Chapter 61
Chapter Sixty-One
Nienna
Tallon gripped the railing overlooking the dining room pit, knuckles blanched against iron darkened by years of gore and grease. He lurched over the edge and retched, his stomach ejecting blood and wine in a violent rush.
Two Velli men thumped his back, laughter cracking from their throats as they praised his excess. Another man lay at their boots, pale and slack, lips tinged gray, chest barely stirring.
“Egath, take Nienna away.” Deimos’ order remained calm, pitched low. He met my gaze over the rim of his glass, colorless irises steady. A silent promise threaded the stillness.
“As you wish, my king.” Egath rose, then offered his hand.
While Tallon always jerked me around like an unruly hound, Egath, by contrast, handled me with false respect. He inclined his head, palm open, posture composed. He made the gesture appear voluntary, as though I carried worth, as if I had a choice. For a heartbeat, I leaned into the illusion.
I placed my hand in his and allowed him to guide me into the aisle. The Velli flanking Tallon held him upright as another convulsion seized him, his body folding inward, rejecting what he had devoured.
At the long tables, goblets chimed and platters scraped.
Conversation rolled on, thick with roasted meat and spiced wine.
Fat crackled on trenchers. Steam rose fragrant with pepper and char.
Glances sliced toward us, quick and sharp, then dropped back to plates before Egath or their king could mark their curious attention.
Tallon trusted Egath. A ruinous error. He surrendered me like a swaddled babe to a nursemaid, expecting him to care for me. Egath often escorted me to my chambers. After the spectacle Deimos offered tonight, no Velli would dare question him.
Tallon might rage at my dismissal before his, but he wouldn’t dare take it out on Deimos. No, that punishment would land on me.
Egath guided me from the dining hall into the dark corridors beyond.
“How do you see anything?” I asked.
I despised how my pulse eased beside him.
My mind understood that he wasn’t safe. He would tear out my throat if thought he’d survive it.
Still, my chest tightened against reason.
He stood between me and Tallon’s temper.
He saw my needs, knew my secrets. Even if his protection was strategic, he cared for me more than Tallon ever had.
He paused. His touch shifted to my shoulders, trailing along my skin. “There are some things you don’t wish to see.”
“Then hire more servants.”
A flicker crossed his expression. His hand traveled higher, fingers tapping against the collar’s clasp.
He drew me toward a lantern whose flame trembled behind cloudy glass.
Warm light washed across his features, carving shadows beneath his cheekbones.
His thumb pressed to the soft underside of my chin and tipped my face upward.
“You are more yourself.” Warning braided with pride and something close to dread.
“Perhaps I realized I would survive and chose to spite it.” I curved my mouth into a smirk, but nerves tightened low in my belly. I could read Deimos and Tallon. But Egath—he terrified me.
“Did you find the servant?” My breath thinned as I spoke, trying to pull his focus from the heat gathering in his gaze.
Shadow deepened across his face. “Not yet.” His voice roughened at the edges, and his touch fell away.
I looped my hand through his extended arm, palm resting against the corded muscle beneath his jacket.
Strength lay there, contained and patient.
He could break me without thought. He might have been only an Ichor, yet that lack honed him.
Those denied dominion over flesh learned subtler methods of control.
We turned down a new hall. Lanterns thinned, spaced wide so darkness stretched between them in yawning pockets.
My heartbeat climbed into my throat, blood humming beneath my skin.
Eventually the lanterns vanished, replaced by thin bands of moonlight spilling through high, windowed slits in the stone.
“Where are you taking me?” My voice barely traveled. I scanned the shadows for movement. Hope sparked despite myself. Escape tempted me, bright and reckless. But if I failed—it might shatter the fragile shield Egath provided.
His grip tightened a fraction, guiding me into silvered darkness. “I think you know.”
“Tallon considers you his friend.” The words tasted thin, edged like cracked porcelain. A frail rebuke, but I had to say it.
“Then he is a fool.” A low chuckle left him as he stopped before a heavy door banded in iron. Hinges groaned when he pushed it open. “In Vellos, you serve yourself first. For me, that means the king before a bratty prince.”
“Did you ever consider him a friend?” I stepped inside. My gaze lifted as moonlight cascaded through the chamber.
A window.
Relief struck when I found it. The arch towered high, wide enough to frame Gyrak’s entire head. Pale light filtered through gauze curtains, turning the room to pearl and shadow. Dust drifted in the beam, slow as falling ash.
