The way he stares at me with an earnest placidity makes me want to leap across the table and claw his eyes from his face. Of course, I remain squarely in my seat, clinging to as much decorum as I can muster. How dare the bastard come here and appeal his plight to my feeling little heart.
Part of me wishes I were more like Netharis.
At least in moments like this.
The council learning of my return has always been a matter of time. It seems Vaelyn wishes to expedite the process. This is not…this is not how I want this to happen.
“We need time to discuss,” Ryc says firmly, turning his golden gaze from me to Rowen. “Give us a day or two.”
Rising from his seat, Rowen nods. “Of course,” he says. “The council is set to meet in a week.” Reaching, he takes the letter, returning it to the inner pocket of his fine jacket. “I await your word.”
In a tight burst of gray clouds laced with streaks of blue lightning, Rowen vanishes, leaving Ryc and I alone at the table. I almost laugh at the irony of his innate. A storm wielder. He’s the raging storm lingering on the horizon of an otherwise beautiful day.
Immediately, Eve takes Rowen’s seat, her concerned ice blue eyes locking with mine.
“Ves, breathe,” she urges as if she were coaxing a flightybird. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this pale.”
“Why would Vaelyn tell Rowen you’ve returned?” Ryc asks, the question soft with concern. “I was under the impression your relationship was… amicable.”
I laugh, a cold, bitter sound.
“I left him the hells thinking everyone was getting what they wanted.” I force myself to take a deep, steadying breath. “I was apparently mistaken.” I rub at the dull ache at my temple. “Starting a war serves Vaelyn. The Layer Lords need him to recoup the contracts and souls lost following Netharis’ death.”
“What faster way to instigate one than to taunt incredible power and the highest seat in Eldoterra to a bunch of Sovereign Kings?” Eve retorts, her expression one of sheer annoyance.
I’m glad she understands.
“Which Sovereign King would take the risk?” Cyran asks, his attention on Ryc.
“All of them,” Eve counters with clear disdain. She sits back in her seat, folding her arms across her chest. “If I’m going to be forced to tolerate a king standing beside Ves, it’s going to be the one Fate says is worthy.” She shrugs.
Ryc huffs a laugh, a small smile tilting his lips.
“It was a poor offer,” he says, glancing around the table. “Rowen lost his mate roughly a century ago. He’s still in mourning. But, the others… those who have not yet found theirs… may be more inclined to consider what Vaelyn has to say.”
“Fenryn?” I ask, remembering he and Lilith wait in the foyer.
He’s an unmated Sovereign King.
Ryc shakes his head. “Fenryn isn’t a concern.”
I shove the urge to argue aside.
“I need time,” I say as I stand from my seat. “To think. To figure this out.”
To figureVaelynout.
Ryc stands. “We have a couple days to deliberate,” he says, brushing some of my hair over my shoulder. His hand falls to mine, clasping it gently. “Whatever the outcome, we’ll face everything together.”
CHAPTER THREE
The following morning, Eve finds me as I meander through the halls on my way to snag breakfast.
“You look like hell,” she greets with an impish grin.
“I slept terribly,” I admit as she loops her arm through mine.
“Because of Rowen?” she asks, the concern in her voice genuine.
