“We celebrate our win,” he answers, lifting his glass.
With a shake of my head and a smile, I leave the tingling warmthof the sun and approach the end of the bar.
“We’re to celebrate a win while Ganus returns to Battalia to plot our demise?” I retort as I snatch the glass.
Laughing, Ryc’s eyes gleam. “The blood tithe is a sanctioned council motion. Retaliation is not.”
Council-sanctioned or not, it wouldn’t be enough to stop me from seeking recompense were I Sophira. And fae are more like demons than they’d ever care to admit.
My fingers curl tight around the glass.
“Going forward, Ganus will consider the impact of his innate,” Ryc says, tapping his glass against mine. “A secondary win.” He smirks as he lifts his glass to his lips.
Reluctantly, I do the same.
The liquor smells like oaky cherries.
Sheer, cruel deception.
On the tongue, it’sbitter.
Grimacing as I swallow, I set the glass upon the bar.
“Ganus mentioned the veil,” I say, swallowing against the lingering burn and bitterness in my throat. “That’s what took me by surprise.”
“If the veil is torn in places outside of Ollora, it hasn’t been brought to the council’s attention,” Ryc replies.
“It tells me the entire veil is weakening,” I say, pursing my lips.
“We’ll handle it as it comes,” Ryc says, his tone soft but firm. “We’re in position for little else.”
I’m not fond of truths leaving unease in their wake.
Despite how common it appears to be.
Behind me, the door opens.
Rowen enters.
He glances at his desk before his eyes find us at the bar. A faint, warm smile crosses his features.
“How are you faring, Vestaris?” he asks as he approaches.
Ryc reaches beneath the bar once again, withdrawing another glass.
“Fine,” I answer, surprised Rowen would think to ask at all.
I was firmly under the impression I was nothing more than a means to an end to him. Free him of his contract, ascend the HighThrone, keep him on his throne, protect his daughter…
Ryc collects my glass, lifting the bottle of liquor in his other hand in silent question. I shake my head and he nods once, refilling two glasses.
“Don’t enjoy brandy?” Rowen asks as he settles into the seat beside me. Without hesitation he snags the glass Ryc pushes in his direction.
“My vices are of a different variety,” I reply with a slight shrug, and he laughs as their glasses chime.
“Fair enough,” he smiles. “To today,” he says to Ryc.
Both he and Ryc drink the liquor with ease. Rowen sets his empty glass aside and folds his hands upon the bar. The bitter liquor clearly has no visible effect upon them.
