whatever he’d done under Amir’s control. That could only have been what happened. Amir’s blood… He’d made Niko one of his possessed but different than the other guards. Stronger.
Yasir crouched, bringing him eye level with Niko. “You cut down elves like you were Etara herself. Shadows flocked to you…” He reached absently for words but trailed off when none would suffice. “If all the Yazdans are like you when they’re wielding the flame, we’re royally fucked.”
“They aren’t.” He was mostly certain of that, though not entirely sure how he could be certain of something he didn’t fully understand. “It’s over. Amir’s dead. Whatever he did to me… it’s gone.” He wasn’t sure about that, though. There was a gaping hole inside him, but it wasn’t empty. Just closed. “Vasili holds the flame,” he whispered, afraid to speak any louder.
“Then is it over?” Yasir asked, mirroring his thoughts.
Had Yasir seen Vasili take the flame? Was that what he was asking? Niko’s instincts had him wanting to protect Vasili from everyone, even Yasir. If word got out that the prince was now the only source of the flame, every damned Yazdan and elf would do anything to get their hands on the prince.
“Vasili seems fine,” Niko said. “Maybe… that’s all it is.” Even after everything Vasili had done, he still wanted to protect him. Maybe that made him a fool too. A prince and a blacksmith, enemies and lovers.
Yasir sighed and crossed the room to peek through a slit in the boarded-up window. “We’re a long way out of Loreen.”
“It’ll be some time before the elves leave the city to sack the surrounding land.” Niko absentmindedly glanced around the huge hall. Its wooden paneling made the air oppressive. A pigeon cooed softly from its perch on a ceiling molding. Mah had once worked here. She might even have walked through the same hall, taking her secrets with her. He waited for some kindred instinct to kick in, some sense of belonging, but the house was just an empty house. He didn’t belong here. He wanted to retrieve Adamo from the palace stables and ride north with Vasili until they ran out of road.
“I just… It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Yasir murmured.
“What wasn’t?”
“I came to Loreen to sell silk.”
Niko snorted. “I went to a pleasure-house for a distraction and broke Vasili’s wrist instead.” He rested his head against the back of the chair and remembered Vasili offering him a bag of coin to kill a man. “I blamed Vasili for everything, but all this began long before him.” His gaze skimmed over the limestone fireplace with its intricately carved decoration and up to the mantel with its elaborate swirls and waves. The damned thing was a hideous extravagance typical of Loreen lords—of which Niko was supposed to be now. He chuckled at the thought. “Lord of Pigeons,” he mumbled, laughing harder, until every muscle hurt again.
Yasir swung a puzzled glance his way and then let his own laugh trickle free. “Gods, in a dilapidated manor house in the frigid asshole of Loreen is not where I’m supposed to be.” His laughter faded. “But I… I don’t regret it.”
“You should.”
“No. Meeting you and Vasili, you gave me a purpose. I’ve spent too long at sea, drifting from port to port.”
“We almost got you killed. Multiple times.”
“That is true,” he chuckled but quickly turned somber. “We had some good times, though.”
“We did.”
“Niko, there’s something you should know.”
Niko’s gaze snagged on a griffin carved into the limestone in such a way that it was deliberately hidden, and his laughter fell away. The waves in the stone weren’t waves—they were flames. And beside the griffin, the flame licked upward, over a crossed hammer and sword. Three insignias. Three families. Three keys.
“Something I’ve done,” Yasir continued, but Niko was only half listening, “and I’m asking that you please don’t overreact, or rather… just take a breath… We can handle it, I think. I should have told you before…”
Niko pushed from the chair and approached the fireplace. The limestone monstrosity was out of place inside the hall. Too big, too white, too obvious. “There, see it? Three families.”
“No, I just see…” Yasir examined the fireplace up close. “Oh! You don’t think… the three keys? Is it a sign?”
“It’s something.” The fireplace, the house. What if it was more than just walls and a roof? What if he held some significance in this age-old battle against the flame?
A startling whistle pierced the quiet, sailing in from outside. “Nikolas