Gyrak? Matalino?
I reached inward and forced open the tight place behind my ribs. I sent the call outward like a flare into the night. No one had ever taught me how this worked. I felt like the first magic user, fumbling with a birthright meant to bloom by instinct alone.
“I am an Ichor.” Egath crossed the room with measured steps, boots whispering over thick carpet that swallowed each footfall. He lowered himself into a plush chair upholstered in deep blue velvet and drew me into his lap as though it were the most natural act in the world.
My spine locked. I perched on his knee rather than settling, muscles taut, gaze pinned to the door. Tallon could stagger in at any moment. Deimos might follow. Either would mean ruin.
“I am a servant.” His hand traveled along my arm, thumb grazing the tender skin near my elbow as he leaned back into the cushions. “I cannot command others with my magic. So I serve the most powerful who can.”
“Your neck is bare.”
He carried no fear. Confidence draped him like a tailored coat. He trusted himself not to be caught drinking from me. Trusted the king’s faith.
“Is it?” His mouth curved, slow and taunting. “The neck is not the only place one uses to gain dominance, na?ve Nienna.”
Then, from his pocket, he pulled out a simple gilded chain. Tallon’s key. Gaze locked on mine, he pushed it into the small lock at my throat. Warm hands pulled the metal free.
My teeth pressed together to hide my frown.
“Would you like to see?” His palms rested on the arms of the chair before lifting to slide open the buttons of his vest. One by one, they slipped apart with muted clicks—too loud in the quiet chamber.
Breon! Dyre! Artorious? I hurled their names into the hollow of my mind. Hear me. Please!
“I like you, Nienna.” His voice lowered to a near purr as he shrugged off the vest and tugged his tunic loose from his trousers. “You are different. Brave—foolishly so. And curious. It has been too long since I’ve met someone who did not cower or bare teeth at me. You simply exist—content to be.”
“You must be mad if you think I’m content here.” I rose in one sharp motion, skirt whispering against his knees.
He did not restrain me. His tunic hung untucked, draped across his thighs as he occupied the chair like a throne. Assurance radiated from him, quiet and absolute. He let me roam because he believed the room itself held me captive.
Paintings lined the walls, oils of Velli ancestors glaring with lacquered disdain.
Their painted eyes seemed to follow each step.
Marble busts rested on pedestals between intricate vases glazed in cobalt and gold.
Wealth clung to every surface, heavy as perfume.
I ignored it and strode to the window. The glass stretched from polished floor to vaulted ceiling, nearly fifteen paces wide.
Moonlight washed the panes in cold silver.
Come for me. I thrust unseen tendrils outward, straining with everything inside my ribs. I didn’t know how to do this. Would they hear? Would Ronan?
My fingers closed around the handle, seeking the balcony beyond the glass panes. Cool brass bit into my palm, then Egath’s hand covered mine. Heat bled through his skin. His breath skimmed my shoulder, stirring the fine hairs at my nape.
“So that’s your plan? Throw yourself to your death?”
“You wouldn’t let me.” My exhale fogged the glass, a fragile bloom that vanished as a cloud swallowed the moon and plunged the chamber into dim shadow.
“No,” he murmured. His arm curved around my waist, fingers grazing the thin fabric gathered there, tracing the line of my belly. The touch lingered, deliberate.
Revulsion flared, hot enough to scald. I wanted to wrench his hand away, to snap each finger and force them one by one down his throat. He toyed with my body as though it belonged to him. A possession. A diversion.
The latch behind us clicked into place. Metal met metal with quiet finality.
Still, he remained pressed to my back, fingertips twitching along my abdomen.
Sea beneath, he knew what grew inside me. The knowledge weighted his touch, a reminder of leverage only he possessed.
Footsteps approached. Measured. Unhurried. They halted just behind him.
The hand at my stomach stilled.
I twisted, cold glass biting into my heated spine. Deimos smiled from the hollow of Egath’s neck, fangs hovering near the rumpled collar of his tunic. His silver hair caught the moonlight and gleamed pale as frost.
“Greetings, Nienna Draconis.” He nipped at Egath’s throat with deliberate restraint, teeth grazing skin without breaking it before nudging him aside.
No resentment flickered in those green eyes. Acceptance pooled there instead. A player acknowledging his role in a larger game. He returned to the chair and lowered himself into it, composed as ever.