Page 110 of Empire of Flame and Thorns

His angry scowl falters a little, and he clears his throat. “Yes, well…” He huffs. “If you died, your parents would probably riot. And I have better things to do than burn cities to the ground.”

Before I can even open my mouth to respond, he grabs me by the arm and starts pulling me with him as he spins around and stalks forward.

“Now, let’s go,” he declares. “Before we’re attacked again.”

“Yes, about that…” I shoot him a pointed glare as I stumble along beside him. “Do you know what would have been good to have when I was trying to survive that attack? My knife.”

A flicker of guilt blows across his face. Then he slams that mask of ruthless authority back down on his features. But he does in fact slide out the knife that he took from me earlier and then hands it back to me.

“If you try to stab me with this, I’ll bring out the handcuffs again,” he warns.

With a scoff, I take the blade and ram it back into my thigh holster. Then I open my mouth to speak again.

I’m just about to ask him how he managed to get away from his half of the dryad ambushers when hesitation pulses through me.

I don’t even know ifheknows that they were dryads. And given what they said to me about hating the dragon shifters, I doubt the Iceheart monarchs would be thrilled to learn thatthere are dryads living underneath these woods. If Draven doesn’t already know and I tell him about it, he’s going to tell his emperor and empress about it too. After all, he is their loyal lapdog. I don’t know what the history is between the dryads and the dragon shifters, but since I don’t want any dead dryads on my conscience, I decide to take this secret with me to the grave.

So instead, I just yank my arm out of his grip and shoot him an annoyed look at being manhandled like this. A look that he promptly ignores. Rolling my shoulder back, I straighten my shirt again and let out a huff. The silence between us is suddenly thick and tense.

There are several things I want to say, things I want to ask about, but I can’t. I need to keep my mouth shut so that he won’t ask questions that I don’t want to answer. But I also can’t stand the crackling silence.

So just to fill it, I say, “My parents wouldn’t have rioted, by the way. So you wouldn’t have had to burn our city to the ground.”

He glances down at me, his eyebrows raised. As if he’s surprised that I volunteered any information about myself. To be fair, I’m a little surprised too.

“They wouldn’t have rioted if their only child was killed?” he asks.

“No. We have a… complicated relationship.” Pain spikes through my heart, and I suddenly regret bringing this up, because I really don’t want to talk about this. So I hurriedly switch the focus to him and force teasing mischief into my voice as I ask, “What about you? Does the Shadow of Death even have parents or were you just birthed by an angry storm cloud?”

He laughs.

Goddess above, it’s such a pleasant sound. And with it, the tension around us disappears as if swept away by a strong morning wind.

“No, I have parents,” he replies. Then he tilts his head to the side and shrugs. “Hadparents. They died when I was about sixty. Natural causes. Nothing dramatic. And I was already Clan Leader by then, so I had a lot of other people to worry about too.”

I whip my head towards him. “Wait, what? You became the leader of your clan when you were that young?”

“I was actually thirty-seven, if we’re being specific.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Are you serious?”

He shrugs, as if it’s no big deal.

I squint at him, studying his face. But just like all fae and shifters, he looks to still be between twenty-five and thirty years old. Since there is no other way of knowing, I decide to just ask. “How old are you now?”

“Two hundred and eighty-six.”

I stop dead in my tracks.

Light shines down on the magical forest around us, illuminating the trees and making the colorful leaves shine like jewels. To my right, the river flows steadily to the south. And for a few seconds, that soft rushing sound is the only thing that breaks the silence.

Then I turn towards Draven and lock stunned eyes on him. “Two hundred and eighty-six. You’re only two hundred and eighty-six?”

He frowns, looking genuinely confused by my disbelief. “Yes.”

“But… but…” I stammer. “How is that even possible? You’re the Commander of the Dread Legion, for Mabona’s sake! How can you be so ridiculously powerful when you’re this young?”

For a few seconds, he just stares at me. It looks like he can’t figure out if he’s supposed to be flattered or insulted. Then he shoots me a pointed look, seriousness descending on his features again.

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