The words hang in the air between us like a guillotine blade, and I’m standing directly underneath it, waiting for the drop.
I stare at him. “Your father. The thing that’s currently trying to eat reality is your dad?”
Dreven’s expression doesn’t change. He stands there, all shadows and leather, looking like he’s just told me the weather forecast rather than dropping a bombshell that should by all rights make me drive my blade through his chest.
So why aren’t I?
“That’s a significant detail you forgot to mention,” I say, my voice deadly calm. The calm before I absolutely lose my shit.
“It changes nothing,” Dreven says, but there’s a tightness around his silver eyes that suggests even he doesn’t believe that.
“It changes everything!” My voice cracks on the last word, and I hate myself for it. I grip my blade tighter, the runes burning hot against my palm. “You want me toretrieve a crown that belonged to your genocidal father before he turned void-eating? Are you out of your fucking mind? And by the fucking way,howdid he go from Wraith King to Devourer?”
“His mum,” Dastian says slyly, like he was waiting for this moment to drop a grenade.
“Mum?” I croak.
“Aethel,” Dreven grits out. “Not my mother.”
“Technically—”
Dastian doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Dreven goes Shadow God on our arses. I throw myself sideways as shadows explode outward from Dreven like a detonation. They slam into Dastian, hurling him across the hall, where he crashes through a conjured table that dissolves into sparks on impact.
“Must we?” Voren snaps, ice crystallising in the air around us.
I’m already moving, my blade up and ready, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last decade, it’s that anything with supernatural power having a tantrum is bad for everyone’s health. The shadows crackle around Dreven, coiling and snapping at the air. His eyes have gone completely black, no silver left, just shadow.
“Dreven,” I say, keeping my voice level despite my heart trying to hammer its way out of my chest. “Stand down.”
He doesn’t even look at me. His attention is fixed on Dastian, who’s picking himself up from the wreckage with a grin that suggests he enjoyed that far too much.
“You want to go again?” Dastian taunts, red-gold energy crackling between his fingers. “Because I’m happy to?—”
“Shut up,” I snap at him, then turn back to Dreven. “Both of you, stop acting like children, or I’m walking outthat door, and you can all eat each other for breakfast and remain crownless.”
The shadows hesitate, flickering. Dreven’s gaze finally shifts to me, and the intensity in it almost makes me take a step back. I hold my ground, blade still raised, pulse hammering in my ears.
“Walk away, then,” he says, his voice like gravel dragged over broken glass. “See how far you get before the Devourer finds you. See how long your village, yoursister, survives.”
“That’s not fair,” I spit back, hating that he’s right. Hating that I’m trapped in this nightmare by my own bloody conscience.
“Fair?” His laugh is bitter, devoid of humour. “Nothing about this is fair, slayer. Do you think any of us wanted to be locked away in the first place? Then thrust back out into this realm where all hell is breaking loose?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say all hell?—”
“Just wait,” he growls, interrupting me.
I swallow and take a deep breath, trying to be the bigger person here. “Let’s all just calm down and rewind a second. Aethel was your mother?”
“She birthed me, nothing more.”
“And she killed your father? The Wraith King? To gain power over Voren’s dad?”
“Yes.”
“So why not just tell me this to begin with? Why did we have to end up in a near-death experience over it?”
“He was worried that if you found out his parents were both murderous, you’d murder him,” Voren says helpfully.
