Page 36 of A Kiss of Flame
She curled her hand into a fist at her side and felt the darkness twist closer around her fingers, like a weapon.
‘Wren,’ Anselm murmured. ‘Are you all right?’ He stood beside her, his hand on the hilt of his sword, glaring at his father. ‘Do you need anything?’
She forced herself to shake her head. ‘Some air, perhaps. If you would escort me.’
Anselm held out his arm for her and she forced herself to walk away. She could barely control the darkness now, but she had to. Right here in the middle of the ball, with everyone looking, she could not afford to lose control.
She was glad she didn’t have to interact with so many strangers. Their stares were bad enough. They had come from everywhere, and all to see Elodie punished. To celebrate it, in the same way Sassone was already celebrating it.
The music had stopped and some sort of commotion was happening at the far end of the ballroom. She looked around for Roland, only to see him heading that way with serious intent. Lynette was hurrying back towards Wren now, trying to appear to be moving nonchalantly and without purpose. Only her haste gave her away, and the way her hands were suddenly knotted together in front of her. Her expression was fixed with concern.
What was wrong? Because something was definitely wrong.
An excited murmur rippled through the crowd.
The crowd parted to reveal a smaller group, stunningly attired for a ball, each of them beautiful and ethereal. Pale-haired and otherworldly, they moved like predators amid the people of Pelias, a royal court that Wren already thought cut-throat. The Ilanthian visitors put them to shame in a second.
Roland intercepted them, bowing with an elegance she would have thought impossible.
That was when she saw Finn, standing beside the Ilanthian woman at the forefront of the group. Her leaping heart stuck in her throat.
He wore typical Ilanthian court clothing. A black high-collared tunic hung open with sash in an iridescent blue which matched his eyes angling across his bare chest. It highlighted the pendant around his neck, one she hadn’t seen before, a delicate twist of coloured glass on a thong. He looked darkly handsome beside the pale colouring of the woman, and positively decadent in those clothes.
Wren dragged her attention to the woman wearing the cream and gold sheathlike gown. His cousin, she had to be, and though clearly older than him, she wore her years lightly. Her hand rested on his arm, almost possessively, and Wren frowned. She didn’t like that. Didn’t like the tight expression he wore, or the way his eyes hunted her out across the crowd.
She started forward, but Anselm’s hand stopped her.
‘Something’s wrong,’ said Olivier softly. ‘Very wrong. I can feel it.’ He scanned the assembly looking for anything untoward, as if sensing something no one else could see.
Finn’s voice rang out, strong and certain. If Wren hadn’t seen that concern a moment earlier she would never have guessed it had been there now. ‘Grandmaster, it is my honour to present the ambassador of the Ilanthian court of Sidonia and her officials.’
It sounded so formal. Like a rehearsed speech. Not like Finn at all. He didn’t even look like himself. Not really.
‘Of course,’ Roland replied. ‘The regents’ council is most happy to welcome—’ He stopped, as if his voice caught in his throat. Wren saw his shoulders tighten in a way that could only indicate he was preparing for an attack or…
Another figure stepped through the assembled Ilanthian visitors, pale and beautiful as the rest of them, but more so, outshining men and women alike. He wore clothes like Finn’s, beautifully tailored, the colours picked with care and deliberation to look like exactly what he was, a prince. He didn’t bow, but inclined his head curtly. Not exactly polite but far more so than Wren would have expected.
‘Grandmaster de Silvius,’ said Leander, the crown prince of Ilanthus. ‘The pleasure is all ours.’
HERANDAL’S THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF SIDON
When Alessander of Ilanthus came to the throne, he was a young man, and he had left a trail of brothers dead behind him, as is the way of that kingdom. He fathered many sons, legitimate and otherwise, and he raised each to wear a crown, to wage their own particular war, to wade to the throne through the blood of the others. All but one.
And finally only two were left – Crown Prince Leander, beloved of his father, and the one known as Finnian, Ward of Asteroth, the lost prince – separate in every way, by light and dark, by distance, by disposition.
They only agreed on one thing.
And that caused disaster.
CHAPTER 18
FINN
Ilanthians delighted in chaos wherever they went. Finn knew that. He should have expected it. From the moment they came, he knew it was all going to go wrong.
Hestia particularly was known for it. It was a way for her to get what she wanted but she always knew how far to go and when to stop. She used chaos like an artist with an array of pigments and brushes at her fingertips.
Leander on the other hand… Leander never knew when to stop. He revelled in trouble, disruption and in doing whatever he could to upset whoever he felt like upsetting all for his own amusement.
