“I expect nothing less.”
The dark wielder is only feet away, his gaze raking over me, no doubt looking for my weaknesses, when I feel the gust of wind from Tairn’s wings at my back.
Now. I throw the daggers at the venin simultaneously, this time calculating for the force of the rain. The instant I see them slice through his boots, pinning his feet to the ground, I whip my arms out to the side, releasing all my power in a scalding torrent of lightning.
I stiffen my arms and lock every muscle.
Tairn’s talons wrap over my shoulders and grasp tight exactly as lightning strikes behind the enraged venin, lighting up the sky in a brilliant flash—and charging the water that covers the arena and the venin’s feet with lethal energy.
The dark wielder shrieks in agony, then falls dead, splashing into the field as we fly overhead.
I did it. Dunne be blessed, I did it.
“You cut it close.”
I roll my eyes and breathe deeply despite the rain that runs down my face as Tairn banks left, taking us along the curve of the arena, back to the palace.
Sgaeyl, Teine, and Marbh have all taken up defensive perches on the terrace above, positioning themselves to incinerate the crowd.
“I will devour anyone who makes a move against you. My patience has ended.” Tairn’s wings beat slower as we approach the patio.
“I’ll be sure to warn them.” Tairn waits until I have my balance on my soaked, slippered feet, then stalks forward through the crowd to the cries of fliers and aristocrats alike, cracking the marble beneath his claws until he reaches the grass and pivots, swinging his tail like the weapon it is and completing the four-cornered defense the dragons have structured.
Brennan falls into step with me, Mira propped under his arm but walking on her own beside him.
“You all right?” I ask under my breath as we pass nobles with umbrellas. This was fucking entertainment for them.
“We’re not the ones you should be concerned for,” Brennan mutters as the last line of aristocrats—including Cat and Syrena—parts, revealing a situation far more dangerous than the one I was just in.
Xaden’s lifted hand is raised at his chest, clenched in a partial fist, and wrath chills his eyes as he stares up at the viscount, whose feet kick for the ground.
Tecarus tears ineffectually at the shadows strangling his neck and, from the garbled sound of his breathing, he’s slowly asphyxiating.
“Xaden, please don’t!” Cat cries.
Xaden’s grip only tightens as the rain dissipates to a drizzle.
Tecarus gurgles, and fliers draw their weapons, but one growl from Sgaeyl is enough to keep them from advancing on Xaden.
I lower the portion of my shields that allows Xaden in, then send every ounce of my love down the bond. “I’m all right.”
He tears his gaze from Tecarus, the barely caged fury in his eyes making him nearly unrecognizable.
“Loosen your grip on his throat,” I say calmly. “He can’t answer questions if he’s dead.”
Two lines appear between Xaden’s dark brows, and his grip eases. Moving to his side, I make sure that my shoulder brushes his arm, that he can feel me physically as well as mentally. “You’re lucky you’re not dead,” I say up at Tecarus’s blotchy face. “If you’d put Xaden in that kind of danger, I’m not sure I would have been as merciful.”
“You call this mercy?” Tecarus asks through gasped breaths, still kicking for the ground.
“Yes,” Xaden says softly.
“You quarried the stones from east of the Dunness River, the land that borders the Barrens. It had already been drained of its magic.”
“Yes!” Tecarus shouts.
Xaden swears under his breath.
“You built a pit for them, which means you’ve captured more than just that one.” Puffs of steam rise from my skin, but at least I don’t feel like I’m burning alive.
“I’ll tell you everything we know,” Tecarus assures us. “Just let me down.”
“And we’re supposed to trust you?” Brennan asks from my other side.
“We were able to keep that one from feeding for days—”
“Because the runes on the Rybstad chest hold items placed inside suspended in midair,” Xaden interrupts. “He couldn’t reach the ground to drain it until you opened the chest. I don’t need you to tell me things I already know.” He drops his hand, and the shadows evaporate.
Tecarus slams into the marble patio, grasping for his throat.
Xaden crouches down. “If you ever want to have words about why I severed that alliance, then you come for me. Violet is beyond your reach. If you so much as look her direction with anything but the utmost kindness and respect, I’ll kill you without a second thought and let Syrena take her place as your heir. Do you understand me?” His voice has that icy softness that sends chills up my spine.
Tecarus nods.
“Apologize.”
“I’m fine.” He’s taking this too far. This man is second in line to the Poromish throne.
“You do not take punishments designed for me.”
“You have my most sincere apology, Violet Sorrengail,” Tecarus croaks through abused vocal cords. “Now where does this leave us, Riorson?”
Xaden stands. “Now we negotiate.”
An hour later, we’re fed and changed into dry flight leathers, the four of us sitting across the cleared dining room table from Tecarus, Cat, Syrena, half a dozen aristocrats, and one general immediately to Tecarus’s left.
Every person in the room is unarmed with the exception of Xaden and me, but our signets make it so we’re never defenseless.
“May I present my offer first?” Tecarus asks, tugging his collar away from the red welts across his throat.
“You may,” Brennan answers.
Xaden’s hand slides over my left thigh and stays there. He’s had one hand on me since leaving the patio. It’s amazing I managed to get into my flight leathers, but I get it. If I’d just watched him face down a venin, I’d probably be in his fucking lap right now.
“Your power is…astounding.” Tecarus shakes his head slowly at me, as if awestruck. “And you’re still untrained. Just think of what you’ll be a few years from now, or even one.”
Xaden’s hand splays wide, and I lace my fingers over his.
“That doesn’t sound like an offer.” I keep my voice as level as possible, trying like hell to ignore that this man nearly killed not only me but Brennan and Mira.
Anger rises to boiling wrath swiftly—too swiftly.
I glance at Cat. “Stay out of my head or I’ll start wielding inside.”
She leans back in her chair, but that narrowing of her eyes isn’t defeat. Oh no, she’s sizing me up as a worthy opponent.
Game on.
“Do you know why I’m such a successful collector?” the viscount asks, practically vibrating with excitement. “I have a gift for knowing what it is people want, what motivates them to give up their treasures.” Gods, he’s Varrish’s opposite. Our signets really aren’t that different than mindwork. “I think you and I could strike a deal if you consider that I could deliver your wildest dreams.”