I suppose we might as well hash it out here, then, before we make a scene inside the manor.“You get one question,” I tell him in a clipped tone.
“The man calls himself a Silverknight. Don’t think I didn’t notice the silver dagger in his hand.”
“Those aren’t questions.”
Skar leans forward, heat rolling off him, making me feel stuffy and warm even though we’re outside in a cool brisk evening. His perfect lips barely move as he says, “How did that diminutive madman get his hands on a silver dagger, Sephania?”
I want to shirk responsibility and shoot a quip off like, “Vanison the silversmith?” But I know that stern look.
And then Skar says, “Don’t lie to me, little temptress.”
“I gave it to him,” I admit. My heart rings in my head. “Because he’s a friend, he was suffering, and I knew he would bethe best bet to start the diversion in Nuhav you wanted. I was right.”
Skar hesitates. He raises a brow. I think he’s ready to chastise me, reprimand me. “You . . . used your friend?”
“Yes. I don’t feel great about it.”
“I’ve taught you well.” There’s some amusement in his tone now, surprisingly enough.
“My turn,” I snap back. “What did you and Lukain discuss before he gave you Palacia?”
Skar readjusts Palacia’s slight weight in his arms. He hasn’t complained a single time—even walking uphill for hours scaling this damned mountain—about holding her. “Our ‘meeting,’ if it can be called that, went about as well as you might expect. He says he will kill me one day. I told him I wish him luck.”
His response forces a disgruntled chuckle out of me. I can’t help it. Our eyes lock and something passes between us—acceptance? Forgiveness? I’m not sure.
“So . . . we’re good then?”
He gives a curt nod. “Let’s go inside. You look awful.”
I scoff. “Thanks. Ass.”
We put Palacia in one of the cushy rooms upstairs, where I’ve done some recovering in my own time. I open the window to let in a breeze, because Pala’s face looks waxen and sweaty.
Skar says, “Close the window, and the blinds.”
“I thought—”
“The sunlight will be here soon. Your interfolk friend is no longer a creature of the day. You’ll see.”
I’m not looking forward to that.
I stand watch over her for an hour, sitting on a chair next to the four posters that hold a soft drape over Palacia’s bed. Skar doesn’t budge from the wall, refusing to leave until I do.
A whistle calls our attention to the door, just as a cheery Garroway saunters in with Vallan behind him, the bigger vampire holding a soiled-looking sack over his shoulder.
Garro begins talking before walking through the door. “Well met, everyone, what do we have . . . Oh. Shit.” His eyes land on the bed as he enters.
Skar is on him in a flash, lunging, lifting Garroway clear off his feet with his hands on Garro’s collar. “Where thefuckwere you tonight?” Skartovius hisses in his face, baring his fangs.
Garroway’s eyes widen in shock.
“Skar!” I yell.
It’s Vallan who puts a stop to Lord Ashfen’s inquisition. With a huge gloved hand falling on Skar’s shoulder, he grunts, “Put the cub down, brother. It was my idea, not his. If you’re going to be angry with anyone, be angry with me.”
Slowly, Skar veers his attention from Garro’s stunned face and lowers him to his feet. “Your idea to dowhat?”
“We come bearing gifts. Four of them, in fact.”
