This time . . . he didn’t seem bored. He didn’t rest with his chin on his fist. No, he sat straight, a slight frown on his full lips. Watching me intently.
Lukain’s words from our torrid night in this very mansion spilled through me.“Skartovius Ashfen showed interest in choosing you as broodstock . . . he offered a great sum of money, power in his court. I denied him.”
This did not look like a man who would be denied twice.
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry.
The combatant I’d be fighting to the death turned to face me, and my world tilted.
My vision fractured as I stared at the battered face of a formerly handsome young man, now marred and disfigured by three puffy slash scars from temple to cheek, his left eye missing and patched.
My childhood friend. My rival. My betrayer.
Baylen Sallow shot me a cruel smile.
“Well met, Sister.”
Chapter 23
The tidal wave of emotions that hit me almost put me on my knees. Guilt, sadness, painful memories.
But a single thread shone brighter than the others, stoking the flames of my mind.
Rage. My old friend.
Standing before me, ready to kill me—and I him—was the person I had known longer than anyone on this earth.
I did not know what brought Bay to this gaudy manse in Olhav, or how he came to be standing in front of me. I had not seen him since we parted ways in the Diplomats after Jeffrith’s death, and had no idea where his life had led him.
Judging by the giddy, sickening expression on his scarred face, it had been a hard journey into adulthood. I reckoned the scars inside him were even worse than the ones I could see, for him to behappyabout seeing me now, in this dire situation.
In the past, he had always been on the cusp of dreadfulness, skittering the line. Father Cullard, of all people, had proclaimed Baylen was better off outside the House of the Broken than inside, because he could “no longer be helped.” He joined the same gang that had beaten him. He robbed people. He hurt people.
Yet, way back then, he also protected me. It blinded me—even when hestoppedprotecting me and allowed the grotesque bandit leader Dimmon Plank to have his way with me.
Now, the culmination of Baylen’s life trajectory was evident on his awful mien:He’s been made a monster complete.
Our wicked Father had been right.
Any pity I felt for him vanished when I considered all the off-roads he’d had, and how many times he continued down a dark path.
He’s had his chances. Now he’s here, and I won’t give him another one.
A memory rolled through me: the Diplomats hauling me to Dimmon Plank’s tent. Baylen Sallow standing to the side with a cold expression, watching me get dragged away in tears.
The coward. That was the day you lost my love, Bay.
It didn’t matter if he protected me from Jeffrith and earned a broken bottle and missing eye. Not when he shrank once the firetrulygot hottest.
Another uncomfortable memory flashed: Baylen and I as children, staring up at the awesome Olhavian Peaks from a rooftop in Nuhav. Talking about how up there, in the heavens and spires, was where the future lay; all the grandiosity and comfort life had denied us down on the Floorboards.
“We’re here, Brother,” I murmured. “How grand and comfortable do we find ourselves?” I didn’t bother to explain what I was talking about—he would either recall the memory or he was too far gone and it didn’t matter.
Lord Ashfen gave the command to begin. The ballroom fell deathly silent as we stared each other down, separated by fifteen feet.
Baylen sneered. “I’m sure you’re wondering how I ended up here.”
My sword rasped out of its scabbard. I pulled my dagger out with my left hand. “No,” I said simply. “I don’t care, Baylen. I’d completely forgotten you existed, if I’m being honest.”
