Chapter 7 #3
Sirro sighed, bored. “Why on earth would the Crowthers bother? It seems like quite an ordeal to go through to exchange Nelle for a changeling when they already possessed her through their boon.”
Though confusion creased Aldert’s brow, he kept his gaze locked on mine, and the words rushed out in panic. “I can only assume Danne was helping Nelle escape. She didn’t want to go through with the marriage to you.”
Aldert had been there. He’d witnessed my reaction, Byron’s too. The half-veiled accusations we’d hurled at each other.
“Danne stole Nelle against her will,” I pressed.
Aldert scoffed. “Why would—”
“Because he hated me that much. He wanted to steal what was mine.”
Anger wound around my bones and crunched the air from my lungs. A flash of memory had my knuckles burning with heat because I was clenching them so tight. Pure heart-crushing terror shone bright in her eyes when I’d slaughtered my way to her.
Aldert’s hurried retreat had me snapping back to the present.
I realized it was showing all over my face. An icy rage consumed my very being. A feral need, as an ancient, wicked melody whispered through my blood, to end him.
“I know how much you hated him.” Aldert jabbed a finger at me while turning to spit the words at Sirro. “This is an attempt to discredit my son!”
The Horned God ignored Aldert and instead politely asked my father, “How is the lovely Ferne these days?”
Astonishment jolted through me. He knew. Somehow he knew what Danne was capable of. What he’d attempted to do to my sister. What he suspected might have happened to Nelle when she’d been trapped with Danne.
Aldert swallowed thickly, his face paling to a sickly color.
My father replied to Sirro in his deep, rough voice, but he kept his wrathful gaze on Aldert. “Ferne is well.”
“Danne was obsessed with Nelle,” I said, catching Aldert’s unease. The flash of doubt. He knew what sickness roiled in his son, and that fact alone would make my lies sound like the truth. “So, he stole her.”
“He would never—”
“I went after what was mine and found Danne with her. I didn’t like the way he was looking at her, touching her. She didn’t like it either.”
Byron’s shocked gaze cut to mine as what I implied slammed through him. To my surprise, he spoke up. “Danne had been at me all weekend trying to get to Nelle. If she hadn’t kept constant company with Graysen, I’m sure your son would have kidnapped her earlier.”
“They were friends. We all knew that.”
Byron’s jaw tightened with building rage. “It would seem not, Aldert.”
Byron also couldn’t afford to have anyone suspect his daughter was other.
He and I agreed for once. Everyone, including Aldert, needed to see Danne as an obsessive stalker, and that being the sole reason he had stolen the Wychthorn Princess.
I only hoped that Aldert didn’t dig any further as to why his son thought he had possessed someone of worth.
I also hoped to hells that this was a wake-up call to Byron so that he’d end the engagement of Corné Pellan to his daughter Evelene.
But there was something the Pellans had over him.
Despite his high rank, Byron wasn’t permitted to know what was happening in the laboratories deep within the Carpellean Mountains—the secretive experiment the Pellans were conducting for the Horned Gods.
And like his sadistic eldest son, Aldert arrogantly assumed this gave him a certain right to lord over Byron.
Practically spitting with self-importance, Aldert dared to take a step closer to me. “What did you do to my son?”
I braced my stance and glared. The words rumbled from my throat, frayed with malice. “I simply retrieved what belonged to me, and I let Danne go.”
Well, I didn’t—Nelle did.
And technically, it was true—she let him go inside the swifting void.
“He’s vanished,” Aldert snarled.
I mentally shrugged—again, technically true.
I lifted my brows, silently replying—I don’t fucking care.
And truly, I didn’t.
I could still feel the press of Danne’s blade at my throat, warm blood seeping from the shallow cut and dripping down my neck as he raised the weapon. Sunlight and mountain shadow flashed along the slender blade when he drove the dagger downward, intent on ending me.
The last terrified thought I’d had—that he would take Nelle and finish what he’d begun in the limousine.
And brave, fearless Nelle, hurling herself at Danne and swifting. Both of them vanishing into the void, leaving behind a wake of feathered wind that brushed against my bloodied, sweat-slick skin.
Aldert pivoted to face Sirro. Fury blotched his cheeks as he stabbed his finger at me. His voice boomed through the room like an explosion of thunder, presumptuous and demanding. “Sirro—”
A burst of savagery exploded.
