this through to the end, to go to any length, make any sacrifice, so long as he succeeded.
“The artifacts were conceived not to boost our power, but to harness it. To store excess magic, so we could live our lives and not destroy the world around us.”
I kept my shiver to myself, kept the bland, semi-interested expression on my face as I took another sip of coffee.
Not only was Rooke dangerous, he had a cause worth dying for.
Which meant he would sacrifice each and every one of us for his convictions.
“They were forged in secret, somewhere in the north, perhaps near the Mithrium mines. For the next fuck knows how many millennia, the Rookes enjoyed their magic and their influence and their fucking castle, and this realm enjoyed peace and prosperity without us blowing anything up.” He lifted his hands to indicate the room around us, hail now beating at the windows.