He is ostensibly talking about my cousin, but his icy stare goes from me to Melodi. I freeze.
Warriors train from infancy, not just to fight, but to regulate our emotions. So though I have faced death more times than I can count, though I have seen battles and bloodshed enough for several lifetimes, I have never before known terror as I know it in this moment.
We played this all wrong.
Now, Melodi will pay the price.
CHAPTERFORTY-SEVEN
REMY
From the moment my brother died, it’s felt as though I’m living my life in a series of stolen moments scattered like stars amongst the stark backdrop of my own mortality.
But I’ve never felt that as keenly as I do now, watching my wife and her monkey, the strange pieces of this life we’ve started to build.
Aika plays with one of her throwing stars, idly flipping it in the air and catching it, while Pumpkin sleeps on her shoulder, buried underneath the silken waterfall of her onyx hair.
For all that I have thought I wanted revenge, looking at her now makes me realize it’s so much more than that.
If I believed we would be safe from Madame, I would walk away now and take Aika with me and never look back. We could live out our lives, protecting our people and adopting some of the orphans away from all of this, even if it meant the person who hurt my family would walk free.
But Madame will never let that happen.
So I study the map and the three other people seated at the table, listening as Zaina explains that we might be able to fashion some sort of weapon since Madame bested Khijhana relatively easily before.
And that was when we had the element of surprise, which we will be lacking in if Khijhana accompanies us to shore. The enormous cat is a lot of things, but inconspicuous is not one of them.
“We still need to take out Damian first,” Aika says, catching her star and sheathing it in one swift movement.
My fists clench at the name of the man who killed my father. Who kidnapped my wife and wants to do far worse to her.
“Unless he’s also part Mayima, that shouldn’t be a problem,” Einar says, his voice nearly as furious as I feel.
Aika and her sister exchange a look, the latter subtly shaking her head.
“As much as it pains me to admit this,” Zaina says. “It would be a mistake to underestimate him. He’s ruthless and brilliant and unhinged in his devotion to Madame.”
My wife nods her agreement. Which is noteworthy in and of itself, since she and Zaina agree approximately once every six to seven weeks.
“He doesn’t set the limits for himself that most people do,” Aika adds. “And he fights even dirtier than I do.”
“Yes, he plays mind games,” Zaina picks back up, taking a sip from Einar’s whiskey glass. “He’s a master at distracting people while he attacks.”
“Is that how he bested you before?” Einar is a braver man than I am for asking that of his temperamental wife, but she doesn’t look offended.
“No,” she says evenly. “He’s just a better fighter than I am, and twice my size. Even Aika can’t beat him every time.”
Aika looks irritated, but reluctantly contributes her own experience. “Hedidplay mind games in my case. But Zaina isn’t wrong. In an even spar, I would only beat him half the time. We will need to plan on two of us to take him down.”
My brows furrow and I pour myself another glass of whiskey. “If he’s so skilled, why were you chosen to be the Flame?”
The room goes still and Aika inspects my features warily.
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” she cautions.
I understand her hesitation. The Flame was Madame’s enforcer, known for a staggeringly high body count and the general terror they instilled in the underbelly of Bondé.
But I meant what I said all those weeks ago in our rooms.