Page 75 of A Tongue so Sweet and Deadly

Thirty-Four

As they walked down the stairs to the sitting room, Lessia turned to Merrick.

“Did you hear anything about what happened?”

The Fae shook his head, his eyes fixed on the stone stairway. “I arrived back in time to hear you in that room, but I didn’t see any of the guards that breached the castle.”

She lowered her voice. “Where were you?”

Not that she particularly cared what Merrick did with his free time, but if he had been out on orders from his king, she wanted to know why.

And he seemed more talkative than usual today.

Merrick rushed his gait, taking the stairs three steps at a time with his long legs. “I had business to take care of.”

Sighing, Lessia forced her tired legs to follow him.

Apparently, he wasn’tthattalkative.

Dozens of guards, some dusty and bloodied, stood outside the arched doors to the room they were to gather in.

Lessia eyed them as she passed, but the men kept their gazes straight ahead.

At least those she could see the faces of.

Ten of Loche’s men stood on either side of Ellow’s guards, their masks glowing in the firelight.

One of the men turned his head when Loche passed him, and goose bumps raced across her skin when the mask snapped to her next. The long beak pointed directly at her as the man inside it sized her up.

She slipped past him, letting out a breath of relief as she walked into the room. Only Ellow’s guards were posted here, standing every few feet of the curved walls.

Before the fireplace sat a tired Craven and Venko, and opposite them, Frayson rested in a plush chair, a long nightshirt haphazardly tucked into his dark breeches.

Their eyes lifted when Loche threw himself down in a chair to Frayson’s right, Zaddock taking a place right behind it.

Sitting down in the only free chair, Lessia cautiously observed the men around her, very aware of Merrick’s brooding presence behind the backrest.

Gods, even when he didn’t wield his magic, she could feel it thrumming from him, a constant reminder the Death Whisperer was her companion.

If she’d only known when her father told her and Frelina stories of him growing up…

Her hand flew to her chest as her sister’s name slammed into her mind, followed by her squeals of excitement—and fear—as she begged their father to tell them more about the man who’d fought so many wars for the Fae, won against so many enemies.

When Merrick’s hand landed on her shoulder, she snapped out of it, realizing all men in the room stared at her:Craven with a look of disgust, Venko blankly, and Loche with that curious expression again.

As if he needed to figure out every thought passing through her mind.

Merrick removed the hand when Frayson cleared his throat. “As you’re all aware, the castle was attacked today. A few of the men got away, and those who weren’t killed seem to have brought poison to ensure we couldn’t make them speak.” Shaking his head, the graying man stared into the orange flames. “But they all bore Stellia’s emblem on their chests.”

Craven slammed his hands against his knees, his eyes bloodshot. “Well, then she needs to be captured and executed. She clearly had an agenda from the beginning—taking out her competition. They came straight for me when they entered the castle.”

Frayson eyed him for a moment, then turned to Venko. “Did you see anything else? Did they say anything when they stormed in?”

Venko shook his head, his eyes meeting Lessia’s for a moment before he turned them to the fire.

“They didn’t say anything, but they clearly came for me—again!” Craven’s cheeks burned as he glared at them. “They know who will win this election. They didn’t even bother with Venko; one even pushed him aside.”

“I fought him off, Craven.” Venko rose from his chair, taking a step toward him. “I didn’t run like you, coward.”

---