He snatched his gauntlet, jamming the cold steel back over his claw. Storming through the rift, he braced himself for the wretched ordeal waiting on the other side.
CHAPTER 15
LYKOR
The first to arrive in the war room, Lykor sat at the head of the ironwood table, drumming his fingers against the polished surface. Long shadows crept over the stronghold, stretching thin like his patience. Through the fractured window, the sun bled over jagged peaks, streaking the horizon in molten hues.
A draft swept through the cracks in the shield, hissing against the broken glass. The ward needed reinforcing, but Serenna could handle it—her reckless blast had shattered the window in the first place.
Aesar’s voice slipped in through his thoughts.I see you can finally deign to recognize her by name.
Lykor stilled his tapping fingers, his gauntlet grinding into the wood.I’M GOING TO BE AT MY WIT’S END WITH THIS LOT AS IT IS. I DON’T NEED YOU CHIMING IN TO MAKE IT WORSE.
Still, breaking the bond had dulled his instinct to loathe the girl for breathing and, grudgingly, she’d earned a fraction of his respect. She’d proven her usefulness, and he nearly admired her loyalty to Fenn. Though Lykor would sooner gouge out his own eyes than admit it aloud.
Footsteps echoed through the chamber as Kal, Mara, and Thalaesyn entered, taking seats near the center of the table in front of sprawling maps.
Lykor’s thoughts churned as he assessed the group, already calculating where their magic would be most useful. Thalaesyn had obviously shared some of his talents with Mara. Both now appeared similar to Kal—suspended between elf and wraith—their burnished hair and midnight skin blurring the line between twilight and ethereality.
Aesar tilted his head, studying the changes in his mother and the researcher.They’ve rebonded. I’m sure of it.
SO TOUCHING.
Kal placed both Hearts of Stars on the table. Shards of sunlight refracted through the prisms, scattering bursts of color.
Flicking his wrist, Lykor lashed one relic with a tendril of force, snapping it to his palm.
“You keep the other,” he muttered when Kal raised his brows. Tucking the Heart into a pocket, he added, “In case misfortune finds either of us.”
Kal’s silence was a blessing, though the look on his face demanded answers Lykor had no intention of providing. As soon as Lykor shifted back in his seat, his eye twitched—Fenn and Serenna’s laughter ricocheted down the corridor, grating with far too much mirth.
As they entered, Fenn reached up to scrape his talons against the doorway—an adolescent habit for luck that he refused to outgrow. His grin stretched wide as he slid into the seat beside Lykor. Serenna settled next to the lieutenant, but Lykor hardly noticed, his thoughts fragmenting when Jassyn and Vesryn appeared.
Eyes thinning to slits, Lykor locked onto Jassyn—whom he’d deemed the most dangerous in the room. His gaze snagged onthe scar he’d wrought, the torchlight making it gleam like an accusation.
A reminder of his own rage.
At the time, it had seemed justified. Now, it felt like a weight. Heavy. Crushing.His chest compressed, that useless organ pounding against his ribs.
Aesar’s voice rippled with disapproval.You went too far and you know it.
The thought burned, hotter than he cared to admit. A rumble vibrated through Lykor’s throat as his fingers curled against the edge of the table, the ironwood creaking while he smothered the guilt. Regret was for the weak.
By all means, keep snarling. That always works.Aesar blew out a sigh, his chiding laced with exasperation.I figured you could see the difference between a threat and a weapon.
Anger was simpler than admitting Aesar was right, the truth an intrusion burrowing under Lykor’s skin. But coercion wasn’t just a weapon. It was also a noose, tightening with every stolen choice. And he refused to let anyone wield that power over him again.
“He’s not welcome here,” Lykor gritted out, scouring Jassyn with a glare.
Jassyn stiffened, his eyes darting toward the exit. Vesryn straightened, snatched Jassyn’s arm, and hauled him to the table. The prince lowered himself to the seat at the opposite end, facing Lykor with stony defiance.
“He stays,” Vesryn clipped, “whether you like it or not.”
Lykor’s fangs extended, provoked by the challenge in the prince’s tone. “This ismyfortress,” he growled. “And I won’t suffer him within these walls. I want him gone.”
Vesryn folded his arms. “AndIwant my brother present. But it seems we don’t all get what we want.”
Lykor’s gauntlet screeched as he clenched his fist, but Fenn spoke up before he could spit out a retort.
