Page 108 of Promise of Darkness
Those words keep hammering at me.
Because they echo my own thoughts.
And the only way to quell them is to lash out. “I can’t remember what happened to this… Meriana, or why you feel such vitriol toward her, but perhaps what you felt for her wasn’t love, if you think of it as poison. And if anyone did the deed, then you did it to yourself.”
His eyes drop to half-mast, heat flaring in their amber depths. “You dare?”
I sip my wine. Perhaps I can thank my mother for granting me the grace to face such malice with no reaction. “I thought we were exchanging insults? Did you want me to sit here in silence and shed a tear at your words? Perhaps I should simper a little?”
“You know, I never did see a resemblance to your mother until this moment, but you’ve well proven your—”
“That’s enough,” Thiago says in his midnight voice, the one that expects to be obeyed. “The both of you.” He turns to Kyrian. “We came here as guests. As friends. And this is how you greet us?”
Kyrian’s fingers twitch. “My apologies, Princess. I did not mean to offend you.”
It’s a lie, and we both know it.
But I’m genuinely sorry for my part in it. There’s a deep reservoir of anger within me, a hot coal slowly gathering heat. But he’s not the target. And I shouldn’t take my anger out on him. I need to save it for my mother. “I’m sorry if my words caused you pain.”
Kyrian waves the apology away. “Well, let’s hear it. You didn’t come all this way just to offend me.”
Thiago wastes no time. “Angharad’s been seen in Mistmere, trying to resurrect the Hallow.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know,” Thiago replies. “Hence, why we’re here.”
Kyrian stares into his wine a little moodily. “Surely that bitch has better things to do than dabble with the Mother of Night.”
“She’s also looking for something she callsleanabh an dàn.”
“Child of destiny,” Kyrian says.
Thiago tells him the theory about a child belonging to the Old Ones, and how he thinks Angharad wants to use it to access some of the Old Ones powers.
“This is… troubling. I’ll see what my sources have to say,” Kyrian murmurs, pushing to his feet. “In the meantime, why don’t you both enjoy the pleasures of Stormhaven? I’ll have rooms prepared. Or is it just one room?”
There’s no malice in his eyes, but the words are a challenge.
“Two,” I say, just as Thiago says, “One.”
We both look at each other.
“Two,” I repeat in a softer voice, because I don’t know that I have the willpower to deny him if we’re forced to share a room.
And a bed.
26
The city that surrounds the base of the keep is carved from stone and weathered by eons of storms. But there’s a sense of revelry in the back alleys, and paper lanterns are strung across narrow streets, giving it a sense of cheer. The city attracts those who find a living on the seas, though it’s rarely a legitimate trade. Too many cutlasses strapped at everyone’s hips, and gold winking in a fae smile.
Thiago leads me to a restaurant overlooking the Hallow, where there’s a stone balcony that gives us both a semblance of privacy and a view. Vines snake across the strand of lanterns, and vibrant pink flowers dangle from their tips. Tiny little demi-fey the likes I’ve never seen before flit from flower to flower, sipping on the sweet nectar.
Kyrian promised he’d have more information on what Angharad is planning by morning, which leaves us with a night to explore the city.
And perhaps, to simply enjoy each other’s company.
“A man of many talents,” I mutter. “He can insult me in one breath and then promise us answers in the next.”
