Though, without my shadows, I’m unsure how I’d manage such a feat.
Ryc offers me a dazzling smile. “I’m glad we agree.”
He gives my hands yet another squeeze before stealing his away.
Straightening himself, he glances at Cyran. With a nod, Cyran opens the door.
“Sovereign King Rowen,” he says, his deep voice firm. “Sovereign King Alaryc and Lady Ves will see you.”
As Cyran moves out of the doorway, he takes position beside Eve against the wall. Eve, perched with a heel against the wall and her arms crossed over her chest, continues to inspect the nails on her right hand in silence.
Rowen enters the room, and I can’t help but notice more than a few changes in his appearance since the last time I saw him. He lookscenturiesyounger. The broad strokes of silver accenting histemples have vanished. The creases at the corners of his eyes, less severe. And the smile he wears as he crosses the room, it’s warm, appreciative, and genuine.
Reaching, Cyran closes the door.
“Let me begin by saying I understand,” Rowen says as he pulls out a seat across the table. “I understand why you would want to keep her hidden.”
“Then why come?” Ryc asks, pinning his stare against the Sovereign King of Vis.
Lowering himself into his seat, Rowen leans forward, resting his arms on the table as he folds his hands before him. “I needed to see Vestaris for myself,” he answers. “I knew requesting an audience would give you time to hide her.”
Ryc laughs, a cold bitter sound. “And now? Have you come to barter? Your throne for the secrecy of her return?”
Rowen lowers his eyes to the table. “In a sense,” he says with a slow nod. “I’ve suspected her return for weeks now, Alaryc. You show no signs of the consuming madness. But I’ve kept silent.”
“What’s changed?” I demand and his eyes race to mine.
“Vaelyn,” he replies.
Vaelyn?
My brows furrow as my breathing shallows.
A low, dangerous growl rumbles from Ryc’s chest as all the blood in my heart pools in my feet.
“Your twin visited me,” Rowen says with a resigned sigh. “Earlier today, before the council meeting. I was surprised to learnhe’sbecome the ruler of the hells and notyou, Vestaris.”
He pauses and I force myself to meet his stare.
“What did he want?” I demand.
“I thought he might be serving as your messenger, as he did for your father,” he says. “It turns out he wanted the opportunity to try and negotiate a new contract.”
“Why?” I give Rowen a narrow-eyed glare.
Sovereign King or not, offering a mortal who’s been freed of their contract doesn’t make sense. It’s unlikely a demon can tempt a mortal to trade their soul once.After firsthand experience with the dastardly language of demonic contracts, it would beimpossibleto connive a mortal asecondtime.
I don’t know the exact number of contracts Netharis kept.
But I imagine it was a significant number.
And now a good majority, if not all, are off the table for Vaelyn.
A lack of contracts means a lack of control and power. A lack of information. A lack of influence. Any demon worth their weight in salt will carry as many contracts as they can muster.
If those freed speak on their experience, share it—the available pool of willing souls shrinks. Another hurdle he’ll need to overcome—fishing in what could be a dry lake.
Glad it’s him and not me.
