Page 16 of The Last Bell
Time that Owalin was supposed to have had plenty of. “Krum,” he snapped at the silver-haired wardsmith. “I asked what that was.”
“A privacy screen.” Coming up behind him, Krum rolled the two spheres he always had in his hand, his face set in a contempt-filled expression. “It’s supposed to keep us from seeing and hearing all the plans the king of Slait and his ilk are making out there.”
“Plans? There are no plans. It’s either submit the kingdoms to me or watch their offspring die one by one. Do you think I’ve not made that clear enough?”
“Crystal, my liege.” Krum scoffed. “No matter. It’s crude work. A brute-force endeavor with no craftsmanship. River was always one for brawn over finesse.”
Owalin grunted. Krum’s craftsmanship snobbery aside, River of Slait was known to lead one of the most powerful quints in Lunos even decades back when Owalin was still in the immortal realm. Back when Owalin had worked with River’s father, Griorgi, toward a partnership with the dark realms. They’d gone their separate ways when Griorgi refused to see the reaping potential in humans, and that broken alliance had cost Owalin time and resources. Now Griorgi’s bloody son was back to blunder up the Night Guard’s plans.
Bloody darkened stars.
Owalin didn’t think the brat and his minions were stupid enough to attack—but if they did, Owalin would have no choice but to shed human blood—possibly ruining the precious ground he’d gained with the royals, or worse—losing the highest-value leverage points for no gain. There were only so many royal children, after all.
To add insult to injury, Owalin could have neutralized River easily just that morning. How in the bloody stars’ name had he not realized that it was an immortal male he’d plunged his blade into? An extra twist of the wrist, a slice across the neck, and the entire problem of River and his quint would have been resolved before it started.
Owalin’s jaw tightened. Yes, the presence of thenewking of Slait and his quint at the Academy put a new spin on the situation together. Owalin needed his humans broken, not bloody dead.
“Can you tear thisprivacy screendown?” Owalin asked Krum. “Let’s see how much the humans think of their tamed fae when we tear their creation to shreds.”
Krum frowned at the spheres in his hand. “Certainly. The visual effect will be closer to melting than tearing, but yes, I believe I can dissolve it.”
“How long will it take?” asked Owalin.
“Thirty minutes, give or take.”
Owalin grunted unhappily. “That’s longer than I’d like.”
“I may know something of help.” Han’s pain-filled voice tugged at the hem of Owalin’s cloak, as if in eerie answer. “Something that might be better than tearing down the shield.”
Twisting on his heels, Owalin stalked over to where Han was strung up to hang off a ceiling beam, the rope forcing him up on his toes. The dark-haired warrior, usually too slick for his own good, was pasty and limp with pain, his pale eyes glazed. Owalin might be forgiven for not noticing a detail in the heat of the moment, but identifying any fae on Academy grounds had been Han’s specific assignment. One he’d failed spectacularly, as his raw back now made clear to everyone in the Great Hall.
“Speak,” Owalin allowed.
“Thank you.” Han swallowed, jerking his chin to the far left corner of the hall, where the last of the straggling hostages had been hauled, the irrelevant ones cowering in the back. “The last girl you brought in, the one we found hiding in the broom closet—her name is Arisha of Tallie. She roomed with Leralynn—the female who set the arena ablaze and who appears to be River’s mate. She might be of use.”
“Thank you, Han,” Owalin said, marking how the punished male flinched even at the polite words. A few more hours hanging by his arms, and he’d let him down. Han’s negligence at having failed to identify the fae on Academy grounds called for punishment, but there was a fine line between instilling fear and repentance and seeding resentment. That Han was actively trying to return to Owalin’s good graces was a promising sign. As was the information. This Arisha might know more than she realized.
“Bring her to me,” Owalin ordered two of his males, pointing them toward a slightly chubby girl in the most hideous dress he’d ever laid eyes on. The ugly little sunflower made a feeble attempt to fight off the immortals, but settled down easily beneath a casual slap. By the time the males deposited the trembling creature at Owalin’s feet, she was as docile as a trembling mouse.
Squatting down to bring himself level with his prey, Owalin made his voice gentle. “It seems your day has become fortunate, Arisha of Tallie. Do you know why?”
The sunflower shook her frizzy brown head so violently, her glasses nearly fell to the floor.
Owalin smiled. “Because you get to tell me all about Leralynn—and in doing so, ensure that we can all finish this business in a way that no one else gets hurt.”
The sunflower glared at him through her skewed glasses.
“Leralynn is the one who set an arena full of people ablaze,” he continued. “Don’t you think it wise to halt her antics before more innocents get hurt? I, for one, think the humans’ safety needs to take priority over all else.”
“Crows take your eyes.” The words rang clearly enough through her shaking voice, though their power deflated quickly as one of the guards raised a hand to administer correction.
Owalin halted the guard, regarding the girl from above. “You seem like a loyal friend to Leralynn. Is that right? Averyloyal friend.”
The girl frowned, plainly trying to work through the trap in the question—never realizing that her hesitation had already given Owalin all the information he needed.
12
Lera
