“We will see. Unless, that is, you do me a favor.” She wiggled her brows, her smile wide despite the clear pain in her thigh that had her eyes watering slightly.
Glaring down at her, I thought for a moment. There were enough secrets between Ash and I, so perhaps telling her would be a good thing. It was no surprise that I had done something that stupid. I was a compilation of faults held together by thin threads of morality. One could not deny that Asher knew of those shortcomings. They were too obvious to ignore.
“You know what,” I said with a smile as I approached the door, “tell her. I could not care less. She loves me enough to forgive me.”
Noe sneered in disgust, leaning away from me as if the love I had for Asher was a sickness she was afraid would contaminate her. With Noe, it would not come as a surprise if she genuinely did believe that.
I kicked the door open, accidentally sending it into the wall with a loud smack. Every medic’s head turned, looking as if they were under attack. Ranbir was the only one who seemed unaffected by our loud entrance, the hand writing something merely pausing. His dark eyes grew wide when he saw Noe in my arms, and soon, everyone was in action. They only had one other patient, who was snoring loudly on a bed in the corner. Which meant that we had our pick of beds.
The uncomfortably sterile room was larger than our dining hall, taking up the majority of the second floor. The rocky floors and wooden walls had been filled with white curtains, white rags, white bowls. Everything was so white it was jarring. Ranbir led me to one of the nearest beds, which had plain white sheets and pillows that matched his all-white ensemble. Surprise, surprise. Maybe Ray was right about redecorating.
“Noe, tell me you did not stab yourself on a dare.” Ranbir’s tone was completely serious, his mouth set in a thin line. A chuckle escaped me, but when he looked my way with disapproval, I quickly tried to mask it with a cough. His eye roll told me he was unimpressed.
Though Ranbir was the youngest of our group, he was definitely the oldest at heart. Lately, it seemed as if he had aged a few centuries. Winona was the one who brought him out of his shell, encouraging him to laugh and joke and enjoy life in ways he felt he could not before.
When Noe first found him, he had been the sole survivor of a mass execution, his parents and two sisters all having been beheaded in front of him. Ranbir had sucked the life out of the eight guards, but he could not heal his family in time. Noe regularly looked for any who might be unhappy, tracking Golden Guards who left post or monitoring the supposed demon attacks, so she arrived not long after the carnage. Ranbir had not hesitated to agree to go with her, whereas most discussed their possible relocation with me during a meeting she set to give them time to think.
Over twenty years had passed before he met Winona, and in that time, he had never truly recovered. But Nona’s family took him in, loving the fae like he was their own. Her sisters and brothers, her parents and grandparents, they all made sure the Healer was the one being healed for once.
With her gone, I feared he would never be whole again. I could see it in his eyes as he tsked at Noe’s wound. He had a hollow-like appearance to him, haunting in its lifelessness. Normally steady hands now shook, his dark brown skin constantly cast in a slightly gray hue.
“Of course not! That was Lian, and I dared her as a joke. Plus, that was years ago.” Her argument did not convince Ranbir, who looked down at her with narrowed eyes. Noe must have seen that emptiness in him too, because she lifted her arms in surrender, offering Ranbir a soft smile. “I egged on Damon during a sparring session.”
When he ripped out the dagger instead of responding, she screamed, forcing me to cover my ears. Ranbir shoved his hand onto the rapidly bleeding wound, muttering something about a femoral artery as he worked on healing her.
“Well, I guess I will be going to the king on my own then.” Noe smacked me, her mouth wide as she pointed at her injured leg. I waved off her pain, walking away as I did. When I heard the bed creak, I ducked, barely avoiding the flying pillow. “Predictable.”
Then another one smacked into the back of my head. A final laugh sounded behind me before I portaled away, holding up my middle finger at the Moon. I arrived at the border of Dunamis, allowed myself one final breath of serenity, then stepped through the wards and portaled again.
My feet met the lush blue carpet in Adbeel’s office, the smell of black tea and honey permeating the air. He was there, as I knew he would be, not so much as flinching at my sudden appearance.
The office was exactly as one might expect from the king of Eoforhild. The walls were white, the floor the same bleached driftwood as the rest of the castle. Paintings of Solei, Malcolm, and Zaib hung on the wall behind me, the other walls decorated with pieces I had done for him when I was younger. His desk was a bright and shiny silver color, two sky blue chairs on the opposite side of him. I moved, taking the one on the right. They were soft—comfortable and roomy in a way that invited demons to speak with him—but still, I felt uneasy.
Adbeel looked up, black eyes meeting mine. He had secured his mahogany curls atop his head, a leather band wrapped around the thick knot. His white tunic was open down to his navel, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His obsidian crown glittered in the light of the sun as it lowered in the sky and shone through the windows to his back.
“Bellamy, what can I do for you today?” A formal tone was to be expected after our fight the last time we spoke. Unfortunately, I did not have the time or the will to dance around the subject. I needed to get this over with, or I would back out.
“I saw Malcolm.”
Adbeel’s pencil fell from his hand, clattering to the desk before rolling off the edge. He did not move to get it, instead staring at me with his hand frozen midair. We stayed that way, silent and unblinking, for what felt like hours. Waves could be heard in the distance, slamming against the side of the cliff that the castle was built upon.
Finally, he spoke.
“I apologize, but I think I misheard you. What did you just say?” The question came out as a raspy whisper, but his eyes were ablaze as they scrutinized me.
With a final deep breath, I placed my joined hands on the desk in front of me and repeated myself. “I saw Malcolm. I nearly killed Xavier Mounbetton during the battle in Grishel, but he was rescued by the traitor Noe has been searching for. It was Malcolm. He looked at me when I called his name, smiling like he was in on some sort of joke that I was not. It was him. Your son is alive.”
Sadly, Adbeel did exactly as I guessed he would.
“Tell me the truth. What is it you are playing at?” The demanding words were laced with his magic, the Honey Tongue ability pressing into my mental shields and trying to force me to submit.
I stood, simultaneously letting that shield of black fire that Adbeel himself had taught me to conjure fall. His magic enveloped me, tugging on my will and encouraging me to speak the truth.
While I knew that the truth was exactly as I had said, I wanted to make sure he understood something first. “I have been around a far more formidable creature, My King. Her magic is something we could only dream of, the likes of which could crumble the world.”
Adbeel followed me, standing only an inch or so shorter. As it was, we were nearly eye-to-eye, squaring off for no reason other than grief and disbelief. “She is a disease, one that will eat away at your soul until you are nothing. Whatever magic those filthy fae put into her is abhorrent, more dangerous than that which derives from the Underworld. And whatever spell she has put you under for you to so blatantly lie to me proves that!” His face grew red, deepening his tan skin.
“This is not about Ash, but while we are on the topic, I know how dangerous she is. Asher is my equal in every way, we are both indescribably strong, and that makes us each a different version of the same problem. If she is an abomination, then so am I. Now, instead of hurling insults, would you like to discuss your son coming back from the grave? Or should I leave?”
