She casts a wary glance at the intimidating group and gestures for me to follow her to one of the two-person tables. “They’re the imperius.”
I swallow, asking my next question even though I know the answer.
“And the huge one who seems to be continually seething?”
Her lips twitch at my description. “He’s the Primus.”
I close my eyes. Of course he is.
“He takes orders from the emperor himself,” Maeva continues.
Which makes the Primus the biggest threat to my plans.
“Don’t worry about the imperius.” Maeva is still speaking, her eyes holding both curiosity and concern. “They may be terrifying, but it’s not as if they talk to any of us. They choose one novice to join their ranks after each Sundering, but the rest of us are as insignificant to them as specks of dust.”
We sit, and I force the stew into my mouth, the huge chunks of meat filling my stomach.
But I can barely taste it.
Now that I’m sitting here, it’s sinking in.
I’m supposed to kill the emperor. But first, I’ll have to get through that huge vampire. The one who just disarmed me in the corridor outside and dropped my knife in front of me like it was nothing.
The Primus.
I really did this.
Evren is alive. He’s going to be cured.
My eye twitches and I lurch to my feet, suddenly nauseous.
“Are you …”
“I’m fine.” I give Maeva a smile that makes concern flicker through her eyes. “Thanks for the tour.”
She nods, opening her mouth as if she might say something, but I’m already striding away, dumping my bowl on the tray by the door, and attempting to ignore the numerous gazes I can feel on my back.
“You’re dead, voidborn,” Baldric calls, and his table bursts out laughing.
I turn my head, but it’s not Baldric I look at. It’s the Primus, who still sits, arms folded, his head canted. I don’t need him to remove his helmet to know that he’s watching me.
THE BOY ISbetter at climbing than I am.
I watch with awe and more than a little jealousy as he easily swings himself up from the ground, scaling the oak within moments.
He’s … beautiful. It’s a strange word to use for a boy, but no other word fits. His dark hair curls at his nape, falling carelessly along his strong yet sigil-less brow. He flings himself into the higher branches with such joy and abandonment, it’s as if nothing else matters but climbing as high into the canopy as he can. When he turns his face to study the next branch, the sun slips through the leaves, as if even those warm rays can’t help but caress such perfection.
His grace, his speed, the way he seems tofitin my favorite place …
It makes my blood boil.
“You’re in my tree.”
The boy looks down at me, the sun highlighting eyes so blue, my breath catches. They remind me of the sapphire earrings I saw dangling from a noblewoman’s ears just a few months ago when Kassia and I were selling flowers to nobles in their carriages.
“Yourtree?”
He speaks the words with disdain, and his diction is perfect. He’s not from the Thorn.
