Bone Palace, The - Amanda Downum Page 0,31
over the rim of the goblet.
“Your pet vampires bungled things.” He made no attempt to keep the anger from his voice as he related what Isyllt had told him about the ring and the murdered girl and the attack in the sewers. Phaedra’s involvement with the vrykoloi had made him uneasy from the start, and now all his misgivings were given shape. One bloodthirsty demon was bad enough.
Phaedra frowned as she listened, a crease forming between arching black brows. Her eyebrows were much the same as those of her first face, and the prominent lines of her cheekbones. The thought unnerved him—had the resemblance always been there, or was it only a trick of memory? Her skin had been ice white then, her hair straight as a razor. He had never forgotten her face glowing with delight or pallid with anger, nor transfigured in horror as she fell. His hand clenched, as it had the day he’d let her fall.
He turned away from the chasm of memories, so sickened by them that he almost missed her words.
“Fools,” she said softly. “I knew she would be trouble, but not about the ring.”
He gathered his scattered wits. “What did you know?”
“About the girl. About the vrykolos’s… indiscretion with her.” Painted lips twisted. “I didn’t know he was fool enough to give her a royal signet, or I would have searched the body.”
Anger chilled him. “You killed her and didn’t have the sense to do something with the corpse? Even the river would have done the work for us.” He knew better than to antagonize her, but the next words slipped out anyway. “You killed an innocent girl because it was expedient?”
He had the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. Then she uncoiled from the couch like an asp, and her eyes sparkled bright as Iskari amber. Demon eyes. “I learned from the best, didn’t I? And none of us were ever innocent. Isn’t that what you told yourself—what Mathiros told himself? That I had brought it on myself? Temptress, harlot, witch.”
Rusty orange skirts swirled around her ankles like a forest fire as she advanced on him, gilt thread flashing. Her perfume burned too, cinnamon and orange and bitter almonds, crawling into his nose. But her hand was cold when it closed on his jaw—no hearth was warm enough to chase the death-chill from her flesh.
“I never called you those things,” he said mildly, controlling his pulse when it wanted to leap. She could break his jaw without effort, and her magic was at least a match for his own—more so in his weakened state. If anyone deserved to take his life, it was Phaedra, but he had no intention of giving it to her.
“No.” Her touch melted from steel to silk, fingertips trailing down his neck, nails rasping against his beard. “No, not you. Do I tempt you now, Kirilos?”
“I have no taste for dead kisses.”
She leaned in, breasts cold and yielding against his chest. “I won’t be dead forever. I’ll be warm again. I can make you young and strong again, too.”
It was not the first time she’d offered; the prospect intrigued and repulsed him. He stepped away, carefully plucking her cold brown hand off his shirt collar. “Not if your schemes are blown before Mathiros returns. We must retrieve what was stolen. Before anyone else is hurt.”
Her mouth curled. “Why aren’t you with your apprentice now, if her health concerns you so?”
“She has others to tend to her.”
She circled him, slow and predatory, running her fingers down his spine. “Poor Kiril. I don’t understand this celibacy of yours.”
“I can’t imagine you often worry about sparing others pain.” Or sparing herself pain, for that matter.
A knock at the door downstairs and the accompanying chime of wards spared them both. Kiril recognized the inquisitive touch of magic and released the lock with a thought, sealing it again after the door had shut.
Varis appeared a moment later, framing himself in the doorway for a beat before stepping into the room. He had always been good with entrances, Kiril thought wryly, and even better with exits. Today he wore a coat of claret velvet with silver embroidery thick on the sleeves and dove grey trousers and high boots. Restrained for him, but it was also much earlier than he usually came visiting. When he moved closer, Kiril saw fatigue shadows beneath his maquillage.
Varis cocked one penciled brow, looking pointedly from Kiril to Phaedra and back again. Garnets glittered in his ears, and white lace rose