“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Fair.” He inclined his head, amusement flitting across his features. “Bring me the book. I’ll tell you what I find. No games, no riddles. You have my word.”
I nodded once, sharp, and turned toward the door. My hand was on the handle when I stopped. A memory surfacing from blood and lightning and cave-ins.
“Cindrissian?”
The shift in my tone must have registered because his expression changed. The smirk faded. “Yes?”
“What’s so important about rain?”
Silence. The kind that felt like the air before a storm breaks.
Cindrissian’s face went entirely, deliberately blank. “I mean, if no one taught you about weather, Isara?—”
“Don’t be a prick.” I rolled my eyes, though my voice remained gentle. “Back in the cave. When you were injured. You said something about rain and Ryn.” I turned to face him fully. “Is that a place? Or a person?”
The temperature in the room dropped.
Not literally—the fire crackled in the hearth, warm and golden. But Cindrissian shut down so hard and so fast it felt like watching a fortress slam its gates. His expression went from guarded to absolutely lethal, eyes turning flat and cold as a blade.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Each word carried a finality that said this conversation was over and continuing it would be a mistake.
The Master of Interrogations was back. The comfortable vulnerability of his lived-in chambers, the almost-genuine moments—all of it vanished like he’d never let it exist. What stood before me now was the male who extracted information from people for a living.
The one who knew seventeen ways to make you regret asking questions you shouldn’t have asked.
I read the danger in every line of his body. In the absolute stillness that preceded violence. In the way his hands had gone loose at his sides, not relaxed, but ready.
I’d stepped on a tripwire. And the only smart move was to back the fuck off before it detonated.
“Right.” I said, like I hadn’t just seen him transform into something that could kill me without breaking a sweat. “Of course. We all say weird shit when we’re concussed.” I pulled the door open, throwing him what I hoped looked like an easy smile. “I’ll bring that book.”
The tension in his shoulders eased. Fractionally. Just enough that I knew I’d made the right choice by retreating.
“I look forward to it.” His voice had lost that lethal edge, smoothing back into his usual sardonic tone. But his eyes were warning me not to push.
I stepped into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind me, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Whatever, or whoever Ryn was, Cindrissian would kill to keep that secret buried.
And I was smart enough not to dig any deeper.
At least not tonight.
I had other priorities. A book to deliver.
And a High Lord to strangle.
29
The sound of clashing steel and barked commands echoed across the training yard long before I reached it. Late afternoon sun slanted through the air, casting long shadows that danced with each movement of the sparring figures within. But it wasn’t the familiar sight of guards drilling formations that made me pause at the entrance.
It was the cluster of female warriors. Perhaps a dozen of them were arranged in a loose circle around three very familiar male figures.
Lincatheron stood at the centre, his midnight blue hair catching the light as he demonstrated a defensive sequence. Darian flanked him to the right, grinning as he corrected a younger warrior’s grip on her blade. Fenric completed the impromptu teaching circle, offering guidance to the women who watched with rapt attention.
Fenric spotted me first, his easy smile faltering as he took in the expression that had settled on my face. The others followed his gaze, and the easy camaraderie of the moment shifted into something more cautious.
