Page 3 of Vicious Is My Throne

Then I lost my breath all together when I flipped off the lid.

“I hope you like them. I asked Martine to commission them from the very best cobbler in the city and to spare no expense.” Tavion spoke in that amused, cool tone, but his expression was rapt as his gaze fixed on my face. “They should fit perfectly, no sliding around, no blisters.” I blinked furiously as he chuckled, “At least this way, I don’t have to listen to you complaining about your feet hurting.”

I pulled one of the boots out of the box and ran my fingers over the leather. “No, I won’t be complaining about that at all.”

They were dyed black to match the rest of my outfit, with a slight heel, which would come in handy in a fight, and high enough to cover my calf. I ran my fingers over the bumpy surface, which was toothy, like sandpaper. “This isn’t leather.”

“Eelskin, from some sea creature out of the Gulf of Kaerius. The most durable material available, according to the shoemaker. He claims they should last forever. And stand up to even the coldest weather.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Like that awful thing Dane caught in the underground river, do you think?” I sat on the edge of the bed to pull them on. I bowed my head as I laced them up with shaking hands. They fit perfectly.

I’d never had shoes made just for me.

Never had anyone who cared if I had clothes or where I slept or if I was safe. There was a sobering responsibility to that much love, and right now, I felt that weight bearing down on me.

So I pretended to admire the fit, blinking until my eyes were dry so they wouldn’t see how close I’d come to falling apart.

Over a pair of boots.

“Gods, I hope not,” Tavion murmured, running his finger gently down my back. “I wanted to do more. Would have if I’d had more time. But at least you’ll be comfortable.”

“And this way, we’ll have something nice to look at instead of fucking trees,” Raziel teased.

“Speaking of which, we need something warmer than woolen cloaks for the ride to Nightcairn,” Tavion warned. “Nights are cold in the mountains, even with the warm days.”

We didn’t know what we were riding into, not really, but still…we were going back to somewhere I’d begun to think of as…home.

Home. I rolled the word around on my tongue. It tasted warm, like honey, evoking crackling fires and cozy broken-in chairs and lazy days watching the snow fall through the pines.

Not that I’d ever experienced any of those things.

But gods, I wanted to.

I’d lived five places in my life, four of them in the past three months.

The slave barracks, the Citadelle, the Keep, Wingcrest Manor—and Nightcairn.

None of those other places could be considered home. They were too cold, too drenched in blood and secrets and memories.

But Nightcairn…

I shivered in excitement at the thought, even if we were only staying a few days before we headed further north.

We were going home.

Providing, of course, Corvus didn’t catch us first.

2

ANARIA

Breakfast was a rushed affair and what we didn’t eat we packed into our saddlebags as we inspected the horses Lyrae had procured for us.

“I hope you paid for these,” I told her, only half joking as I stroked my fingers through my mount’s thick, fluffy coat.

Dove, my mare, was beautiful, the exact color of the dark gray skies overhead. She had matching wiry whiskers poking out of her chin and watched the proceedings with sedate, limpid brown eyes while Tavion’s skittish stallion, a brash bay that snorted at every little movement, danced across the courtyard.

Lyrae’s pale-blue eyes narrowed as she watched me double-check my supplies—extra cloak, food, blankets—tied to the back of my saddle before I scrutinized the snow-covered peaks we were heading to. Tavion swore we’d run into harsher weather in the high passes, but down here the balmy air left a sheen of sweat on my brow.

---