Onyx Storm (The Empyrean Book 3)

In the first twenty-four hours of removal from source magic, the subject—an asim—presented as even-tempered. But withdrawal quickly revealed the subject’s true nature, requiring the subject’s immediate transfer to stage two of the study. Her results can be found with group thirty-three B under the category: DEATH BY FIRE, and subsequently group forty-six C under the category: DEATH BY POISON.

—A Study in the Anatomy of the Enemy by Captain Dominic Prishel

Deverelli is beautiful by sunset, or at least it would be if I could concentrate on taking the time to really appreciate the isle.

Instead, I’m focused on exactly how close Tairn thinks he can fly to the treetops without actually crashing into one as we race along the hillside ahead of Sgaeyl.

To Andarna’s disdain, Tairn ordered her to remain behind for her own safety.

“You’re sure we’re out of range of the cross-bolts?” I ask, hunkered down against the pommels of my saddle, my pack weighing me down, as if my slight stature could possibly affect his aerodynamics.

“They are made not to rotate this way but to defend the shoreline. They woefully underestimate our intelligence.”

Still, the existence of the cross-bolts means this isle wants to do us harm. And it possibly already is.

“Are you in pain? Is Andarna?” I ask as I spot four enormous gray pillars ahead, supporting the remnants of an aqueduct as they curve around the hillside, marking the path to their palace.

“What would make you ask that?” His gruff tone answers for him as he crosses over an open space that looks to be in the arts district from what I remember reading, and a chorus of shouts sounds then vanishes as we pass by.

Sorry, but if you abduct our royalty, we scare the shit out of you with our dragons. Seems pretty fair to me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Guilt for even suggesting to Xaden that we stay, for not realizing it, settles on my shoulders.

“You live in pain. Do you feel as though you need to alert me every time your knee twinges or your joints slip?” Even his wingbeats change, becoming more staccato. “There have been several moments, even here, when your heartbeat has elevated and you have approached unconsciousness, yet you have not made special note.”

I lean with him as he banks left, following the centuries-old aqueduct. “That’s just everyday life for me. This isn’t normal for you.”

“Andarna shows no sign of trouble. I am inconvenienced, annoyed, and cut off from my source of power, strength, and my mate’s thoughts, but I am still Tairneanach, son of Murtcuideam and Fiaclanfuil, descended from—”

“All right, yes, I get it. You are superior in all ways.” I interrupt him before he can get through his whole pompous lineage like I don’t have it memorized by now.

We level out, following the topography, and I take in as much of the layout as I can before we’re too far overhead. Tairn’s size is a distinct advantage in battle, but it’s a pain in the ass when I’m trying to see what’s below me.

The palace is unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed. Not only is the four-story structure carved into the hillside, but so is a hundred-yard meadow ahead of it. It’s truly spectacular, a feat of engineering when it was accomplished a thousand years ago, and testament to their traditions that it’s still their seat of power and hasn’t faded to ruin like so many of the ancient castles of kingdoms past on the Continent.

Soft blue light glows in orbs down a central path of the clearing, lighting our way as the sun sinks behind the hills and we descend toward the muted green grass. The space is wide enough to support the width of two dragons with fully extended wings, but probably four if they held them retracted.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Tairn asks as we approach, his wings flaring to slow our descent.

“The majority of their formal spaces are outside, according to what I’ve read, as are the king’s chambers, just beyond the first row of trees, so in theory…yes.” I position my body for landing as he flies over a platoon of panicked guards bearing what appear to be silver-tipped spears, then sets us down to the left of the row of incandescent blue orbs. “Not that they’re going to let me in.”

Sgaeyl and Xaden land to the right.

Shouting ensues as I unbuckle my belt and move for Tairn’s shoulder. “No changes to the plan?” I ask, steeling my nerves for what’s bound to be a contentious confrontation.

I want my fucking power back, and I want it now.

“None. I will be with you all the way, Silver One.”

