Page 256 of Kingdom of Ash

Atop Morath’s highest tower hours later, Dorian peered at the army campfires littering the valley floor, his raven’s feathers ruffled in the frozen wind off the surrounding peaks.

The screams and snarling had quieted, at least. As if even Morath’s dungeon-masters maintained ordinary hours of working. He might have found the idea darkly funny, if he didn’t know what manner of thing was being broken and bred here.

His cousin, Roland, had wound up here. He knew it, though no one had ever confirmed it. Had he survived the transition to Valg prince, or had he merely been a meal for one of the terrors who prowled this place?

He lifted his head, scanning the cloudy sky. The moon was a pale blur behind them, a trickle of light that seemed keen to remain hidden from Morath’s watchful eyes.

A dangerous game. He was playing one hell of a dangerous game.

Did Gavin watch him now, from wherever he rested? Had he learned what manner of monster Dorian had allied himself with?

He didn’t dare to summon the king here. Not with Erawan so close.

Close enough that Dorian might have attacked. Perhaps he’d been a fool not to. Perhaps he’d be a fool to attempt it, as Kaltain had warned,when it might reveal their mission. When Erawan had those collars on hand.

Dorian cast a glance to the adjacent tower, where Maeve slept. A dangerous, dangerous game.

The dark tower beyond hers seemed to throb with power. The council room down the hall from it was still lit, however. And in the hall—motion. People striding past the torches. Hurrying.

Stupid. Utterly stupid, and yet he found himself flapping into the frigid night. Found himself banking, then swooping to a cracked window along the hallway.

He pushed the window open a bit farther with his beak, and listened.

“Months I’ve been here, and now he refuses my counsel?” A tall, thin man stomped down the hall. Away from Erawan’s council room. Toward the tower door at the end of the hall and the blank-faced guards stationed there.

At his side, two shorter men struggled to keep up. One of them said, “Erawan’s motives are mysterious indeed, Lord Vernon. He does nothing without reason. Have faith in him.”

Dorian froze.

Vernon Lochan. Elide’s uncle.

His magic surged, ice cracking over the windowsill.

Dorian tracked the lanky lord while he stormed past, his dark fur cape drooping to the stones. “I have had faith in him beyond what could be expected,” Vernon snapped.

The lord and his lackeys gave the tower door a wide berth as they passed it, turned the corner, and vanished, their voices fading with them.

Dorian surveyed the empty hall. The council room at the far end. The door still ajar.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t give himself time to reconsider as he crafted his plan. And waited.

Erawan emerged an hour later.

Dorian’s heart thundered through him, but he kept his position in the hall, kept his shoulders straight and hands behind his back. Precisely how he’d appeared to the guards when he’d rounded the corner, having flown off to a quiet hall before shifting and striding here.

The Valg king surveyed him once, and his mouth tightened. “I thought I’d dismissed you for the night, Vernon.”

Dorian bowed his head, willing his breathing steady with each step Erawan made toward him. His magic stirred, recoiling in terror at the creature who approached, but he forced it down deep. To a place where Erawan would not detect it.

As he had not detected Dorian earlier. Perhaps the raw magic in him also erased any traceable scent.

Dorian bowed his head. “I had returned to my chambers, but I realized I had a lingering question, milord.”

He prayed Erawan didn’t notice the different clothes. The sword that he kept half-hidden beneath his cloak. Prayed Erawan decided that Vernon had gone back to his room, changed, and returned. And prayed that he spoke enough like the Lord of Perranth to be convincing.

A sniveling, groveling man—the sort who’d sell his own niece to a demon king.

“What is it.” Erawan stalked down the hall to his tower, a nightmare wrapped in a beautiful body.

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