Dark Skye (Immortals After Dark #15)(109)

“You . . . you have her.”

Lanthe didn’t offer her hand. Because it was glimmering blue behind her back.

After a moment, Jasen appeared to shake away his shock at this development. He turned to Thronos. “My liege, the knights have assembled in the Hall for an important security meeting. Will you attend?”

“Is my brother here?”

“No, my liege, I’m afraid he’s not.”

Thronos was calm and cool on the outside, but now that she knew him better she could see that his scars were a touch lighter, which meant his face was tense.

—I’m sorry, Thronos. I know you’d wanted to get something settled with Aristo.—

—Gods only know what he’s up to out in the worlds.— To Jasen, he said, “Melanthe and I will attend.” Hand in hand, they followed the knight down the steps to the sandy vale. —In this assembly, I will not tolerate disrespect to you. Remember that you are their princess.—

Talk about a trial by fire! She drew her sorcery close. —I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go. What if the meeting is about my presence here? What if I’m in danger?—

He glanced at the power swirling around her. —You can take care of yourself. Just try not to hurt anybody.—

—Ha.—

—You know I’d slay them all before I let them touch a hair on your head.—

On the hills above them, Vrekeners stopped their daily routines to stare down at her.

What would Sabine do in this situation? Her sister would put her shoulders back and never let anyone forget she was a noble daughter of the Sorceri. Lanthe would do no less. To those who stared the most boldly, she inclined her head with a regal air.

Of course, she could understand their interest. Her garments must shock them, plus she had sorcery around her. Not to mention her one-of-a-kind, priceless necklace. She defied any female not to secretly pine for it.

The Vrekener males all wore white lawn shirts and leather breeches. Each female’s dress was drab and baggy, revealing only her face and hands. Their wings were pinned so tightly, one would think the Vrekeners were embarrassed by them. These people absolutely looked like they had quiet, boring sex.

They were the anti-Sorceri.

But then, Thronos had once been too—before she’d gotten ahold of him. These Vrekeners had no idea that Hurricane Lanthe had just made landfall in the Skye. —Are Vrekeners always so somber?— If she didn’t know better, she might have thought someone had ensorcelled their land with misery.

To be fair, she would’ve expected shrieks as mothers shoved their kids back into their weird roofless houses. But the people were steady and unflinching.

Unsmiling.

—Not usually this tense. I’m keen to find out what’s going on.—

The moment he’d come within sight of his people, Thronos had clenched his jaw and worked not to limp, which must be killing him. She had used her powers on him last night; maybe she could try to help with his pain.

But pain obliteration was a command that could seriously backfire. As she debated the pros and cons, she realized what was missing from this picture. —Where are the Sorceri?—

—Good question. I’ll soon have answers for you.—

Then the grand Skye Hall loomed over her and Thronos. Last night she’d gazed upon it and marveled that she was that close to the seat of Vrekener power.

Now she was about to enter. Sabine would never believe it!

As Lanthe and Thronos climbed the stairs, his wings rippled, as if he was preparing for battle.

They entered what looked like an anteroom of sorts. The construction was awing, but she couldn’t quite wrap her mind around it. Without a roof, it seemed like a ruin—or an arena. Yet it was pristine.

From there, she and Thronos crossed through a double doorway into a larger room with a giant round table. Forty or so males were seated about it in backless chairs.

Shocker, it was a sausage fest. Not a single female knight. Ugh.

There was no throne or dais. The arrangement looked like one of those town-hall kinds of settings where royalty acted like they were just normal folks, and no one got elevated above others (though the royals were the ones whose heads would roll if shit went down).

All the males appeared astonished to see Melanthe.

“My wife and princess.” Thronos held up her gauntleted hand. “Melanthe of the Deie Sorceri.”

She peered up at him, and her heart thudded. He gazed at her with absolute acceptance. My husband. When her sorcery sparked with her pleasure, several hawk-eyed gazes locked on it, but no one said a word. They probably assumed it was just sorcery left over—after Thronos had harvested her power.

If so . . . psych!

The Vrekeners who recovered quickest shot to their feet, in respect for their prince at least. The ones who hadn’t stood received a murderous look from Thronos until they did.

“My wife and I are eager to hear news of the realm.”

When all the males took a step away from the table and began to kneel, Thronos’s scars grew even lighter—and Lanthe got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. . . .





FIFTY


My brother is dead.

These males would kneel before only one male in this domain or any other. Their king.

Thronos said one word: “Aristo?”