His promise reassures me as I dismount, the weight of the pack jarring my spine on impact. I shake it off, then walk toward Xaden, who’s already waiting for me at the center of the path between the rows of blue orbs. His swords are strapped to his back, but his daggers are within easy reach, and he carries the same oversize pack he’s hauled with us from Navarre, which he’d told me was for just in case.

I guess an isle kingdom kidnapping your prince qualifies as just in case.

I can’t help but do a double take at one of the orbs as I walk by, stepping into the path. The blue glow isn’t from a single light source, but dozens of large, bioluminescent insects with translucent wings, all feeding from— A smile breaks across my face. “They’re Fallorinia moths.”

“What?” Xaden’s boots crunch on the rocky path as he walks my way.

“Fallorinia moths.” I touch the cool glass orb. “We don’t have them on the Continent, just their sister species. They light up when they feed from honeycomb. I read about them in Sir Zimly’s Guide to Deverelli Fauna, but I had no idea they harnessed them for light. It’s brilliant. Poisonous but brilliant.”

“Of course you did,” Xaden counters. “But we should probably concentrate on the dozen pissed-off guards headed our way.”

“Fair point.” I throw my braid over my shoulder, cursing that I hadn’t had time to put it up as usual, and turn to face the approaching horde of angry white-clad Deverelli. I’m guessing we have less than ten seconds, and those spear tips look mighty unfriendly. My hands dangle near the sheaths along my sides, but Xaden stands with his feet braced apart, his arms folded across his chest as if he isn’t that concerned.

But his eyes sweep across the group methodically, no doubt putting them all into threat categories. I focus on the fox-like woman on the right who keeps flaring her nose and stepping off the path like I won’t notice, and her male counterpart on the left, doing his best to fade into the shadows, not realizing he’s in the presence of a master.

“Look, more blades,” Xaden says. “And here I thought you were a weaponless society.”

The one in the center with a blue sash steps forward and starts shouting. I can only pick out a few words, two of which are stop and kill.

“We could really use Dain right about now,” I whisper.

“I could live the rest of my life without ever hearing you say that again,” Xaden replies.

We could really use the bond, too.

“Do any of you happen to speak the common tongue?” I ask when the serrated silver blades of their raised spears are about five feet from our chests.

They pause, and I shoot a warning look at the nose-flarer on my right.

“You are forbidden to enter the palace of King Courtlyn the Fourth,” Blue Sash declares, jabbing his blade in our direction but not close enough to merit a reaction, “ruler of Deverelli, master of the trade, keeper of the troths, justice of the tribunal, and heir of the antiquities.”

By the time he finishes, it’s hard to keep my brows level.

“Sounds humble,” Xaden says. “Can’t wait to meet him.”

“You won’t be.” Blue Sash steps forward, blade raised.

My hands flex near my sheaths as the woman on my right swings her blade back and forth between me and Tairn’s slow but steady approach. His head is low, almost even with the ground, and his wings are tucked in tight for protection. If I wasn’t his, I’d probably be shitting my pants.

“We will,” Xaden counters with a bored sigh. “And I’m trying really hard to be diplomatic, since that’s the role I’ve been handed, but let me put this in terms you’ll understand. Your king kidnapped our asshole of a prince, and there’s a large part of me that wouldn’t mind him staying here and annoying the shit out of you for the rest of his miserable life, but that would make things difficult back home for someone I have…complicated loyalty toward, so I’m going to need the prick back.”

Aaric.

Blue Sash’s brow puckers, but his blade doesn’t lower.

“Now,” Xaden orders. “I have much more important things to see to this evening.”

Flare Nose to my right swings her blade fully at Tairn and pulls back her arm, preparing to thrust with a full-on battle cry.

I draw my blade the same second Tairn drops his jaw and roars, the sound shattering every glass orb within a dozen feet of us and leaving my ears ringing.

“Was that really necessary?” My right ear won’t work for a month.

“No, but I found it amusing.”

