much. He only recently claimed dominion over the three broken kingdoms.” King Eros would have never declared himself ruler of the Broken Three if Bell’s father had been alive. But with the weakling Renk on the throne and both Lord Thendryft and Eleeza dead, the vacuum of power on the southern tip of the mortal continent had changed everything. “He was a trader before the Curse was broken, I believe, the fifth or sixth son from House Coventry. I only remember hearing rumblings that his ships were suspected of piracy. The Asgardians across the sea call him the Ridere Felionous.” He broke into a grin. “It means the Smiling Cat.”
Surai arched an eyebrow. “A pirate king named after a grinning feline? And he expects us to come to him?”
“He knows our other options have recently become rather limited.” Haven regarded the options she mentioned, all trussed up in their boxes.
“Don’t we?” Xandrian drawled, picking at some invisible piece of dust on his lapel. Sometimes Bell forgot how grating Xandrian’s arrogance could be. It seemed to come with being a Sun Lord. “Perhaps he knows precisely that because he helped my cousin kill the emissaries and now plans a trap for us. Your mortal kings are notoriously greedy.”
Xandrian did have a point.
“I say we go see this mortal king,” Nasira purred, her fascination with the macabre display finally shifting to the conversation, “and then see how his head looks inside a pretty box.”
If anyone else had suggested this, Bell would have been annoyed. But coming from Nasira, with her huge silver-blue eyes and beaming smile, it was, well, cute . . . in a way.
After that suggestion, everyone looked to Stolas for his opinion on the matter. The Shade Lord had gone preternaturally still in that alarming way of his that commanded the attention of the entire room.
Even knowing the less savage side of Stolas—which couldn’t quite be called noble or gentle—Bell felt fear prickle beneath his skin.
Stolas raked his intense stare over them one by one, his lips twitching as more than a few forgot to breathe. “Beneath these hallowed lights of my ancestors, I see the daughters of queens, the sons of sovereigns. I see a king twice over chosen by Freya herself, a Seraphian Empress who terrifies even the Shadeling, and a Goddess so ferocious even the heavens tremble when she’s angry.”
Haven traded a dark look with Stolas, and that twitching mouth finally committed to a dark grin. Reminding Bell that Stolas had many smiles, most of which were anything but joyful. “I vote,” Stolas continued, “we accept this would-be-ruler’s invitation to enter his territory. If indeed it is a trap, we show the kingdoms of the realm what happens when they forget their manners around Freya’s daughter.”
The softening lines bracketing Haven’s mouth said that was exactly the answer she was hoping for. Not that Bell was surprised.
Sitting in one place waiting for her enemies to attack wasn’t Haven’s style.
Now that the decision was made, the heaviness in the air gave way to purpose, and they fell into the necessary details of protecting Shadoria while they were away. Haven wanted to leave as soon as possible, and it was decided that departing in the predawn hours was best.
A plan. A precarious, risky plan—but it was better than the hell of going to bed every night expecting carnage and death.
Night had fallen, the hall alive with luminous shards of moonlight and the crystals’ pale-purple glow. It was probably his favorite time of day inside the castle. His mind was already on the upcoming sparring session with Xandrian on one of the mist-shrouded plateaus, so he only half-watched Haven from his periphery as she began closing the lids on the boxes, and only half-heard the soft clicking as each brass clasp was slid into place.
Xandrian would undoubtedly attack with one of the complex magick sequences he taught this morning. Bell was deep into playing out a defensive counter-attack maneuver when he had the odd sensation that something was wrong.
The torus of energy beneath his breastbone where he felt his magick suddenly spasmed.
Torn between his daydream and reality, he refocused on Haven as she went to shut the final lid. He became aware of a soft hissing. Something slithering against his senses. The framework of his magick.
An ancient, primordial language that scraped against his mortal bones and made his magick recoil.
Haven stiffened and jerked back her hand. The reason why became immediately clear: the head was staring at Haven, tracking her