Ansar lets out a disdainful snort. “I told you he would know you’re here, grandpa. He’s a monster.”
I shoot my half-brother a dark look. Speak for yourself.
The curtain slides back. Rhaegar Talavarra and his eldest daughter, Leticia, appear from the shadows.
The head of the Talavarra family can’t disguise his hatred of me. It’s in his hard gaze. It’s in the tight line of his mouth; in the way his grey-speckled brows draw together. Once a large, formidable man, much of his bulk has given way to loose skin and bones, and his dark hair has turned grey and wispy.
Still, he carries an air of authority about him.
Leticia follows him. She’s inherited her father’s tall stature and dark eyes, but her hair is the color of autumn—deep burgundy.
In contrast with the all ornate trappings of this room, she’s dressed simply—in a flowing cream-hued gown that gives the impression of purity and innocence.
A stark contrast to the vile stench of death that permeates this entire place.
She regards me coldly, her regal features expressionless. Leticia Talavarra is a beauty. The lines of age have barely touched her. There was always a great question mark as to why father never warmed to her in the way that he’d been obsessed with my mother.
Maybe Leticia’s only mistake was being born human. My father wanted a goddess, not a wife.
A dozen questions linger in my mind, but I don’t have the time nor the interest to pursue them.
Nor do I care for introductions, or any more self-indulgent waffling on.
I get straight to the point.
I’m impatient. And the longer I’m away from Finley, the more impatient I get.
“Where’s the dryad?” I lock eyes with Rhaegar.
“She’s in Ansar’s hands,” the old duke says simply, not missing a beat. “As is your betrothed.”
What?
My mind goes blank, my thoughts incinerated by white-hot fire. In less time than it takes for a mortal heart to beat, I’ve drawn my sword and moved to Rhaegar’s side.
My blade is at his neck. I’ve already decided he’s a dead man. “If you don’t explain exactly what you mean by that, I’ll end you right now, Rhaegar. And if anything happens to either of them, I’ll kill your daughter and your grandson and I’ll destroy every last living branch of the Talavarra line.”
“She’s important to him,” Leticia says calmly—too calmly. “Who would have thought? It’s as I told you, father. The firstborn Duthriss has always had this weakness. He’s too soft; too easily swayed by emotion. Nothing like Valdon. If it was Valdon we were dealing with, we wouldn’t even get a word in. For the sake of power, he would have sacrificed me without a second thought. He did it to the vampyr, didn’t he?”
I press the edge of my blade deeper into Rhaegar’s neck, drawing blood. I meet Leticia’s gaze. She’s intentionally trying to goad me.
I force myself to remain still and expressionless. It takes all of my self-control not to kill her father right then and there. “This is your last chance. Explain.”
Rhaegar trembles. A trace of fear leaks from him. Good. “It makes more sense if you just look.”
Ansar holds up his hands. “Look, brother,” he taunts.
And for the first time, I see.
Death Magic.
Necromancy.
In this form, it appears as slender, ephemeral red threads tangled between Ansar’s long, bejewelled fingers. He wears multiple rings—made of gold, silver, and precious gemstones. They must have magical properties, for the crimson threads wind themselves around them, glowing in places.
Ansar lifts up his left hand. “The Dryadae woman’s life-force is contained between my fingers. I could snap it in an instant if I wanted to.”
“You won’t. She’s too valuable to you.” And Finley’s too pure. You can’t touch her. “You can’t control my betrothed.”
“That’s true, but did you forget that you left a corpse in the Inner Sanctum? The fresh ones are the best, because some of them still retain a will that can be manipulated. And… now there are two.”
My father. Did he just animate my father’s corpse, turning him into an undead?
“Our father and the embalmer are now under my control,” Ansar says softly. He sounds distant, his voice completely devoid of emotion.
Keeping my blade at Rhaegar’s neck, I force my body to become perfectly still. I’m like the frozen pond in Tyron Castle. One wrong step and I’ll crack and absorb everything into my abyss.
I remind myself that the Elite Guard are there, and between the dozen of them, they should be able to handle a couple of animated corpses.
And if that fails…
Finley.
The sweetest, most precious being that has ever graced my existence.
I’m so tempted to rush back to her and protect her, but that would defeat the purpose of what she truly needs from me.
And she’s imbued with the power of a god-equivalent ancient tree. I truly believe she has Eulisyn’s protection.
So I continue to force myself to be calm—on the outside, at least.
My time will come.
“So you’ve shown your hand,” I say softly, keeping my eyes trained on Ansar as he lazily rolls the crimson threads between his fingers. They aren’t actual threads, of course, but skeins of visible magic; ephemeral and fleeting. I’m sure he could make them disappear if he wanted. “What is it that you want?”
“Well, obviously I’d be overjoyed if you disappeared altogether,” Ansar replies, “but you of all people aren’t going to go quietly into the night, so let me offer a proposal that’s sure to guarantee your cooperation.”
“Go ahead.” The calmness of my own voice surprises me. “But if you hurt either of them, you know what’s going to happen to you.”
“I can only imagine,” Ansar says dryly. “Conversely, if you try anything extreme, Aralya will be no more. I know you came here for the dryad. If you didn’t care so bloody much, you wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place. But I need someone like her. Tapping into her power makes my work so much easier. I’m loath to just give her to you.”
Rhaegar lets out a grunt of pain. Blood is tricking down his neck. Its scent permeates the air.
“It seems we’ve reached a stalemate.” Leticia walks across the dais, reaching her son’s side. She places her hand on his shoulder. “You want to unite Aralya and her daughter. We want a being we can draw power from, and we also want you neutralized, Corvan Duthriss. So how about a trade?”
“A trade.” My tone is flat; I can see where this is leading.
“I won’t harm your betrothed, and we’ll release the dryad. If you agree to take her place.”
Horseshit. There’s no way they’d allow a full-blooded dryad to go free. She’d destroy them all.
I just need to play the fool; let them think I’m easily swayed by emotion, as Leticia says.
“Let me see her first.” I inject a hint of desperation into my voice. “If you can show me that she’s alive and well, I’ll consider it. But you have to show me proof. Take me to her. Only then will I agree to it.”