Page 24 of Prince of Night and Storm
He probably did it on purpose to send a message. You are so insignificant, I will heal you because killing you would exert more energy.
Numair and Juliette approach. I push away from the tree and meet them halfway, grabbing their shoulders. Alive. They are alive.
“What the fuck just happened?” Juliette asks.
I shake my head. We need to get home before trying to answer that question. I scan the field, steeling myself as I count those still not moving, feeling a pinch of shame at my particular relief when I see Tereille rising to run toward Édouard, who sits up.
At least six dead.
Six.
There will be time to honor the sacrifice of our dead later. Time tolive. . .a desire that too often fails me.
Édouard strides forward, steps heavy, he and his mate bracing each other. “We need to talk, Aerinne.”
I’ve failed my rule today, and it claws at me. Six of my people dead, and my ultimate enemy even now walks away from the field under his own power. I close my eyes, then open them and start to tend to the wounded. It isn’t until much later that realization hits me.
How many times after returning from a strike have I heard one of my warriors speak those words or a variation to a lover, a child, a close friend?
Many times. And many times the warrior hadn’t returned to speak.
I am here now.
He’d said the words I want to hear from Danon, in the way one would to a beloved who’d been waiting for one’s return.
1 “If you don't kill me now, Prince, I Vow your state will be death.”
Please. Aerinne’s grasp of Ninephene is deplorably basic and instinctive. A mewling toddler communicates with more competence. There are several variations of the words ‘state’ and ‘death’ and she, of course, selected the most ineffective ones. We are annoyed, both by her ignorance, and her astonishing luck. It is, however, an opportunity to teach a valuable lesson in why wedo not make rash Vowsin languageswe do not fluently speak.One might reasonably think this a given, but with Faronne, nothing ever is.
Chapter
Nine
A SON FOR A MOTHER
Age 16
“This is a trap, Rinne,” Numair says like I didn't understand his bleating the first forty times. His words hang in the stale warehouse air like a death omen.
And not a clever trap,Darkan says. If he were corporeal, his eyes would be narrow though mine aren’t. It's night out, and there's no moon to shine through the dirty windows. My half-human eyes are having trouble.The boy is. . .correct.
You didn't tell me I shouldn't go.
Would you trouble yourself to listen?
No.
At least,he says dryly,you don't try to lie to me.
How could I lie to myself?
I've accepted the role of death. Death toTybien, death to Montague, death to the fucking Prince. I grind my teeth, holding back. I'll avenge her. I'll make this pain go away by drinking their blood and playing in their entrails. All of them. All of them. Allofthemallofthemallofthemallofthem.
That will solve little, Harpy.But his voice gentles.While creating more difficult problems.
I'll feel better.
Will you. I'll not dissuade you if that is what you wish. Prepare to accept the consequences of that path, Aerinne.
