concern flickered in those silver depths. “Is this the first time your Shadow Familiar has tried to form?”
She nodded as she worked to hide her unease. Familiars were supposed to resemble animal forms. Stolas and his mother both had dire wolf familiars. The rest of the Darkshade line were gifted dragon familiars similar to Nasira’s firedrake.
Yet knowing hadn’t made it any less unsettling. Especially considering the terrifying form her beast had taken. If children with dark magick inherited their Shadow Familiars from their parents, that meant hers came directly from the Shadeling himself.
“Give it time,” Stolas said, his soft command cutting through her fears. “Sometimes your familiar takes months to commit to its final shape. In the meantime we must work to draw it out slowly, let the bond between you strengthen.”
Despite his gentle tone, his mouth was tight. After Stolas had warned her of the possibility she might have a familiar, she’d teased him about his until she caught the suppressed pain in his eyes.
His simple explanation—that his was dormant—wasn’t the whole story, but she hadn’t pushed for more.
He would tell her when he was ready.
“So you’re saying there’s a chance I won’t have something living inside me that looks like the spawn of Lorrack and a demon?” she quipped, keeping her voice low in case it could hear her.
“I am saying, Beastie, that whatever creature your familiar decides to manifest, it will be a part of you and therefore exquisite.”
She swallowed, desperate for another subject. “The blockade?”
“We sank four ships, but the attack here called us back.”
Haven felt her shoulders sag as the realization took hold. “They were waiting for you to attack the ships. It was a ruse to draw you away from the island.”
As she said the words, icy fingers seemed to squeeze around her spine. It was like Archeron was one step ahead of them. He had the power and wealth of the mighty Sun Court behind him while they were a struggling nation of outcasts.
A nation that had nearly perished tonight. If the Death Raiders had broken through their defenses and entered the city . . .
Stolas brushed an errant strand of her hair behind her ear. “When was the last time you actually slept?”
“I’m fine.”
“Or ate for that matter?”
Her jaw flexed. “We’re all busy. Besides, I don’t recall seeing you scarfing down food in the meal hall.”
The strong column of his throat dipped, and too late, she remembered why. “I don’t require the same kind of sustenance as you.”
Kind. Right. Because he did require sustenance, just not mortal food.
When he was Lord of the Netherworld, he had a vast array of souls to feed from. But here . . . well she hadn’t built up the nerve yet to ask how he was satisfying those needs.
“I’ll eat afterward,” she promised, the lie hovering between them.
He arched an ash-colored brow, his eyes flashing as if he wanted to argue further, but then he simply said, “I thought Prince Bell ordered you safe and protected inside the north tower?”
“Ordered?” she scoffed, ignoring the way his teasing voice gathered low and hot in her belly. “I think you know better than anyone how well I respond to commands.”
His grin was devastating. “Indeed.” His attention slipped to her lips as he traced a finger over the fine edge of her jaw. “Just as your King Bell should know by now that you could never hide behind tower walls while innocents are being slaughtered.”
Her throat clenched. “How many?”
The planes of his face sharpened with controlled anger, and she wondered what it would be like to experience the unleashed version of that infinite rage. “We’ve found ten houses so far.”
Houses. Not people. He was trying to shield her from the details. Trying to make this easier for her.
But she didn’t want easy.
“How many?”
“Twenty-three.” The muscles beneath his temples trembled as he looked beyond her to the edge of the city, where people still hunkered behind their walls and the illusion of safety. “But there will be more.”
“Children?”
His throat bobbed. “Nine. Four of which came from one house. Only the father survived, but by the look in his face, I doubt he’ll live much long after.”
An ache formed beneath her sternum, guilt and shame and anger converging into a cold, hollow mass. “And the other city quadrants?”
The cities set into the mountains at the base of the palace were split into quadrants, each with its own watchtower and wards. If this one had been attacked, she assumed the others had