Page 122 of Vicious Is My Throne

I wiped every crevice and divot on that pendant, then handed it to Tristan when he arrived with a pile of clothes. “Put this with the…boxes. Somewhere safe until we get everyone cleaned up and healed. And if…she happens to show up, you take this and the knife and fly as far away from here as you can.”

I prodded the worst spots on Zorander’s back.

These had been recently healed, and not terribly well.

My friend lay on his stomach in what had once been the formal dining room, one of the few places free of the remnants of Solok’s visit.

I hadn’t planned on returning to Ravenshade.

Not after hearing what these fucking Descendants had done to Anaria, not after realizing what coming back here did to her. No, I would have left Varitus the second the wall fell. Headed north to the mountains and found a cave to hunker down in while we planned our assault on Corvus.

But here we were, injured and trapped, sitting ducks for the Oracle.

I pulled myself away from those dark thoughts. “These look like dragonfire burns.” I’d healed enough of them after the Southwell skirmish to know. “Care to tell me what happened?”

Bexley, Tav, Tristan, and the two strangers—Finnian and Kael—sat in a line along the wall, stripped down to the duke’s silk skivvies, waiting their turn, their pale skin marked with angry red burns everywhere the ash had touched them.

My initial exam of Zorander showed that despite angry wounds on his back, most of his recent injuries weren’t life threatening. A small mercy, that. He’d taken the brunt of the damage protecting these two males, and I wondered at the story behind that.

He had still-healing broken ribs, his arm was mending from a fracture, and his dislocated shoulder had to be put back into place. Beneath layers of my healing magic, even the older scar tissue smoothed out to fresh, pink skin.

But I couldn’t figure out the twin bulges on his shoulders right above his scapulas.

They were hard, bony, almost identical.

I’d never seen anything like them, and my magic skated over them like they weren’t even there. If they were an injury or an infection, my magic would have clustered there and mended what was broken.

“Zephryn happened.” Zor grunted when I prodded the protrusion above his shoulder blade. “Bastard was in a fucking bad temper when he burned down Trubahn’s shop.”

“That was months ago, Zor. Months.” I fed another burst of magic straight into the bulges, Zor’s muscles tensing beneath my hands. “How did you really get burned? You did something stupid, didn’t you, and you know if Anaria found out, she’d kick your arse.”

“Lower your voice. She is still going to kick my arse, trust me.”

Then the whole story came out. Cosimo and the time travel device. Finding the pendant. Nearly being roasted alive. The Oracle’s arrival in Blackcastle and his subsequent escape and plummet into the forest when he’d run out of magic.

“Then Tristan’s shadow passed over us and I thought I was dreaming.”

By the time Zor finished talking, the wounds on his back had knit back together and the two males were looking at the door like they might have a better chance at survival outside.

“You might have mentioned all of this when you crashed down into our little refuge,” Finnian grumbled. “You weren’t exactly up front with us.”

“You were planning on killing me out of hand. I would have told you I was the Fae King himself to save my skin.” Zor met the old male’s stormy gaze with a steely look that had Finnian glancing away. “I had to reach my princess. There was something I had to give her.”

“Aye. The pretty necklace with the red stone.” Finnian crossed his arms over his chest. “Had I known it was so valuable, I might have asked for a trade.”

“The amulet wasn’t his to trade. This belongs to me.” Anaria stepped into the room bundled in a too big shirt, leather breeches, and her old boots. The second my eyes fell on them, she protested. “I cleaned them twice, and Tristan went over them a third time. I need at least one thing that fits, and my other set of leathers is back at the Wynter Palace. Please, Raz, I already had to give up my favorite leathers. Let me keep the boots, at least.”

Bexley frowned. “You’re taking a great risk, Anaria.”

“The first sign of black, I toss them away. I promise.” She patted the pendant hanging from her neck. “Thank you for finding this, Zorander. Even though you almost killed yourself in the process.”

An uneasy silence settled over the room at the soft gasp that escaped Kael’s mouth.

“Didn’t tell us you were the commander of the Solarys army, either,” Kael muttered. “Who are you people, and why did you come here?”

“Concerned citizens trying to build a better world,” Anaria said breezily. “Now step up and let Raziel the Magnificent heal you, then we’ll sit down and eat like civilized people and discuss what to do next.”

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