I turn and with nothing more than half a thought light the fire beneath her pot.
She mutters to herself as she pours and sifts and uses a mortar and pestle. Perhaps she’s found some way to trace her mother. After all, she’s brought in a vat of the seeker’s entrails and blood to work with.
Bladin enters and washes his hands, though blood still spatters along the front of his tunic.
“Kill him?” I close my eyes and look for Emma. She’s there in my mind, and I concentrate on her heartbeat. She’s in the library with Tritus, but there’s a heavy weight on her.
“No. He’s regenerating. Brock’s on watch.” Bladin plops on the floor and lies down. “He’s strong. Stronger than any seeker I’ve had under my knife.”
“Strong,” Grimelda echoes and continues muttering to herself.
“What’s she doing?” He casts a sidelong glance at her, then closes his eyes.
“Don’t know.” I stare out the door to the throne room. The seeker hasn’t cracked. He’s talked plenty, but nothing of use. Nothing to reveal who’s behind the plot to infiltrate my realm. His screams still reverberate through my head, but even losing his entrails to Grimelda didn’t push him to speak any truth about how he and his miscreants became warded, what they’ve done with the stolen villagers, or whether King Sigrid ordered the attacks.
I summon a ball of sunshine into my palm. “How much do you think I can burn him, yet still keep him alive?”
“I don’t know, but I’d like to find out.” Bladin sighs.
“Please eat, my lords.” Dilrubin places a plate with croissants, meats and cheeses beside me and hands another one to Bladin. “You need strength to continue fighting such filth.” He casts a dark look toward the throne room. “But you will prevail.”
“Dilly, what magic or talent do you have?” Grimelda whirls, her opal eyes even crazier than usual.
“I have no magic. My talent manifested late and is not of much use here, but I can sometimes hear the trees and the flowers.”
She frowns. “Might help, might not.” With a shrug, she darts to him and plucks some of his gray hair, then tosses it into her cauldron.
He doesn’t seem to mind, only pours wine for both Bladin and me. I take it, drinking it down while trying to decide if I should use fire on the seeker or go back to cutting pieces of him off.
“Captain, any news on the nightlings Caroldon brought?”
Anolius stands stiffly by the antechamber door. I’ve had him keeping an eye on Emma and the nightlings while Bladin, Brock, and I have been occupied.
“They still sleep, my lord. Healing slowly, but Caltinius looks after them at all times.”
“Good. And the ones who perished?”
“Given full rites and sent to the Ancestors with the blessing of day upon their graves.”
“Thank you.” I gesture to him. “Dilrubin, the captain has been awake as long as the rest of us. See to him, please.”
“Of course.” He pours another glass, a large emerald glinting from his newly-pierced ear.
“Nice choice.” I gesture toward the gem. “I believe that was originally a gift from the summer realm’s queen, mined from the volcano that lies south of The Abyss.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Thank you.” I raise my glass in toast and in thanks for watching over my nightling. But then my thoughts fall into darker territory. Those new nightlings—both the living and the dead—are something I need to discuss with Emma, but I was hoping the two who survived would recover before I addressed it. But I see I can put it off no longer. When I’m done with this seeker and have sent him to the Spires, I’ll return to Emma and tell her the truth. I only hope she won’t blame me too harshly for letting Caroldon leave the realm. And perhaps it was a mistake, but it’s so hard to know what’s right for my people. He deserves death, but spilling his blood could lead to a war that claims thousands of lives. I rub my temples. Nothing is simple. There must always be a give and take, a price. But all of that may be moot if the seeker confirms my suspicion that King Sigrid is behind the attacks. When that happens, I will bring war to the night realm and make it my own special task to end Caroldon with as much suffering as I can inflict.
“I thought your mood was already black as night but looking at you now puts the fear of the Spires in me.” Bladin raises a brow.
“Just thinking.”
“Careful all that thinking doesn’t set the palace alight.” He glances to my blazing crown.
“There’s a reason the Shard is crafted of stone and crystal and not wood.” I down my wine and stand. “Come on. Let’s see if ripping his wings off will loosen his tongue.”
“Pssssss.” Grimelda holds out a hand and beckons me nearer. “Come, come. I think I’ve got it.”
