Page 23 of Brimstone
He looked as handsome as ever, with his dark hair swept back from his face in waves. The room was full of electricity whenever he was in it. I was drawn to him like a magnet. Like my body was trying to find its way home into his arms. After theincidentwith Ereth, as we were calling it, the coronationcelebrations had been canceled, and Fisher had left to check in with Ren and the others. Taladaius had advised that Fisher spend at least a few days away from Ammontraíeth so that the high bloods could cool down a little, but he hadn’t seemed at all surprised when my mate had shown up here with Lorreth and the bag as soon as dusk fell.
Fisher sent a withering look in Carrion’s direction. “Greetings, Swift. Do you think we might be able to get a little privacy?”
“Are you asking me to leave?”
“Yes.”
Carrion pointed his knife at Lorreth. “Does he get to stay?”
“Don’t point that at me, boy,” the warrior with the dark war braids sighed. “Not if you want to keep it. I’m a collector of pretty daggers.”
“Yes, he’s staying,” Fisher said flatly.
Sheepishly, Carrion lowered the dagger. “Then it stands to reason that I should, too. I’m the heir to the Yvelian throne. If there have been developments that affect Yvelia, I should absolutely be present while they’re discussed.”
“Do you have any experience with warfare?” Fisher demanded.
“No, not really.”
“Any experience whatsoever with necromancy?”
“No.”
“The walking dead?”
“No.”
“Blood curses?”
“What doyouthink?”
“Then you’re no use to us. Leave.”
Taladaius entered through the heavy double doors then. Unlike every other member of the Blood Court, he did not kneel before me. I had expressly forbidden him from doing so, thoughhe had suggested that might not be a good idea. He strode across the council chamber with intent, the heels of his boots ringing out against the dove-gray marble. His expression was controlled. Mild, even. But the sadness radiating from him through the connection we shared was stronger than ever today. It left the taste of bitterness and regret on my tongue. “After the show you put on yesterday, Fisher,” he said, “he’ll probably be kidnapped and sold into slavery if he leaves this room alone.”
“And wedon’twant that to happen?” Fisher said, as if he were getting his facts straight.
“Fisher.”This little back-and-forth feud they had going on was becoming borderline infuriating.
My mate just looked at me, innocent as you please. “He’s said repeatedly that he has no interest in fighting for his seat at the Winter Palace. And he admitted it himself just now. No tactical training. No knowledge of this.” He nudged the bag on the floor with the toe of his boot. “So what good is he?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’rethe one who brought him here. Now you have to tolerate his presence.”
“Maybe it’s time I took him back to Yvelia?” he countered hopefully.
My maker huffed. Taladaius was dressed in a plain white shirt with loose sleeves, black pants, and black boots. With his silver hair and his pale skin, he was a study in contrasts. He ran a ringed hand through his hair as he dropped down and plucked the sack open, inspecting its contents.
My stomach turned the momentIsaw what was inside. I’d witnessed plenty of rot in Zilvaren. When you lived in a quarantined sector where people died of starvation or thirst on a daily basis, the dead were not that shocking a sight. But when a head was all that was left of them, and their cheeks were blackened to a crisp and sloughing from the bone . . . and whenthey wereblinkingat you with clouded red eyes, that was a slightly different story.
The smell was so much worse now that the bag was open.
Taladaius rocked back on his heels, a look of contemplation on his face.
Lorreth spoke before he did. “Tell us this wasn’t you.”
My maker’s head shot up. He fixed Lorreth with a stunned stare. “Me? I—” He recovered. “No. It wasn’t me. I don’t have thralls or slaves. And this . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head. “This is beyond me. Decapitated like this, they shouldn’t still be animated.”
“Oh, believe me. We knowthat.” Lorreth gave a hard laugh. “So how do we kill them?”
