She sighed. “She asked a lot of questions about you. And us together, but mostly you.”
“Me?” he repeated, failing to hide the surprise.
She nodded. “Asked if we were together. If I was forced to be your Source. Things like that. But I know she was here with Cethin this morning, and I don’t know what any of it means.”
He didn’t either. But he’d figure it out, and in the meantime, he’d use any knowledge to his advantage.
The sound of boots on the iron staircase told him his uncle had found him, and Wren stiffened at his side.
“It’s okay,” he reassured her, pulling his hand back. He’d drawn enough for now. Wren didn’t need to be here for this conversation. “Go wait downstairs. I’ll take you back to the castle after I speak with him.”
She nodded, standing and plucking a wide leaf off a plant near the window. Using her power, she soaked it with water and wound it around her hand. The cut would heal within an hour, but the leaf would keep the blood from dripping everywhere for now.
“I’ll send word to have Magdalena get you some food,” he added.
“No need. I’ll find her,” she said, her smile weak as Tybalt entered the room.
The Commander didn’t say a single word as she ducked her head and scurried past him.
Razik stared back at the male with features so similar to his own yet different. One could easily guess they were related, and many assumed Tybalt was his father. He didn’t correct them. Despite the argument they were about to have, Razik still considered Tybalt his father, even if the male hadn’t sired him. He was the one who’d cared enough to raise him. Who’d tried to convince the people who’d birthed him to take him with them.
Instead, he’d been left here when he was seven years to fulfill a duty he didn’t understand and hated now that he knew exactly what he’d been abandoned for.
Lifting his glass to his lips, he asked, “Want one?” before he took a drink, ice clinking.
“No, Razik. I don’t want a fucking drink,” Tybalt growled, a faint trace of smoke wafting into the air on his exhale. Yep, he was definitely irate.
Razik shrugged, taking another swallow.
“What in the realms happened today?” Tybalt demanded.
“Cethin went and got himself stabbed. Again,” Razik answered.
“Under your watch.”
It was a statement, not a question, and it made something beneath his skin itch and his dragon bristle.
When he remained silent, Tybalt continued, “I know you don’t like Cethin, but I thought you understood that being a member of the Cadre means protecting him anyway.”
“I do know that,” Razik snapped.
“Then explain what the fuck happened today!” Tybalt repeated, the words ringing with rage.
“It didn’t even happen during the battle,” Razik retorted, his own voice rising in defensiveness. Restless and agitated, he got to his feet so he wouldn’t feel like he was being looked down upon by the one person whose opinion actually mattered to him. “It happened afterwards. None of us were expecting it.”
“No one was expecting it? That’s your excuse?”
“It’s not an excuse. It’s?—”
“Your job—all of your godsdamn jobs—is to be ready for the unexpected. You failed today, Razik.”
Then he was gone, Traveling out of the room and leaving Razik standing there.
Alone.
It hadn’t been an excuse. Merely an explanation as he tried to break down exactly how fast everything had happened. No one had expected the tiny violent ally to turn on Cethin, grabbing his own dagger from where it had been sheathed on his belt.
He paused, thinking it over for a second.