Sirro’s power lashed out. Silver strands whipped around Aldert’s milky neck, squeezing viciously.
Everyone reacted.
My father and I were a blur, taking defensive positions in front of my vulnerable brother.
Both Byron and Gerrit shot to their feet, the boy shunting the chair behind him as he stumbled backward.
Sirro’s Familiar bowed, pressing her forehead to the ground, trembling hands splayed before her.
The Horned God slowly straightened in his seat. A sinister hum ran beneath his tone, raising all the tiny hairs on the back of my neck when he spoke. “Sirro?”
In his anger, Aldert had forgotten his place.
Aldert’s knees wobbled as he swayed, his hands clawing at the tight coils of silver crushing his throat. Purple flooded his cheeks, darkening to blue as oxygen fled. His beady eyes bulged, shining with a film of tears and utter terror.
“I’d remind you, Aldert, exactly who I am.” While Aldert’s mouth gaped as he fought for an impossible breath, Sirro continued smoothly, “And that you’re not irreplaceable. Though I do understand that perhaps you’re under emotional strain right now.”
His dark power reluctantly untangled itself from Aldert’s neck.
Aldert staggered, gasping for air.
Byron retook his seat and ordered coldly. “Sit down.”
A soft thump resounded in the room when the other man practically fell into a chair, his ass hitting the cushion.
Garrit darted nervous looks between his father and Sirro. He slowly lowered himself into his seat, sitting ramrod straight, his feet braced as if he were deciding if he should bolt from the solar and leave Aldert to the Horned God.
My father and I sat back down in our respective chairs. Jett slouched against the pillowy backrest, his chest rising and falling with shallow, wet breaths, but he’d discreetly palmed a dagger.
Sirro rose, ignoring his Familiar still splayed on the ground.
He slid one hand into his trouser pocket as he casually strolled across the room, the brocade curtains stirring faintly in the breeze slipping through a window cracked open.
“Your House has quite the talent for mixing magic and science.” He then frowned as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him as he stopped to stand beneath the spread leaves of a palm, its fronds dipping low enough to touch.
He pinched a broad, glossy frond. “But…so does House Simonis.” He made a humming sound as if in contemplation.
“In fact, when I think about it, as your Lower House, Simonis are doing all the heavy work. They may be the true masters at melding magic and science…not you.”
I bit down on my bottom lip to stop the gleeful grin.
Hellsgate. Sirro was going for the jugular.
I fucking loved it.
Pieces were being shifted around the board, and I wasn’t sure exactly what was happening. What Sirro was up to. Right now, I didn’t give a fuck. I reveled in seeing Aldert Pellan put in his place. I’d feel better if he were six feet underground, but this moment was glorious.
Sirro let go of the frond, and it sprang back up.
He turned to face Aldert, whose eyes widened with bewilderment, fingers massaging his throat.
“Frankly, I’m getting tired of you thinking you can speak directly with me.
Simply working on a special project for the Horned Gods doesn’t give you the right to move around the chain of command.
” He angled his chin toward Byron. “You speak with your leader, the Head of Great House Wychthorn, first. If Byron feels the situation deems it necessary for me to get involved, then I will.”
Byron’s steely gaze locked on Aldert, and the shorter man’s bruised throat bobbed before he rasped out. “Of course. My apologies.”
“I’m sure Danne will turn up at some point. The important thing you need to remember is this. The Alverac grants Graysen Crowther absolute authority over Nelle Wychthorn.”
“Alverac?” Aldert repeated hoarsely. “Do you mean the marriage contract?”
“Oh, Aldert.” Sirro clicked his tongue, his smile growing wholly wicked.
“Your House is so young, sometimes I forget how ignorant you are of the immense age of the Horned Gods, indeed as are most of the other Houses too.” He walked toward him with carefully measured steps.
“The Alverac gives Graysen Crowther every right to deal out punishment to anyone who interferes between him and Nelle.”
All the color drained from Aldert’s face, the broken capillary veins standing out in a stark web across his cheeks.
“You need to hear this, and then you can whisper it, like you’re quite fond of doing, to all the other Heads.”
There was something at play here, a simmering rage that had Sirro’s otherworldly power vibrating. Aldert had done more than offend him. The smaller man had outraged him. But I couldn’t figure out why. Was it Nelle or something else?