The guard drops her spear and stands there, shaking like a leaf for several seconds before she slowly turns around to face us, her brown eyes wider than should be physically possible, her bronzed skin suddenly rather wan.

I tilt my head at her. “They don’t like it when you do that.”

Trembling, she drags her gaze to mine, then collapses to sit on the ground.

There’s a definite quiver in Blue Sash’s arms, but I give him credit for still holding his blade. “You. May not. Enter.”

“I’m Xaden Riorson, the Duke of Tyrrendor.” Xaden inclines his head. “He’s probably expecting me.”

Blue Sash blinks, then looks in my direction. “And you are?”

Well, shit. My mouth opens—

“My consort,” Xaden replies casually. “Violet Sorrengail.”

What the actual fuck? My jaw snaps shut so hard my teeth click. I want our bond back and I want it back right now. He can’t just announce things like that without at least a discussion.

“Are congratulations or commiserations in order?” Tairn lifts his head.

“Shut up.” I sheathe my dagger to keep from chucking it at the man I love.

“In that case.” Blue Sash raises his spear fully upright, and the others follow his lead. “If you’ll divest of your weaponry here, we’ll escort you to the table.”

“That’s not happening.” I shake my head. This place took my lightning and my bond. Malek himself would have to pluck my daggers from my sheaths before I give them up.

“What she said,” Xaden agrees.

Blue Sash blusters. “We do not believe in weaponry—”

“Unless you’re…you,” I say slowly. “Have you seen the size of their teeth?” I gesture toward Tairn and Sgaeyl. “Then there’s the fire. Our blades are the least of your worries.”

Tairn huffs a blast of steam scented with sulfur, and Blue Sash lifts his chin, ordering the others to stay where they are, then leads Xaden and me down the path.

Sgaeyl and Tairn follow alongside us until we reach the first barricade of the clearing, two thick rows of palm trees marking the formal entrance to the outdoor palace.

“Your creatures remain here,” Blue Sash demands.

“We’ll pass that request along,” Xaden replies.

“We can see right over these,” Tairn notes.

“Remember, diplomacy is plan A.” I reach for Xaden’s hand and move closer to him as we walk on the orb-lit path, passing what looks to be an open-air receiving room on the left with various seating arrangements, and a music room on the right with instruments waiting for their musicians.

“No walls,” Xaden notes. “No ceilings. What do they do when it rains?”

“Awnings.” I point to the long wooden rails that run the length of the room, ready to shelter its occupants with fabric. “And consort?” I whisper. “We aren’t married.”

He fucking smirks. “I’ve noticed. But ‘girlfriend’ is missing that permanent tone. If it makes you more comfortable, consort is used pretty loosely in Navarrian aristocratic circles. Pretty sure the Duke of Calldyr has had four different consorts in as many years. The designation just gets you the invitation into this place, plus gives you the protection and privileges of my title—”

“I don’t need the protection and privileges—” I shake my head as we pass another row of palms.

“Ouch.” He lifts his hand to his chest. “Never thought you’d reject me.”

I roll my eyes. “It is not the time for this.” Jokes have to wait.

“When would be?” The next look he gives me is a hundred percent serious.

My feet nearly stumble along with my heartbeat. Just the idea of really having forever with him makes my chest ache with a longing that doesn’t belong on a possible battlefield. “When we’re not risking death—”

“We’re always risking death.” He strokes his thumb over mine.

“True,” I admit as we walk onto a flagstone floor, entering the palace’s dining hall.

The room is laid out in two rows of eight circular tables, each seating ten finely dressed Deverelli on backless chairs, all outfitted in a riot of pastel colors and lightweight tunics and gowns. The table linens are embroidered, the place settings extravagant with golden cups and crystal chalices, and jewels glitter in the soft blue light that emanates from the center of every table and the posted orbs that run the length of the room, illuminating the rows of guards—and their blades.

At the end of the open-air chamber, there’s a raised dais with a U-shaped table for five. A man I can only assume is the King of Deverelli sits at its center, twirling a bejeweled dagger in his hands and staring at Halden on the right end of the table like he hasn’t decided if he’s going to use that dagger on him or not.

