“Patriarch, your Generals have gathered and the ritual site is ready,” he says.
Cenviri breezes past, sweeping around Ryc and me. “Very well then,” he says. Stopping by the door, he turns. “Gather what you and your party will use and be ready. It won’t be long now.”
?????????????
I close the door behind me as Ryc crosses the room and sets the canvas bag filled with bloodstone weapons upon the table. The blades, sheathed in leather, remain silent.
Eve pulls her feet down from the table and sits up in her seat, exchanging a confused glance with Cyran sitting beside her. “What’s this?” she asks.
Ryc unloads several small daggers—I made sure to grab a full set of throwing daggers for Eve—and places them next to the bag. He doesn’t look up from the bag as he answers.
“Weapons for the veil,” he says. “The kind capable of ending the dead.”
Wearing her scrutiny upon her face, her eyes swing to me as I join Ryc. “What does he mean?” she asks.
“Bloodstone,” I reply. “Cenviri doesn’t want to take any risksduring our time in the veil. We need to be prepared for the worst.”
The worst being Death Bringers storming the ritual space.
I’ve not once seriously considered killing my siblings.
But I shall if they interfere during my soul mending.
Eve’s hand darts across the table, snatching one of the daggers from the pile, pulling it from its sheath. She tilts it into the light, the darkness of the black blade growing more intense despite it.
“Way different than your dagger,” she says, the awe in her voice genuine.
I imagine she’s never seen pure bloodstone before.
“Take care not to cut yourself,” I warn. “Unless you wish to find the void.”
“Druka came by while you were with Cenviri,” Cyran says and both Ryc and I pause, turning worried glances to Eve.
Eve sighs, leveling an annoyed look to her right. “It’s fine. We’re fine. There’s nothing to worry about. Nothing happened.”
I’m not convinced.
Nor am I surprised Druka would take the opportunity to speak with Eve outside my company.
“What did she want?” I ask, trying not to sound annoyed.
“That’s the thing,” Eve answers with a confused shrug. “I don’t know. She came in here, sat at the table, stared at Cyran and me, heaved a sigh, and left.”
She gestures to the seat across from her. Unlike the rest of the empty seats tucked neatly against the table, it sits farther away—as if the occupant left in a hurry.
“She’s not quite what I expected.” Eve shrugs again. “The whole exchange was rather off-putting.”
“Maybe she’s just as bewildered to meet Eve?” Ryc offers, though it’s clear he doesn’t quite believe the suggestion either.
I shake my head, staring at the empty seat.
The behavior doesn’t sound like Druka.
No, the succubus who greeted us at the Ferry Gate—the seductive smiles, batted lashes, and flirtatious wit—that’sDruka.
“It was like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how,” Cyran notes quietly.
“How long ago was she here?” I ask, glancing at the door.
