“So you’ve mentioned.”
“He tried to kill me, too.” Eira sighed heavily. Ducot pushed away from the wall as if sensing her change in demeanor, now listening more attentively. Eira met his eyes, though she wasn’t sure if he could see the motion or not. “Even still, and most importantly, you’re right…I endangered you and disrespected the other shadows with what I did. All I was thinking about was killing Ferro with my own two hands and avenging my brother. It was selfish of me.”
“Did you?” Ducot whispered.
Eira laughed bitterly and shook her head. “When I had him…I couldn’t.”
“It’s hard to kill a man.”
“I’ve killed someone before.” Eira wasn’t sure why she was trying to defend herself or point out that part of her history. She was far from proud of it. “But…it was an accident,” she clarified.
“Ah. Killing with intent, as you know now, is something very different.”
“Are you going to tell me not to when the time presents itself again?”
Ducot shook his head. “No, I’m not sure if you’d even listen if I did. So I’m going to tell you to be ready next time. Because if you endanger my life again, and the Court of Shadows,anddon’t even get your mark… The Pillars will be the least of your worries.”
“I came out of this with information for the court, at least. I might not have killed Ferro. But I did getsomething.”
“Let’s hope it’s good, for your sake. The Specters will be a lot harder to subdue than me.” Ducot put his hands in his pockets and started down the stairs. “Oddly enough, I’m beginning to like you. It’d be a real shame if I had to kill you.” He sounded sincere, even though he’d just been at her throat. It felt as if the air had been cleared between them, the pressure valve released, and there was no need to linger.
Eira snorted. She really shouldn’t find her own death so darkly amusing. “You’re beginning to like a woman who nearly got you killed?”
“I have shit taste in women. That’s been long established.”
Her laughter echoed in the halls around them, quieting long before they reached the heavy, locked door to the Court of Shadows.
Ducot escorted her inside. The court was alarmingly empty. Only a few shadows were visible in the roosts high above, where the sailcloths were suspended from. They looked down on her both literally and figuratively. She saw one spit as she passed.
Eira brought her eyes forward and passed through the tunnel that led straight into the Specters’ war room.
“Shut the door,” Deneya said without turning. Lorn and Rebec stood on the opposite side of the table, facing them. Rebec wore an expression of disgust. Lorn’s face was blank, and somehow Eira found that more unnerving than outright anger.
The closing of the heavy door was as solemn as a bell tolling.
“I’d ask what you were thinking, but I know you weren’t.” Deneya straightened away from the table with a sigh. She didn’t sound angry; she sounded disappointed, and that was far worse. “You have no idea what your antics cost us.”
“The Champion—the leader of the Pillars—wants me to find something in the Voice’s room at the top of the Archives that mentionsyou.” Eira wasted no time.
Deneya turned, brow furrowed. Eira could see her breathing shallow. “Excuse me?”
“You saw the Champion?” Lorn asked skeptically.
“He’s real?” Rebec picked her nails with the point of a dagger.
“They took me to what I think is their base of operations—their equivalent of the Court of Shadows.”
“And you lived to tell the tale.” Rebec sheathed her dagger and folded her arms, suddenly looking impressed, albeit begrudgingly so. “So I suggest you start talking.”
Eira looked to Deneya, who gave a nod. Taking a deep breath, Eira began her story with what she’d overheard at the Pillars’ meeting, her sorry attempt at fleeing, her captivity, the pit, Ferro, the Champion, and everything between. She didn’t have to dance around certain topics like she had with her friends. The Court of Shadows got the unfiltered truth. Ducot was right, she’d endangered many, and baring her ugly truths to them would be a good start at making amends.
When she finished, the four others in the room stood in silence, processing the information.
Ducot was the one to finally break that silence. “Do you think the Champion ishim?”
“It can’t be,” Rebec answered sharply. “He’s under tight, constant surveillance.”
“If he moved, we would know,” Lorn added.