There’s no sign of Captain Winshire, but Tecarus looks like he’d rather be anywhere than between Courtlyn and Halden.

“Fuck,” Xaden mutters.

“He’s…younger than I thought,” I say about the king. By about four decades or so. Courtlyn only looks to be a few years older than Xaden and me. He’s handsome, with deep golden-brown skin stretched over high cheekbones and a strong jaw, cunning brown eyes, and shoulder-length black hair, but the speed with which he locates Xaden and me and quickly appraises us leaves me a little queasy.

Xaden’s hand tightens around mine, and he leans down to brush his lips against my ear. “The shadows here are not mine. I know your skill with a dagger. I’m not discounting your ability to protect yourself, but for the good of my sanity while I try to get Halden out of whatever mess he’s created, will you please stay by my side?”

I nod. How can I not? He’s not asking me to hide behind him, nor did he leave me with Tairn to keep me safe. He’s just asking me to stay close.

And honestly, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

He squeezes my hand once, then lets go, freeing us both in case we need to fight, and we move forward as Blue Sash beckons, clearly exasperated with the time we’re taking.

King Courtlyn waves off the couple on the left as we approach, listening to whatever Tecarus whispers in his ear, and servants scurry to replace the plates and cups as the couple departs.

“They don’t shake hands,” I tell Xaden quietly as we walk down the aisle. “They don’t mince or waste words. They speak in double meanings only when it’s convenient to them. They value status, wealth, knowledge, and secrets—anything that can be traded. If you break your word once, you’re never trusted again.”

“Say what I mean. Don’t lie. Act like a rich, entitled dick. Got it.” He nods.

Rage shines in Halden’s gaze as it meets mine when we reach the last set of tables, and his fist closes around his gold fork.

I send him a silent, subtle plea to keep his shit together, and he places the fork on the table and clenches his jaw.

“The Duke of Tyrrendor,” Blue Sash announces loudly, gesturing to the four steps that lead up the dais on the left, “and his consort, Violet Sorrensail.”

Close enough.

Xaden walks up the steps first, his gaze sweeping the floor, the chairs, the table, and even the place settings before he reaches back with a hand. It’s unnecessary but sweet, so I take it and walk up after him. “It’s Sorrengail,” he corrects Blue Sash.

I take the seat on the end, and Xaden takes the one closest to Courtlyn’s right.

“What did you do?” I ask Halden across the divide.

“Straight to the point,” Courtlyn says, rolling the jeweled dagger. “I enjoy this.”

“What makes you think I did anything?” Halden challenges, leaning over his plate.

“Previous history.”

Servants step up behind the other three occupants and remove the dishes.

“I’m sorry to say that you missed the dinner portion of the evening,” Courtlyn announces, “but dessert will soon arrive.”

“What did you do, Halden?” Xaden repeats for me.

“Exactly what I was sent here for.” Color flushes Halden’s cheeks and he slams his palms down on the table. “I reestablished diplomatic connections with Deverelli and asked for their permission to use Tecarus’s manor to launch a search mission with a riot of dragons in return for the artifact he requested, and when that was not enough, I offered—”

“What was not yours to give!” Courtlyn lunges across Tecarus and plunges the dagger into Halden’s hand.

Holy. Fucking. Shit. My stomach churns.

“Your Majesty!” Tecarus balks, the blood draining from his face.

I drop my hand to Xaden’s knee and squeeze to keep from screaming the way Halden does as he stares down in shock.

Xaden tenses but wears his mask of bored indifference like a professional.

“Stop wailing like a child.” Courtlyn sits back in his chair, then takes a drink of red wine from his crystal goblet.

Halden sucks in breath after breath, staring at his hand, but the screaming ceases.

“Pull it out, wrap your hand, get it stitched by a healer, and you’ll be fine in a fortnight,” Courtlyn lectures. “The cut is between your bones, in the fleshy part. No tendons. My aim is very good.” He lifts his goblet at Halden. “You’re lucky I respect Tecarus, because what you’ve done is unforgivable.”

