I’m shaking again. Umbraxis is much, much colder than I expected—almost as cold as the Veilspire. The pressure against my mouth vanishes as quickly as it appeared. “Why is it soc-cold?”
Eres isn’t wearing a cloak. The shirt he gave me is thick, but not thick enough to stop the chill. He frowns. “You’ll adjust, but you’ve just woken up. You’ll likely feel the effects for a while. Kae, I need your cloak.”
Silence. “Absolutely fucking not.”
I would rather freeze than accept any help from him. I’m about to snap it before I remember that I’m supposed to be attempting to charm him. I force a half-smile. “I’m fine. Thank you, Eres.”
The effect is somewhat ruined by my teeth chattering. Ahead of us, Duskbane snorts.
My face flames, and I raise my voice to address him. “You clearly don’t want to offer your cloak. What else should I say?”
His brow raises, and I press my lips together, squeezing my eyes shut.
My stomach is aching, my fingers are burning as if someone is holding them to the fire, and yet the shaking doesn’t ease.
Warmth settles around my shoulders. Deep, silver eyes glimmer at me when my eyes open. “You can keep it. I prefer my clothes untouched by witch-filth.”
He turns without another word, yanking on his shadow-leash and pulling me forward. “They’ve been waiting long enough.”
Kaelen
Ipush through the tall doors that lead to the Council chamber without knocking. The low discussion ceases as I yank the witch in after me, Eres hovering beside it, and use my erevas to slam the doors closed. “One Lightbringer.”
She stumbles, but I ignore it as I throw myself down into my seat. I can feel Eres’s disapproval like a scratch against my skin as he murmurs something to the girl before heading to his own chair, and it rankles. But my anger is still there, burning hot embers in my throat.
Those fucking witch-fire eyes gleam as she takes us in, studying our positions around the table, lingering on my mother. It might look meek, but I’ve never met a Lightbringer who wasn’t focused on killing any Darkwielder within reach.
And it was in his fucking bed. WithDarian.
Dangerous.
Darian spreads his hands, his tone placating. “There. You can see that her hands are bandaged. I was not lying.”
Nythen scoffs. “And as I have said—more than once—she does not need her hands to be interrogated.”
My mother raises her hand. “Eres. Darian tells us the Lightbringer was injured. Explain to me how you found her.”
Her eyes sweep over the girl, and I wonder what she sees. If it’s different from what I see.
I listen as Eres explains her injuries. The witch stands silently, head cocked as it listens and bandaged hands hidden beneath the folds of my damned cloak. My mother looks to Nythen and Valcor for confirmation. “Do you agree with this summary?”
Both men nod. Nythen straightens. “I wish to interrogate her as soon as possible. Whatever information she has may be relevant to the current patrols, particularly considering what we discovered in the Veilspire.”
“Careful,” my mother says mildly, nodding in the witch’s direction. I'm surprised she's spoken at all. Nythen dips his head in acknowledgement. “Eres, your thoughts. From the lengthy discussions held before your arrival, I gather you have a different view.”
“It shouldn’t be here,” I interrupt, before Eres can speak. I point at her. “It’s here, listening to everything we say.”
My mother raises her eyebrows at me. “It?”
It’s an expression very similar to the look she would give me when I misbehaved as a child, and my lips slam shut.
“The witch is here for questioning,” Nythen says tightly. “And she won’t be taking anything back to Solvandyr.”
“Hername is Lyra,” Eres says sharply. “I know this, because I asked her. We have no confirmation of exactly who she is beyond that, since wehaven’t asked her. And if we do as Nythen is so avidly suggesting and torture her for information she may or may not hold, it makes us no better than the people we profess todespise. We cannot judge their actions and then act in the same way. And as we have also discussed before, intelligence received under torture is not admissible in my opinion.”
He catches my eye across the table. “People will say anything when they’re in pain.”
“I’ve heard enough.” My mother straightens in her chair. “Hello, Lyra.”
