My stomach dropped. “How could you possibly know that?”
Darian stretched, then immediately winced, one hand going to his bandaged ribs. But the self-satisfied smile didn’t fade. “I have eyes everywhere, darling.”
“It’s not like that,” I said quickly, hating how defensive I sounded. “I just needed somewhere to sleep. That’s all.”
Darian’s expression spoke volumes of doubt. “Yes. That’s why you’ve turned up to my chambers looking like—” He gestured vaguely at my general state of disaster. “This.”
I looked away, my fingers twisting in the fabric of my rumpled shirt. The guilt was still there, gnawing at my ribs. “It doesn’t matter,” I said, forcing the words out past the tightness in my throat. “If I keep getting Varyth’s people injured, he’ll probably just ship me off to Nyxaria to avoid the stress.”
“He would never.” Darian’s tone went serious so fast it was like watching storm clouds roll across clear sky. The playfulness vanished, replaced by something almost fierce. “Don’t even suggest it.”
“Surely I’m not worth the trouble,” I said quietly, not looking at him. “I’m a liability. A danger to everyone around me.”
“You’re not.” Darian shifted on the couch, grimacing slightly. “And even if you were—which you’renot—it wouldn’t stop us anyway. We have a long history with Nyxaria. Most of it unpleasant.”
That made me look up. I’d read about some of it in the archives. The centuries-old tensions, the territorial disputes, the blood feuds that ran deep as bedrock. But reading about something in old tomes was different from hearing from someone who’d lived it.
“Have you been involved?” I asked. “In that history?”
Darian sighed. “Too much. Did you ever read about Raivelle Valley?”
I frowned, the name stirring at the edges of my mind. It was familiar, but distant, a half-remembered dream. “I remember the name,” I admitted, “but I can’t recall the event.”
“What about the Slaughter of Raivelle?”
Recognition slammed into me.The Slaughter of Raivelle.A battle between Nyxaria and Luceren, mentioned in one of the history books I had read. A passing reference. A footnote.
My fingers tightened around the arm of my chair. “That was a massacre against Luceren by Nyxaria,” I said. “But there weren’t many details. It was just… mentioned.”
“Yeah,” Darian ran a hand through his blonde hair. “It’s only in a few books, so that doesn’t surprise me.”
“You were there.”
Darian’s lips formed a tight line. “Yeah, I was.”
His gaze drifted toward the window, looking past me. “It was a few days after Eilrys and I had accepted our bond. I was still... adjusting to everything. The intensity of it. What it meant.”
His fingers traced idle patterns against the cushion beside him, a restless energy I hadn’t seen in him before.
“There was supposed to be a meeting between our court and theirs at Raivelle. Neutral ground. To discuss a possible truce.” His jaw tightened. “Varyth was meant to attend, but a matter came up at the last minute. He sent me in his place.”
Ice slithered into my stomach.
“It wasn’t a meeting,” Darian’s voice dropped lower. “It was an ambush.”
“What happened?”
Darian didn’t answer right away. He pushed off the couch instead, his steps deliberate as he crossed the room to one of the high shelves. His fingers closed around a small, dark box tucked behind a row of worn books. He pulled it down, turned it over once in his hands, and came back to where I sat.
He held it out without a word. I took it, the wood cool beneath my fingers. The latch gave with a soft click, and inside.
A silver orb, glimmering in the light.
I looked up at him.
“Ever used one before?” he asked grimly.
I nodded. “Varyth showed me a battle. Said words wouldn’t be enough.”
