Page 134 of Thief of Souls
Falion sighs. “This way then. I need to check on Alaric anyway. And you need me to look at that knife wound.”
“It’s fine.” No one has ever offered to look at my wounds, beyond Soraya. I don’t know how I feel about that. “You don’t think Belladonna will be trying to ensure Mistmark doesn’t breathe another day? There might be some confusion about whether she’s married to him or not….”
“There’s no confusion. The court is aware he survived and has since found himself hand fasted to an assassin. He thinks it’s amusing,” Falion grumbles. “One thing you will learn is that Alaric thinks a dozen paces ahead. He’s already accounted for Belladonna. And there’s a reason she didn’t dare try and kill him herself.”
I thought that had something to do with not daring to thwart Malechus, but maybe I was wrong.
I shoot one last look at Keir’s door. The horn is hidden. I didn’t dare risk bringing it into the court until we knew the state of affairs, so I put it in the one place I know nobody will find it. And Belladonna won’t dare confronthim. But I still haven’t seen him. I know he’ll be watching over Soraya. I know they’ll both be safe, but I can’t help wondering what’s going through Keir’s head.
I didn’t have a chance to talk it through with him.
The last time he saw me, he’d just realized the depths of my betrayal….
“Are you going to stand there like a lovesick puppy forever?” Falion growls. “It’s a little embarrassing.”
So much for brotherly love. I glare at him. “It’s a good thing you’re so powerful, otherwise I’m fairly certain there’d be no reason for Mistmark to keep you around.”
“Oh, there’s a reason.” He stalks into the shadows and vanishes. “Now are you coming or not?”
* * *
I sinkinto an enormous armchair across from the Lord of Mistmark, nursing a cup of warmed tea that Falion brewed. My shoulder is bandaged, and Falion cleansed a half-dozen other minor wounds he found on me. The tea is filled with herbs, but there’s nothing that strikes me as poisonous or drugging.
Falion sees me inhaling the fumes and raises a brow. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have used my knife. I could have buried you in the forest and then I wouldn’t have to drag your body out of the heart of the court, where hundreds of assholes are simply looking for a reason to tear my lord down. It would have been considerably easier.”
“What he means,” the Lord of Mistmark says, examining me with the most amused expression I’ve ever seen him wear, “is that we don’t intend to harm you.”
The two males share a look.
Mistmark seems to have recovered from his poisoning well, though he doesn’t bother to shift off the sofa, and I can smell something restorative in his drink. Dark shadows haunt the circles beneath his eyes, however, and he’s not as well put-together as he usually is.
I’m fairly certain his mouth is stained a vicious pink, as if he couldn’t quite manage to remove all the lip paint Soraya was wearing.
So much has happened in the space of an afternoon.
“So,” Mistmark muses. “You’re Falion’s little sister.”
“So….” I draw my knees up under the blanket Falion gave me. “You’re my sister’s husband.”
If anything, the tension in the room grows thick. Falion turns to put his teapot away, and Mistmark rests his hand over his mouth and leans on it. Rings glitter on his fingers.
“It seems that way,” he finally says.
“You don’t appear to be as unhappy about that fact as either Falion or Soraya,” I point out.
Mistmark runs his tongue over his upper teeth. “Let us just say that… I have long believed my path was going to cross your sister’s again one day. Indeed, while it was a shock to realize it was actuallywhileI was kissing my new bride, I’ve been expecting her.”
He has? My fingers itch. “Just what did happen between you all those years ago, Mistmark?”
“Alaric,” he says in a warm voice. “And nothing happened. She tried to kill me. She failed, much to her disapproval.”
I stare at him. Alaric has the best card playing face I’ve ever seen. “Strange…. That’s not what she says.”
And there it is.
A slight narrowing of his merciless blue eyes. He lasts twenty seconds. “What did she say about the situation?”
“Oh, it’s a ‘situation’ now, is it?” I set my cup down with a smile. “My sister doesn’t say much at all. Which is more telling than anything she might actually mention. But I’ll trade you an answer for an answer.”
