Page 33 of King of Fire and Scales

“As you wish, My King.”

Mads took a bow and then rushed down the hallway. Pyralis remained, bathed in that devilish light.

His expression was the same as how one smiles at mourners during a funeral procession. One of pity.

“Tell me, how did you find this out?” the king asked.

Pyralis was quick in his response.

“A scholar has connections, My King. But it wasn’t too difficult to find. I am afraid that whoever hired Sorcha was likely impressed and ... distracted.”

Pyralis raised the pitiful scattering of eyebrows, the sunken darkness of the eye sockets flagrant and eerie.

He was a well-educated man, but there was something else about him that was galling. It didn’t matter in that moment though. A simple gust of wind would have ruffled him.

“Sorcha is going to get her comeuppance for attempting to fool a king,” he said, gritting his teeth.

“Indeed, My King,” he said, bowing, then slowly slithered out of the light. “Please call for me should you require any more dialogue."

Drake turned from him, enraged. When he returned to his chambers, he was frightened when finding the bed cold and empty. But when he dashed into the lounge area, relief warmed him.

Thalia sat in one of the back-wing chairs, sulking. She wore one of his robes, absurdly drowning in its immensity and fidgeting with the armchair.

“Thalia, are you…”

She shot up from the chair, strangely upset.

“You can’t arrest Sorcha! She is not the villain!”

SEVENTEEN

THALIA

Thalia was awakened by a sound during the wee hours of the morning. She fluttered between consciousness and sleep, her belly glowing with the memory of the previous night’s enjoyment. She heard Drake rise from bed and leave, their voices droning on to a light muffle.

She nearly drifted off again when she heard the grating sound of Pyralis’s voice. It jarred her awake for reasons she couldn’t completely isolate.

It was her fledgling witch intuition popping up in her mind like a wandering dog. She griped to herself, snuggling against the pillow, then recalled Sorcha’s sage words.

“When you feel it, follow it. Even when the thinking mind tries to intrude. Trust yourself.”

She groaned but rolled over onto her stomach and slid onto the floor like a child disinterested in attending school. She realized as she emerged from the sheets that she was naked, and quickly tugged at a robe hanging on a nearby hook. She draped it over herself, snorting at the way it swallowed her petite body like a hungry beast.

Thalia then crept over to the door, feeling mildly guilty about eavesdropping. But there was something like an itch just out of reach that was telling her guilt was a useless emotion. It was crucial for her to hear the shifter exchange happening in the castle corridors.

She pressed her ear against the door to hear Pyralis’s accusation that Sorcha, the divinely altruistic shifter sorceress, was responsible for an intruder breaking into her room the night before.

Thalia bolted upright, disgruntled. She felt like stomping out there to implore Drake not to listen to the sniveling fool, but then she may appear hysterical. Instead, she wandered into the lounge and planted herself into one of the many batwing chairs.

When he returned, she started gnawing her hands against the armrests. She was unsettled, and that emotion within itself was something to pay attention to.

Drake looked relieved to see her when she stood, fast enough to make her feel a little queasy.

“Sorcha didn’t do anything, Drake. Please, you have to believe me!"

The king gave her a menacing scowl. Thalia didn’t like it one bit.

“These matters do not pertain to you, dear Thalia,” he said with unyielding condescension. “This is for your own protection. It is you who should trust me. After all, I am the king.”

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