“Barrett,” Ophelia warned when he didn’t respond. He was burning toward the end of her patience. I almost felt sorry for the bastard at what he’d find there. “Shall I allow Cypherion to persuade you to talk?”
Cyph angled his body, every blade visible. Whatever this prince had to share must be very valuable if he was toying with us this much.
Barrett sighed. “That won’t be necessary. I’m here to share information on my mother.”
Chapter Thirteen
Ophelia
I assessed the Engrossian heir,from the worn tips of his boots, to his black dirt-and-blood-streaked shirt, to the many rings adorning his fingers. From the easy cross of his ankles to the challenging smirk on his lips. From the pale, sickly skin that was Kakias to the eyes that were Lucidius.
There was more to him, though. Subtle tremors of his hands and nervous glances at our weapons I wasn’t sure the others noticed.
I did not know what to make of him, but I recognized an act.
“We’re to believe you’ve come to us to share information about your own mother? Your own people? With the enemy?” Speaking the words aloud made them seem even more ridiculous.
Barrett blinked at me, all jokes dropped. “Yes, I am here for precisely that reason.” There was a gray tinge to his skin that almost made him look sick, cheeks hollowed.
“And why should we believe you?” Cyph asked.
The prince leaned his head back against the wall, a weight seeming to settle on his shoulders. “Because I don’t agree with what she’s doing.” Lips tightening into a grimace, he pushed himself to the edge of the cot, fingers curling around its metal frame. “My mother is heading toward a fate worse than death, I believe.”
“And what could that be?” I tilted my head at him. We locked eyes, each evaluating our opponent—or potential ally?
“Slaughter.”
“You think she’s going to get herself killed?” Was he here to askus to help her? Not a shot in the Spirit-guarded hell would that happen. I’d run Angelborn through his chest and send his body back to the Engrossian Valleys before the question left his lips.
But the prince shook his head. “I think she’s heading toward the slaughter ofinnocents.”
Silence hung over the room, and through it the cries of dying Mystiques clouded my mind. Theslaughterof my people at the hands of Engrossians after Kakias gave the order to send them into Palerman. Blood across the city center, cobblestones sticky beneath my boots as we moved bodies. My father nearly losing his life. My sister, only fourteen at the time, witnessing such destruction.
“You didn’t seem to care last time,” I spat.
“Did I not?” His fingers curled tighter around the edge of the cot. He was restraining himself. From what, I wasn’t sure. Barrett hadn’t fought in the war. He made no public appearance during that time. And?—
He made no public appearance.
“You didn’t approve of the war, did you?”
Barrett shook his head, sighing. “I saw no point in the loss of Engrossian life.”
Malakai scoffed. “And Mystiques? What of our people that fell at the hands of yours?”
“It was a shame for them to die, but they aren’t my priority,” Barrett shot at him, voice thick with malice. Then, he said to me, throat bobbing, “You would have held the same view.”
He was right. If it came down to Mystiques or Engrossians—if it came down to Mystiques or any clan—I would choose Mystiques. Every time.
“My people are not all made in the image of my mother,” Barrett pleaded. With the purple shadows beneath his eyes, he looked exhausted. The weight of lives balanced on his shoulders.
“They didn’t seem to mind attacking us before,” Tolek challenged. He shifted, favoring his scarred leg. For a moment, the scent of his blood surrounded me again.
We couldn’t trust the Engrossians.
“I’m not saying they’re all innocent. There’s rotten fruit in every bunch.” Barrett shrugged, running a hand through his curls andbracing his elbows on his knees. The movement was so reminiscent of Malakai. My friends noticed it, too, gazes shifting between the half-brothers.
“How can we believeyou’reinnocent?”
