“I wish you had more time, son, but after her Naming, the pressure will be on for her to accept you. Once The Horde knows who and what she is, you can expect others to make a play for her. Regardless of the fact that she can’t reveal, her political influence alone will be enough to entice them. And that’s not even accounting for the ones who will want her dead. Speaking of, are we set for tomorrow?”
A ringing starts in my head, and I sit back on my heels. I knew what they were up to, encouraged it even. So why do their words feel like stones skipping across the still waters of who I am? Why does it send disappointment rippling through me? Why does it hurt?
Am I so bereft of genuine love and affection that I can’t tell when it’s counterfeit?
I exhale a barbed breath, feeling it rip me apart as it leaves my lungs.
Is Aeson Noctis that good, or amIjust that pathetic? Because when Aeson kisses me, I don’t taste a lie. When he touches me, it doesn’t feel like manipulation.
My head bows under the weight of that realization. I stare at the shard of broken vase in my hands and can’t help feeling like it’s symbolic. The needy, shattered, slivers of my soul are making it entirely too easy for the Noctises to play me. All Aeson has to do is bat his lashes and whisper a few filthy words, and I come running, ready to call it more. I’m over here steeped in delusion, pretending this thing between us could be everything when really it’s as hollow and empty as I am.
I twist the shard, tracing the jagged edges with a finger.
Aeson Noctis stumbled upon the sucker of the century, and I’m barely putting up a fight.
My fist closes tightly around the broken vase until it’s cutting into my palm and blood starts to speckle the floor. I release my grip, staring at the cuts on my hand that can’t heal because I’m half of what I’m supposed to be.
But that stops now.
It’s time to embrace the truth, to see things for what they are. Maybe the Noctises didn’t slaughter my family, but it doesn’t mean they’re knights in shining armor. I need to wake up. No more fawning over pretty scions. No more benefit of the doubt. I’m going to take what I need and do it on my terms.
Fuck everything else.
What they’re saying changes nothing. I inhale a fortifying breath and focus back on the Port and the conversation happening on the other side of it. The three Noctises are discussing logistics and security. I listen and let my gaze wander, no longer focused on the scions and the king, but on where they are and how it might help me.
They’re either in the king’s office or library, judging by the desk and the wall of bookshelves behind it. I’m surprised by the variety of volumes that are on display. Physical books are rare these days. Most everything is digital, but Kathal Noctis must be a collector, because his shelves are teeming with all kinds of tomes from what I can see.
My eyes catch on a set of matching spines taking up the entirety of two shelves just behind the desk. I readRender Territory Censuson several spines and thenChanneler Territory Census,Thrasher Territory Census, and lastlyBurner Territory Census. I go still, holding my breath as I re-read everything again. Every ounce of my attention hones in on those two shelves as I read all of the spines for a third and then a fourth time.
No fucking way.
I stare at the books, stunned and reeling. Is it possible the sorcai I’m looking for might be listed. The Relacours have burrowed even deeper into hiding as we’ve mercilessly hunted them over the last several years. But if anyone knows where they are, it would be the king.
There’s no way it’s that easy.
I warn myself. Careful not to get my hopes up. I don’t even know what years those books are for. They could be older censuses from a long time ago.
But what if they’re not?
What if they’re current records of the citizens of Drameric? What if Noctis knows where the rest of the Relacour line is hiding? What if the sorcai we’ve been searching for is listed right there in those censuses, like a treasure map just waiting to be discovered?
Xmarks the spot that frees the Syphons from their curse.
Eager anticipation has my heart galloping with all kinds of possibilities. I doubt it’ll be that cut and dry. Nothing in my life ever is. But it’s possible King Noctis is old school and likes physical copies of things. And it’s possible that he might have records of where the remaining Relacours are holed up. All I need is one, because where there’s one Relacour, there’s crumbs that lead to the others. And who knows, I just might get lucky and find the bloodline’s Conduit on my first go…and then it’s game fucking over.
“I don’t like using her as bait,” Aeson growls, drawing my attention back to him and the conversation he’s having with Lorn and the king.
Confusion plumes through me. He’ll claim me as a mate for political gain but draw the line at using me for bait? That doesn’t make any sense.
“I don’t like using her as bait either, but what choice do we have?” Lorn argues.
Aeson rounds on him. “She’s not yours. You don’t understand.”
I roll my eyes. Of course it’s a territorial thing. The commander doesn’t like anyone else playing with his toys. Typical fucking dragon.
Lorn’s eyes narrow into a scowl. “I know my draw to her is different than yours, but it doesn’t mean I don’t care about what happens to her just as much as you do. And lastIchecked, she’s not yours either,” he snaps.
“Are you challenging me?” Aeson asks, his tone eerily even and soaked in menace.