“The dagger was mine to give,” Halden bites out, staring at the jeweled blade. It looks to be antique, with a silver handle and emeralds the size of my fingernails adorning the hilt.

“No, it wasn’t.” Courtlyn shakes his head.

“It’s mine,” Xaden says, and it takes everything I have to keep my features schooled. “Or rather, it should have been. It’s the Blade of Aretia, appropriated for the royal vault by Reginald during the Unification.”

“Yes!” Courtlyn’s goblet swings Xaden’s way as three servants climb the steps around us, one on each side. “Fascinating how he chose this particular…gift, knowing it might provoke your emotions. Normally when it comes to such heirlooms, we’d consider possession ownership, but in this case, His Highness’s word was already broken, hence why I could not make his deal. I’m fascinated to learn how much he is worth on the ransom market, or perhaps I’ll entertain classic blackmail. Surely King Tauri will be amenable to quite a few things should his son remain in residence.”

“You can’t just keep him,” Tecarus argues.

“Why not? Weren’t you telling me you wanted to keep that one?” Courtlyn points at me.

“I did not break my word!” Halden growls and grabs hold of the dagger’s hilt as the servants put down a covered dish in the center of each side of the table. Looks like we’re sharing dessert.

“I hope you don’t mind waiting a moment,” Courtlyn says, and the servants wait, their hands poised on rounded copper covers. “My little ones have arrived.” He gestures down the aisle, and I inhale a sharp breath.

Tairn growls and Andarna perks up, taking notice along the bond, her golden energy intensifying as three pure-white panthers stalk toward us. I’ve only ever seen their kind illustrated in books, and never in white. They’re graceful and elegant and so very beautiful, and the closer they get…the more I’d like them to stay in the books. Their paws are huge.

Wind rustles the trees at my back, and a chill runs the length of my spine.

This entire palace is outdoors, and they have the run of it.

I have no desire to be their dinner.

“Aren’t they magnificent?” Courtlyn asks, his tone marveling like a proud father. “Shira, Shena, and Shora. I’ve raised them from cubs myself. All hunters. All vicious. All adept at sniffing out a thief.” He turns a pointed look Halden’s way.

My stomach sinks, and my heart begins to pound.

“Pull it out and bandage that hand now,” I tell him.

Xaden moves to push back from the table—

Courtlyn raises his hand. “Do it for him, and any chance of us striking a deal is off.” He sets his goblet down. “I need to know you can uphold your end of a bargain even when it’s unpleasant to do so, just as your father did.”

Xaden nods once, his face an unreadable mask, but his leg tenses under my hand.

Guess my father wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.

“Now, Halden!” I have no problem yelling at the heir. The panthers are halfway here.

Halden yanks the dagger free with a hiss, then sheathes it like it’s his and quickly binds the wound with his napkin, field-dressing it as best he can.

“Now that that’s done.” Courtlyn turns to Xaden. “I assume you would like the same deal he asked for?”

My hand tightens on Xaden’s knee.

“I can’t agree, seeing as I have no idea what Halden requested,” Xaden says. “But we’d like to reopen diplomatic channels and secure permission to use Viscount Tecarus’s manor as a stopping point for a riot of no more than eight dragons and an equal number of gryphons for the purposes of a search party, which would entail securing hunting rights of wild game for said creatures and a promise of safety for all parties.”

Courtlyn rolls the stem of his goblet between his thumb and forefinger. “To whom do you owe your loyalty, Your Grace? Your father was a rebel. From what I hear, you are cut from the same cloth, and yet you’ve been restored to your title, so to whom do you swear your fealty?”

I reach into the right side pocket of my pack for the conduit out of sheer habit as the panthers approach the dais, splitting to surround us. The familiar weight of the orb is comforting in my hand, and I swear I can feel a hum, a swift rise in heat that I know is only in my head, but it’s soothing all the same.

