Page 34 of Thief of Souls
He was pouring himself a drink when I staggered over the windowsill, and the second he saw me, his eyes turned gold with rage.
Though perhaps it wasn’t aimed at me, for all he did was haul me into the wash chambers and hiss under his breath.
“I told you what happened,” I growl, sitting on the edge of my vanity, where he’s cornered me. “There was a ward set over Soraya’s room. I triggered it when I entered, and then Anissa and Belladonna appeared. I didn’t know Belladonna had the ability to bloody me from such a distance.”
“She’s a princess of the Blood Court.”
And clearly, I am an idiot.
“It’s rare that the royal bloodlines breed down so strongly,” I mutter. “I know Malechus and his brothers have the blood magic, but I didn’t expect Belladonna to wield it. Narcissa didn’t.”
Every royal court is ruled by the strongest family in the lands—marriages are kept firmly along certain lines so as not to dilute the magic in the royal line.
But dilution happens.
It’s rare for any but the direct heirs to wield the kind of magic the court is renowned for.
Some fae marry for love, even though they know their children will suffer the consequences. Some are passed over again and again and must settle for a lower-born marriage. And some reject court life and the pressure of upholding their family’s honor.
For a minor cousin to wield the family’s magic so strongly, it means the Blood Court is not just dangerous—but have spent centuries on carefully selective breeding.
It also means Malechus had best watch his back.
“Narcissa didn’t,” Keir confirms. “She was also desperate to try and lift her status within her family.” A muscle hitches in Keir’s jaw as he surveys the wadded-up shirt I stuffed against my side. I wouldn’t let him touch it until now, and clearly my attempts to contain the bleeding have fallen short. “Who taught you to medic yourself? A pig farmer who’s never seen a needle and thread in his life?”
A wraith warrior who cared less about what a wound looked like after he was done, and more about salvaging what he could from the training camp ranks.
“I’ll heal.”
“Not from this, you won’t.” He gently touches my flushed skin and I wince. “That’s what makes them so dangerous. Many members of this court can cut you from a distance, but if a royal cuts you, then you don’t stop bleeding.”
No wonder I’m ruining a second shirt.
I bite my lip. It’s such a little wound but hasn’t stopped bleeding. The one on my back is shallower, but it’s weeping blood too.
“Here.” Keir tugs a knife from the sheath at his hip and I flinch. He pauses, noting my sudden discomfort. Dark eyes search my face. “I’m not going to hurt you, Merisel.”
Cauldron’s scurvy surface.“Zemira,” I grate out. “The rooms are warded, so nobody will hear you call me by my name in here. And it’s a professional hazard of the job. Knives make me nervous.”
He flips it, capturing it by the handle before he offers it to me. “Then you do the honor.”
The honor?I stare at the knife.
Curling my fingers around the hilt, he sets the tip of the blade to his wrist and slashes a thin line across his bronzed skin.
“Goddess’s mercy! What are you doing?” I rip the knife well away from him.
Cupping a hand at the base of my skull, he brings his wrist up. “Drink.”
I slam my palm against his chest. “I don’t know what sort of proclivities you might have, but where I’m from, we don’t drink blood. That’s just a stupid story the fae conjured.”
Keir glares at me. “My blood will heal you. Don’t tell me you’re squeamish?”
“I’ll… heal.”
“No, you won’t. And not in time. I need you whole and hearty, not fainting on the floor in the middle of the fucking wedding from blood loss. Drink, Zemira.”
Help. He used my name.
