you thought he was.”
It kindles something in him, a deeper anger. A desperation. “Don’t tell me how to feel. Don’t tell me to turn my back on him.” Then he straightens, pulling back so I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze. “Besides, confronting him alone, just the two of you?” He looks over his shoulder at Farley. “It isn’t wise.”
“Which is why I sent for you,” Farley snaps harshly. “We need to go. That took long enough, and the council started twenty minutes ago. If Samos and your grandmother are scheming, I want to be there.”
“And what about Iris?” Tiberias says, recovering. He braces his hands on his hips, broadening his frame. To cut off any escape if I try to slip around him. He knows my tricks too well. “What was all that about dogs biting?”
I hesitate, weighing my options. I could always lie. It might be better to lie.
“Something Iris said before, when I was still at Whitefire,” I admit. “She knew I was a pet to Maven. A lapdog. And she told me all dogs bite. It was her way of communicating that she knew I would turn on him if I could.” The words catch, but I force them out. Why, I can’t say. “So will she.”
Instead of thanking me, Tiberias seems to darken. “And you think Maven wouldn’t catch that?”
I can only shrug. “I think right now he doesn’t care. He needs her, needs her alliance. There’s only today and tomorrow, in his eyes.”
“I can understand that,” he mutters under his breath, so only I can hear.
“I’m sure you do.”
He heaves another sigh, running a hand through his short hair. I wish he would let it grow into dark waves again. He’d look more handsome, less rigid. Less like a king.
“Do we tell them what just happened?” he asks, pointing a thumb back toward the room.
I frown. I would rather not retell our conversation to a larger audience, especially one that includes the Samos brood. “If we do, we risk Rash and Ibarem. Volo would enjoy using that particular advantage if he could.”
“I agree. But it is an advantage. To be able to speak to him, watch him.” He lowers his voice. Gauging my reaction. Letting me make the decision.
“Leave him in peace. We can relay with the Scarlet Guard on the ground. Get our people back.”
He nods along. “Of course.”
“No word about Cameron,” I add, wincing as I say her name. She went back to Piedmont to be with her brother when we went on to Montfort. Chasing peace instead of war. And war found her again.
Tiberias turns thoughtful—sympathetic, even. Not for show, but truly. I try not to look at his handsome features as he looms above me. “She’ll be okay,” he says, just for me. “Can’t imagine anyone taking her down.”
Ibarem didn’t mention seeing her among the prisoners, but he didn’t think she was among the dead either. I can only hope she’s among the ones who escaped, hiding in the swamps, slowly making her way back to us. Besides, Cameron can kill a man as easily as I can. More easily. Any Silver hunter would find her to be dangerous prey, with her ability to smother the strongest of their powers. She must have escaped. I will entertain no other possibility. I simply can’t.
Especially because I need her for what I have planned.
“Farley might pop a blood vessel if we keep her waiting any longer.”
“I would prefer not to see that,” Tiberias grumbles after me.
FIFTEEN
Evangeline
Anabel stalls with such talent, as we wait for her chronologically impaired grandson. I’m torn between asking for a lesson and skewering her to the wall with the steel of my throne.
There are maybe a dozen people in the throne room, only those necessary for a war council. Red and Silver, Scarlet Guard and agents of Montfort alongside noble houses of the Rift and rebel Norta. No matter how many times I see it, I can hardly get used to the sight.
Neither can my parents. Today, Mother coils on her throne of emeralds like one of her snakes. She sinks back into black silk and rough gems, looking incomplete without some threatening predator pet at her knee. The panther must be indisposed today. She sneers while Anabel spins her wheels.
Father, on the other hand, sits in rapt attention, his acute focus locked entirely on Anabel even as she steps back. Trying to make her squirm. The head of House Lerolan does not, to her