“Navarre,” Courtlyn continues, “or Tyrrendor? Lie, and this discussion is over. We’ve fared quite well without the Continent.”

Xaden tilts his head, studying the king. “Violet.”

My heart skips into double time.

“My loyalty is to Violet first above everything, everyone else,” Xaden says. “Then Tyrrendor. Then Navarre in the moments it’s worthy—usually when Violet is in residence.”

It’s a reckless answer given what hangs in the balance, and now is absolutely not the time, but damn if it doesn’t make me love him even more.

“Interesting.” The king stops twirling his glass.

“I’m assuming with our deal, trade would begin again,” Xaden says, “which would be mutually beneficial, since I’m sure you’ve heard we’re in a war with the venin. Should you decide to become our ally—”

“Oh, we’ve never involved ourselves with venin.” Courtlyn shakes his head. “War destroys isles, blocks economies. Supplying those at war, however…that’s where the money is. We remain neutral in all things and always have. It’s how we’ve maintained trade, commerce, growth, and knowledge for the world no matter what god you worship or magic you can access.”

“But they’ve been here, right?” I narrow my eyes slightly, noting that there’s now a panther perched directly behind me. I lean forward to look around the servant who is still holding our dish shut. “Did you defeat them?” Or cure them?

Courtlyn glares. “To imply that our isle is weak, conquerable, is a line you do not want to cross. Such an assumption is disastrous to an economy that is built on safe, stable trade. People do not invest in unstable isles.” He snaps his fingers.

The panthers leap onto the dais with an ease that speaks to nightly routine.

“I will not stand for you being devoured by a house cat,” Tairn growls.

“Stay put and keep Sgaeyl with you,” I shout down the bond, and my knuckles whiten around the conduit as the panther pushes between Xaden and me, its soft coat brushing against my arm.

“Shora’s lovely, don’t you think?” Courtlyn says to Xaden, an indulgent smile curving his mouth, then continues toward Halden without waiting for an answer. “I hope you don’t mind, but they’re used to eating with me. Your Highness, do remember that Shira earned every bit of her special dinner today.” He lifts his hands, palms up, and crooks his fingers.

The servants remove the copper covers, then duck off the dais.

Oh gods, it’s a giant slab of red meat that has to have been carved off the largest cow to have walked this isle.

The panther—Shira—chuffs low in her throat, flicking her tail, and I can’t help but wonder if this is how the infantry cadets felt that day on the field when Baide found us.

Xaden’s hand covers mine and squeezes, and I look over to find him staring, stone-faced across the table, then track his gaze—

Captain Anna Winshire’s head lies on the plate between Halden and Tecarus, her short, strawberry-blond curls unmistakable.

My jaw slackens. Oh, Malek, Courtlyn has killed Halden’s personal guard…and is serving her to his cat.

I’m going to be sick.

Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow quickly, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, but all I smell is meat and blood.

“Don’t watch,” Xaden whispers, and I wrench my gaze away.

“Eat,” Courtlyn orders, and the panthers pounce.

Paws land on the table between us, and a massive maw opens, snatching the meat off the plate and dragging it, leaving a bloody trail on the white linen as she hauls her meal to the dais, then to the floor.

The others follow suit.

When I look across at Halden, he stares at his empty plate, completely stricken.

“Aren’t they beautiful creatures?” Courtlyn asks.

I blink away the shock and set the conduit on the table. Death and I are old friends, and it’s not like I really knew Anna. But the audacity is truly unparalleled.

“You murdered my guard,” Halden says slowly.

“Your thief was found in my treasury,” Courtlyn counters, “with six stolen treasures on her person and a list of five more she had yet to attain written in your handwriting.”

My stomach lurches, and my gaze jumps to Halden’s. “You didn’t.”

“They are all items that belong to us!” He pounds his chest and stands, his chair falling back against the dais. “It is not stealing to take back what is rightfully ours!” A vein in his neck bulges.

