A Prince Among Killers - By J. B. Redmond Page 0,23

nose had developed the slight curve often associated with Fae nobility. His right eye was still green-blue from his last battle with Galvin Herder, and Dari had little doubt he had other bruises and scrapes too serious for simple healing by graal. Still, he gave no hint of discomfort or soreness.

No hint of weakness. Seeing the totality of him, of his aging and changes, made her chest ache for the wide-eyed and gentle boy he had been. Stone is making him hard.

The thought rested painfully inside her for a moment; then she chastised herself for once more forgetting where she resided. At Triune. With a guild full of assassins. Of course their training was toughening Aron. It had to be so, or he’d be killed in his trial, or by his Judged when he drew his first stone.

He came to her quickly with Zed behind him, keeping his gaze fixed on her face, and once more, Dari saw something that she must have been missing all this time. A slight blaze of affection, and of something like hope, too. Dari shifted on the hearth as Aron sat on her right, and Zed on her left. Zed’s nod was pleasant, but he regarded her as nothing more than a friend, just a companion at Stone. Aron, on the other hand, kept up an almost painful scrutiny of every move she made.

“What did you see at the Shrine?” she asked Aron, more to defuse her own tension than to discover information.

As Windblown left to summon Lord Altar, Stormbreaker and Lord Baldric conversed in low tones. Aron kept his gaze on them as he said, “Nothing distinct. It was like always. I saw images of… something, but what, it’s hard to say.”

Aron closed his bright eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, Dari knew he was holding something back. Perhaps he had grown weary of not being believed, or at the very least, of having no proof with which to support his claims of visions at the Shrine. A vague guilt seized Dari, and she found herself staring too deeply into Aron’s face, as if she might absorb the truth of what he had seen—if it was anything beyond the physical manifestation of his own fears.

Why would he see it, and no one else? His legacy is powerful, but no greater than my own graal.

As Dari finished the thought, she found herself wondering for the first time if she might be mistaken about the extent of Aron’s abilities. Was it possible that any Fae could have mind-talents as powerful as a Fury’s skills?

And if that were true, what kind of disaster might she foment in continuing his training?

He was staring at her now, and the sparkle in his eyes reached her awareness. She looked away, feeling heat in her face. It took several breaths to center herself from the series of shocks over all the realities she had failed to comprehend.

She glanced at Zed on her other side, but he was combing his blond forelock with his fingers, acting as if he heard not a word they had exchanged.

Kate’s been the only important thing. Kate… and Stormbreaker. And all this time, Aron’s been here, getting older and stronger, and perhaps more dependent on me than I ever should have allowed.

She had barely regained her emotional footing when the chamber door sprang open. In strode Windblown, who quickly stepped aside to admit a tall, heavily muscled man with weathered skin, white-blond hair, and eyes the color of a deep, crystalline lake. He wore copper-colored robes trimmed with steel gray, and he bore matching tattoos on either side of his neck—the image of a Great Roc with wings spread, a sword in one set of talons and arrows in the other. His essence shimmered about his head and shoulders like brilliant copper waves, and his presence was so commanding that Dari had to force herself to remain still.

Hunter, her instincts screamed, and the more primitive part of her nature wanted to flee or fight him, here and now. In days of old, Fae with the Altar graal of tracking prey were the closest thing her people had to natural enemies.

“Lord Bolthor, Altar of Altar.” Lord Baldric stood and offered a polite bow first, though he was not obligated to do so in his own stronghold. Stormbreaker bowed as well, as did Windblown.

Lord Altar did not bow in return. Bleak anger seemed to emanate from his scarred face and clenched fists, as powerful as