Malik once more had no response.
“The people here will eventually learn the truth,” I continued into the silence. “And I don’t believe that every mortal in Carsodonia believes her to be a benevolent Queen. Nor do they support the Rite.”
Malik lowered his glass. “You’d be right not to believe that.”
I watched him closely, opening my senses to him as he stared out over the floor. The cracks were still in those shields. “I saw Casteel yesterday.”
His face showed nothing, but I caught the sudden taste of sourness. Shame.
“He wasn’t in good shape.” I lowered my voice as I clasped the arms of the chair. “He was nearly lost to bloodlust. He’d been injured and—”
“I know.” His jaw was hard, and when he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I cleaned him up the best I could after the Queen sent you such a lovely gift.”
Malik had been to see him.
Casteel hadn’t shared that, but there really hadn’t been many opportunities for him to relay information. Someone had wrapped his hand. That had to mean something. That, and the raw agony I felt from Malik. What it meant exactly, I wasn’t sure.
I leaned toward him, and the shoulders under the white shirt tensed. “You know how to find him, then,” I whispered. “Tell me—”
“Careful, Queen of Flesh and Fire,” Malik murmured with a brittle twist of his lips. “That is a very dangerous road you’re embarking upon.”
“I know.”
His gaze slid to mine. “You don’t know much if you think I will answer that question.”
I tamped down the rising tide of anger. “I felt your pain. Tasted it.”
A muscle began ticking in his jaw. “That was, by the way, very rude of you,” he said after a moment. “And it hurt.”
“You lived.”
He gave a short huff of laughter. “Yeah, I lived.” He took another drink. “That’s what I do.”
The sardonic twist of his words had me studying his features. “Why? Why are you here. With her? It’s not because she opened your eyes to anything, let alone the truth. She’s not that persuasive.”
Malik said nothing as he stared ahead, but I saw his attention shift beyond the Blood Queen to the dark-haired Handmaiden. It was brief. I would’ve missed it if I hadn’t been watching him so closely.
“It’s her.”
His gaze shot to mine, and then his expression slipped into a half-grin. “The Queen?”
“Millicent,” I said quietly.
He laughed again, another short burst of dry sound.
I sat back. “Maybe I’ll ask the Blood Queen if she thinks you’re here for her or for her Handmaiden.”
Slowly, Malik leaned across the small space between us. “Ask her that,”—that lone dimple appeared—“and I will wrap you in the bones of a deity and throw you into the godsdamn Stroud Sea.”
“That’s a bit of an excessive threat,” I replied, as satisfaction surged through me. It was excessive. Which left very little reason as to why. He had to care. “It’s the kind of reaction I’d have if you threatened Casteel.”
Malik looked at me.
I smiled. “Except mine wouldn’t involve deity bones or the sea. Nor would it be an empty threat.”
He finished off his drink. “Noted.” His gaze flicked to the floor. “She comes.”
The Blood Queen approached. Malik rose. I didn’t. Murmurs drifted from the floor as I stared up at her. Isbeth’s features sharpened as she swept past me and lowered herself onto the chair on my other side. Only then did Malik sit. Dozens of eyes watched as Millicent remained in front of us, joined by the other Handmaidens. Their straight backs provided a rather impressive screen of privacy.
Someone handed the Blood Queen a glass of bubbling wine. She waited until the servant disappeared into the shadows before saying, “We’re being watched, and they find your lack of respect toward a Queen—your behavior—to be disgraceful.”
“And if they knew the truth about you? About the things you’ve done?” I asked, watching a young couple speak as they gazed up at the statue of what I had always assumed was Nyktos but apparently wasn’t.
“I doubt that it would change much for most in this room,” she noted. “But we know what they’d do if they learned who you are.”
“A god and not a Harbinger.”
“One and the same to many,” she murmured.