The Silver Siren (Iron Butterfly, #3)(55)

Feeling a little bit braver I decided to press on. “King Tieren,” I spoke his name and waited for him to come around to looking at me again. Finally, his eyes focused on me. “Why do all of the Elite have white hair?”

Tieren’s eyes slid from my face down to the table and then back up. “It’s a mark of honor, of respect to be part of the Elite. They’re not as good as having a bonded SwordBrother, but they are good at protecting us from the Denai.”

“But the Denai don’t come here,” I answered. I briefly wondered if Tieren knew about Kael and me. He couldn’t. Unless he knew more than he was letting on.

“That’s because we don’t let them,” Tieren scoffed. I watched as he became more inebriated, and I stood up and walked over to fill his cup with more wine. The drunker he became, the freer his words flowed.

“That’s a shame that there are no SwordBrothers here to replace the Elite. I heard that they are the fiercest warriors in the world.”

Sevril tilted his head slightly and watched me out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t much, but I could tell that he was suddenly interested in what I had to say. His bites became slower, as if he were afraid to miss something.

King Tieren bobbed his head. “If I had a retinue of SwordBrothers, then I know I would have been able to protect you, Thelonia. You wouldn’t have died in that horrible land.”

“Died…yep. Dead, dead, gone,” Tomac sang in a singsong voice, then giggled and snorted into his hand.

Sevril leaned back in his chair, turning to watch me warily, under half-lidded eyes.

It was very disturbing the way King Tieren switched between past and present, and how he kept mistaking me for his younger sister.

I’d hoped I was just on the verge of discovering the identity of the Raven and the Septori, but the more I learned, the more I felt like I was in the middle of two separate paths that kept merging together only to spin off into dead ends.

“If you had a SwordBrother, you would be unstoppable.” I countered, stroking the king’s ego.

“If I had a whole army of SwordBrothers I would send them to assassinate Queen Lilyana and then every single one of those bloody Denai!” Tieren stood and knocked his wine across the table as he roared his enthusiasm for the extinction of the Denai.

Sevril made a motion with his hand as if he was signaling someone. I followed his line of sight and saw movement over King Tieren’s shoulder. A very familiar face leaned in an open door to mouth a few words to Sevril. The man paled when he saw me, and the door snapped shut.

It couldn’t be, but it was. I hadn’t seen him since he disappeared from Skyfell—Xiven. Mona’s phony brother. He’d posed as a friend of Joss’s family so Mona could get close and try and control them. He was here in Sinnendor. Fear ripped through my body, turning to excitement as I decided I needed to follow him. He knew more about me than he let on. If he was here in Sinnendor, did that mean the Raven was too?

Tomac whistled, distracting me from my train of thought. I faced his direction just in time to see his half-eaten boar leg fly across the table and into my lap. Startled by the flying meat, I knocked my cup onto Prince Sevril.

Sevril swore under his breath, slamming his own cup onto the floor. He stood on his chair and launched himself across the table at Tomac. The brothers started fighting on the floor, knocking into unused chairs and into a pedestal holding a flower-filled vase.

Either Tieren was immune or he could no longer see or hear his sons as they yelled, punched, and beat each other senseless. Portia didn’t move or give anyone attention other than the perfectly delicious soup sitting before her. With unhurried sips, she enjoyed her meal and even helped herself to a small pastry. I mimicked her every movement, because it was obvious she was used to the insanity of the dinner table.

It seemed like ages before the princes had calmed down enough from their fight to return to their table. King Tieren had now drunk himself into a stupor, and Sevril took a plate of food and left. Tomac, on the other hand, took to playing some sort of bowling game with whatever platters and goblets were left on the table.

Portia was right. They were absolutely mad. I fidgeted with my cloth napkin and waited for an opportune time to slip out of the room to follow Xiven.

Neither happened. As soon as dinner was over, I left and tried to make my way down the hall, but there was a soldier on my arm, pulling me in the direction of my room.

He shoved me in, and the door locked behind me.

I had been in the castle for hours and I still couldn’t feel power around me. I tried to still my mind and body and reach for it—nothing. It felt very much like being in Skyfell, except in Sinnendor my gifts weren’t muted. They were gone. And without access, without being able to hear Faraway, and knowing I was separated from the power that I had come to rely on, I felt claustrophobic. I walked across the room to stand beside one of the small elongated windows.

Windows so slim escape was impossible.

I screamed in frustration and threw whatever objects I could find that were light enough for me dislodge and break. The vase, the matching ceramic bowl, a gold brush. I knocked over a plush oak chair. I sat down on the cold hard stone floor and pulled up my knees to my chest, staring at the mess I’d created. Only a portion of me was happy with what I had done. The other part felt indifferent as I started to slip into the apathetic zone.

Wasn’t this what I’d wanted? To be powerless? Human again?