Their taste buds must be broken.
“I’ll admit, Ganus had me concerned for a time,” Rowen says, his voice lower. “Losing Liran but gaining Oryn was unexpected.”
“Twice now the council has failed to ask the right questions,” I say, pinning my stare against Rowen.
He shifts, brown eyes meeting mine.
Heaving a small sigh, he nods, turning his attention to his hands. “You’re too observant.”
“I’m familiar with how demons work,” I counter and Ryc’s brows furrow in question.
Rowen scoffs a short laugh. “I would be concerned if you weren’t.”
“Consider favors between us done,” I say and he gives me a slow nod, tapping his finger against his glass in a slow, steady rhythm. “Do not come to me again.”
“Understood,” he says, turning to grab the bottle. Another knuckles’-length of amber cascades into the glass. “She may not say it, but Tanila and I thank you both. It means more than you realize. Vis will stand beside Erus as promised.”
“I must be missing pieces of this understanding,” Ryc says and both Rowen and I glance at Ryc.
Rowen hesitates to speak.
It’s a hesitation I lack. “It wasn’t Netharis who—for lack of a better word—encouragedthe arrangement between you andTanila,” I reply. “But it was a demon. And I’ve an inkling it was Vaelyn.”
Rowen nods silently. “It was.”
“Why?” Ryc turns a sharp glare to the Sovereign King of Vis.
The door bursts open and Fenryn sweeps into the room with a broad, triumphant smile shining upon his face, robbing me of any opportunity for further questioning. Behind him, Darin peeks around the towering fae, donning his own smile as he closes the door.
“Ah, Ryc,” Fenryn laughs, casting his arms wide in warm greeting. “I knew you’d deliver. ‘Bout time someone put that prick in his place.”
“Another time,” Rowen says in a low whisper to Ryc as he swivels on the stool to face the other Sovereign Kings.
Shifting, I lean against the bar, tucking my elbow upon it. Fenryn crosses the room, throwing himself into the center of the closest couch. It groans against the floor, sliding a few inches backward and bumps the wall. He leans back, propping his arms along the length of the back.
Damn fae has a wingspan of at least seven feet.
Darin, contrasting Fenryn’s entrance, meanders up to the bar and sits quietly on the other side of Rowen. He and Ryc exchange a nod, and Ryc pulls another glass from below.
“I’m surprised you didn’t take both, Alaryc,” Darin says, grinning while Ryc pours him a drink.
“I thought about it,” Ryc smirks.
Take both?
Take bothwhat?
I open my mouth to speak, but Fenryn is faster.
“We shouldn’t have to maintain mental wards among our own,” he reiterates his earlier argument.
Rowen sighs.
It’s a tired sound.
Telling me this conversation isn’t new.
“While I agree,” Rowen says, cupping his glass in his lap, “how do you propose we police Ganus’ innate?”
