Chapter 8 #3
Tsan bowed his head. “Thank you for the opportunity. I hope to add value where I can.”
“I have respect for their cunning,” I answered the demon king. “But they have their downfalls.”
Tyran would surely agree with me. He was the white who’d wanted to leap into powerful crimsons.
He didn’t respond, and addressed my friend again. “What of a mate?”
Tsan tensed but responded smoothly enough. “I had a mate long ago, my king. She is dead, as easily happens to those of my scale. Cunning can only shield us so much.”
Gratia asked, “You were mated. How are you alive?”
Tsan seemed relieved to look away from the king. “She severed the mating before her death. I was still very sick for a long time. I spent three months unconscious.”
Athira dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “You should sever your mating now, daughter. Three months sick is better than dead.”
Gratia glared at her mother across the table. “How long were you sick after father was killed? A day?”
They glared at one another, and I laughed. I should make some kind of noise, especially because this line of questioning may lead to Carmine uncovering why Tsan was here and helping me.
Athira turned her ire on me. “Something amusing?”
“Yes. You. You make me laugh just by being here.”
Gratia grinned. “I didn’t see the joke for a long time, but I’m starting to see it now.”
“Enough,” ordered Carmine. “Perhaps dining with a table of yellows would at least provide more educated discussion.”
Now that had to come from Tyran. Did he get sick of crimson company? He had to have grown tired of it after thousands of years. He viewed crimsons as fools, and he’d suffered them for most of his immortality.
“If they didn’t, you could chop off their heads,” I said pleasantly.
“I could do it for him,” Athira said, smiling down the table at me. “I could do it right now.”
In a blur, she was behind Tsan.
My friend paused in the act of reaching up to grab Athira’s forearm.
I arched a brow. “If anyone kills the yellow, it will be me.”
“Incorrect, mate-intended,” Carmine said after a beat. “I will kill him if it suits me. Or invite my mother to do so.”
“Ready at any time.” Athira dug her dagger in, and I watched the trickle of blood flow down Tsan’s neck and over his collarbone.
I smiled again, and picked up my goblet, swirling the contents. “I suppose you’ll do so eventually. Whether now or later. You are no yellow, after all.”
The room quietened. Yeah, I just called you dumb.
But two of them didn’t know that Carmine was ruled by a white who must feel rather proud about ruling the demon realm for five thousand or more years. And Tsan didn’t know that Carmine wasn’t in control of the white magic in him.
My comment would definitely hit at Tyran’s pride. Was that a good thing, or a “get my friend dead” thing? I didn’t know.
Things weren’t going well, though.
I added, “I’m willing to kill my twin sister, mate.”
“Which you are yet to do,” he answered, and rage vibrated his deep voice.
Ah, here it was. I smiled brightly. “You’re right about that. I am yet to do it.”
The threat was thinly veiled. So don’t piss me off.
Carmine held my gaze, and I drew up the feeling of ice. I didn’t know if that helped or not, but he seemed to believe my expression.
His lips curved, and he shot a look at his mother. “Release him. For now.”
As if fake killing Tempest could get any more complicated. Now I had to consider that if I went through with fake killing her, then Tsan wouldn’t have that layer of protection. Though if I did fake kill her, then the demon king may not be as inclined to test my loyalty.
Fuck. My brain hurt.
Athira removed her dagger from Tsan’s neck, and he didn’t budge an inch. He didn’t sag in relief or wipe at the blood on his neck. I wasn’t sure he was breathing.
“A shame,” she purred, cleaning her dagger on a napkin. “What about your mate-intended? Have you realized how worthless she is yet?”
Carmine leaned back. “I’m still deciding, Mother.”
I dabbed at the corners of my mouth with my napkin, then rose. “Athira, any time you wish to settle the score, I am happy to oblige.”
“I wouldn’t dirty my daggers.”
“Couldn’t dirty your daggers,” I replied.
She was on me in a flash, but I forced a smirk as horror spread across her features, and she staggered back a step.
In front of me was the ghost of her mate. A past king who’d joined my silence circle recently. He’d reluctantly agreed to this plan because, yes, it was a dick move. But I’d needed something big.
Athira’s dead mate regarded her, and his throat worked. As did hers. The ghost’s focus shifted to Gratia, and his features softened.
“Father?” she whispered.
He looked at Carmine last, and his eyes crinkled as if in pain. “I wished for more for you, son. But I could not give it.” I wish that Tyran’s power had died with me. I didn’t mean to hurt you.
Carmine’s hands shook on the table. “I know, Father. I do not blame you.”
I released the ghost of the dead king, then made sure to laugh at Athira’s stricken expression.
“Dinner is over,” the demon king said in a low voice. As Carmine.
He strode out of the chamber.