Page 13 of Immortal Alliance

“I appreciate your… generosity,” he replies with a smile. “But returning to our previous subject…”

“Which was?”

“Silvanus.”

“Ah.” We both grow quiet for a few seconds as I continue to process. “So, both Morrigan and Silvanus had affairs with their pupils?” I ask as I face him again. At the silent question on his face, I continue, “Flumph said Morrigan was very… intimate in her conversations with Variant.”

“Perhaps,” Pyre responds. “Though I doubt the affairs have much to do with anything.” He clears his throat. “Of course, if Morrigan was aware of the sexual nature of Eilish’s relationship with Silvanus, Morrigan might well be threatened by Eilish in ways we haven’t considered.”

“I doubt it. Silvanus has been missing for a long time.”

“Not missing,” Pyre corrects me. “Silvanus disappears without a trace for years at a time, only surfacing when he so chooses and appearing only to those he views as loyal to him.”

“Aima explained Silvanus’s connection to Morrigan, but this... this information changes things,” I say as my mind begins to run with the possibilities. “Not to mention the fact that Eilish is already tangled up with enough men to make my head spin.”

“Why does that matter?”

“Because we don’t know everyone’s intentions. We don’t know what Cambion, Variant, Silvanus, and Theren want…trulywant. Of course we know what Morrigan wants and Eilish believes she could be controlling Variant and Theren, but…” My voice trails as my thoughts travel in another direction. I look up at Pyre. “What if Eilish’s actions are being swayed by her heart or her lust? What if Theren and Variant realize they can sway her into believing they’re innocent in all of this?”

“We need to have faith, Baron.”

“I can’t survive off faith alone, and neither will this resistance if Eilish fails to keep her emotions in check.”

“Could you not say the same of yourself?”

“I could say the same of any and every one,” I answer with a shrug. “But I’m not the last of my species. I’m not the one holding the balance of everything in the palm of my hand.”

“You’re wrong, you know,” Pyre says as he looks over at the group while they begin to prepare for the journey ahead.

“Wrong about what?”

“The role you play.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that your role in this is more important than you know. Seeing the truth now may be impossible but, in time, you will come to understand.”

***

CAMBION

Oronrel

Sunlight streams into the room, breaking up the shadows as it warms my face. I feel soft linens beneath my cheek, where previously there’d been nothing more than the jagged concrete of the dungeon floor or the steel top of the tables on which the Unseelie tortured me. It takes a minute for my brain to register the softness of a featherdown mattress.

Why am I in a bedchamber? And where is Aima?

Panic runs through my veins like tendrils of ice as I shoot up from the bed. Scanning the room around me, I learn I’m not alone. An Unseelie servant stands with his hands folded politely in front of him. He lowers his head in a show of respect none of the other Unseelie have adopted in my presence.

I throw aside the covers and lurch to my feet, only to fall to the ground with a clatter. The pain in my body returns ten-fold and shivers overcome me. I’m still weak and unwell. Looking down at my battered figure, I tear open the bloodied scraps of my tunic. Festering wounds and sticky, dried blotches of crimson pepper my torso. My fingers tremble as I lower the waistband of my trousers to find even more scars and fresh gashes slicing my thighs and legs. The servant looks at me as if I’m a mild inconvenience, but he summons a group of masked Unseelie women to tend to my needs.

The male servant disappears while the women wash me and bandage my body until I almost feel like myself again. He returns when they finish.

“The king requests you accompany me to his private study,” he tells me. “Any dalliances will result in punishment by the royal guard.”

“Take me to him,” I answer and he all but carries me down the corridor, our footfalls tapping lightly against the black marble floors. Colors dance along the walls as sunlight streams through the stained-glass windows. I’d almost forgotten how beautiful Oronrel was before everything changed.

When we come to a stop, the servant knocks gently on the large door before us. Narrowing my eyes, I struggle to note just how many protective runes are carved into the wood. Too many to count.

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