Guards move in toward the edge of the dais, forming a perimeter around the panthers, and I slip my hand from beneath Xaden’s and reach for the sheaths at my lower thighs, beneath the tablecloth.

“It’s about to turn to shit,” I warn Tairn. “Communicate that to Sgaeyl however you can.”

He rumbles in acknowledgment, and palm trees sway in the distance.

“Rightfully yours?” Courtlyn challenges, his voice rising in a sinister melody.

“What’s the penalty for thievery here?” Xaden whispers.

“From a royal house?” I focus inward. “Decree twenty-two…” I wince. “No, twenty-three, is death.” I’ve studied, but I’m nowhere near a legal expert.

“Is Halden complicit under their laws?”

“Their system isn’t like ours. Their decrees can contradict each other, and Courtlyn sits on their tribunal, so…” My words trip over themselves. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

I might want to strangle Halden myself, but I can’t let him be executed here for stealing.

“Those items are mine, received as goods bartered for services rendered over the last century, as you well know!” Courtlyn shouts, and the diners fall silent at their tables, leaving only the sound of the panthers devouring their dinners.

Wait. The last century? My shoulders fall and my mind whirls, recalling Aaric’s words from last year when I asked what Halden was going to do about what was happening beyond our borders. I’m here, aren’t I? Aaric had implied that Halden wasn’t going to act.

But this is so much worse.

Halden didn’t just know; he’s been playing a starring role.

“You took advantage of our desperation,” Halden accuses. “Accepted priceless magical artifacts under unfair terms, and now you execute my personal guard when we seek to rectify your outright theft with a genuine agreement? Fuck you! We want no part of you, your deception, or this godsforsaken isle!” Halden surges forward, shoving his section of the table over, and it topples into the void of the center.

Oh. Shit.

Courtlyn’s gaze turns to ice, and my ribs feel like they’re twisting inward as I watch everything we’ve worked for fall apart in a matter of seconds. Tecarus jumps backward, then quickly scrambles down the steps, and I don’t blame him in the least.

Halden has fucked us over. The sour taste of betrayal fills my mouth, but a bitter flood of metallic anger carries it away with the next heartbeat.

“Enough, Halden!” Xaden stands and I slowly do the same, monitoring the guards around us, the panthers behind us, and those in the crowd reaching beneath the linens for what could be hidden weapons.

“He is a thief, and he impugns my honor in front of my entire court!” Courtlyn shouts at Xaden, but he points his finger toward Halden.

“He no longer speaks for us.” Xaden swings the pack from his shoulder, setting it atop the table with a clang. “If you will not accept the deal with Navarre, then accept it with Tyrrendor, and I’ll assure you the only riots on your shore will have Aretian riders and their flier counterparts, who will abide by your laws and respect your customs, and in return, with my utmost gratitude for your trust—” He unbuttons the top flap of his rucksack and pulls it back slowly, revealing an inch of an emerald-studded hilt that steals my breath. It looks too much like the dagger to be a coincidence.

My heart stutters. That can’t be. He can’t. I won’t let him.

“No.” I grab hold of Xaden’s hand, preventing him from showing the rest of it. “If that’s what I think it is, then absolutely not.”

“Vi…” He shakes his head, searching my eyes, and I know I’m not the only one longing for the bond that usually makes these moments easy for us. “It might be the only way to forge an alliance and save the prick.”

“You’ve sacrificed enough. I’ve got this.” I slip my heavy pack from my shoulders and set it beside his.

“Absolutely not!” Halden shouts.

Xaden gives him a look that clearly says he’s had enough of his shit.

“I alone have the authority to speak for Navarre!” Halden rages, taking two threatening steps toward the king. “You do not make deals with provinces, let alone the son of a traitor who blackmailed his way into a title. I am the only voice of our kingdom!” His hands curl into fists, and the binding around his right floods crimson.

Courtlyn sighs, then reaches for his goblet and takes a drink. “I’ve heard enough, and this grows tedious. Tecarus may live. Kill the rest.”