None of them do.
I blow out a breath and force the tension from my shoulders. I already knew there could be an issue with my future Wing. Mostly because there’s no way to know ahead of time if they’re pro or anti Syphon. I figured the whole death-vow thing would help me navigate that, but I won’t have that layer of protection tomorrow, and that feels intentional.
“Look at it as an opportunity to get to know the initiates and how they work,” Ogdan encourages, but it comes across as high-handed and dismissive. “Six of the ten probies assigned to this detail will be part of your future Wing. They’re all trained, capable, and dedicated. Farrow and Karis will be there as back up if needed, but there shouldn’t be an issue.”
Jori sips his drink, the slurping sound loud in the quiet that blankets the room while I stare at the two Wing members across from me. Ogdan shifts his weight as he watches me like my silence is making him uncomfortable.
I’m okay with that.
“It’s not that we don’twantto look after you, Biscuit,” Herm interjects after a beat. “We’re just ensuring that both you and the commander have adequate coverage.”
I just started entertaining that insecurity in my mind, so I must not have my face and body language on lockdown like I thought. Not if the Stormer is reading me that easily.
“Sure,” I tell him in the same dismissive tone Ogdan just used. I even use the same glib gesture to wave away the adept observation, pretending it missed the mark despite the way it’s currently lodged between my ribs and making my chest ache.
I know it’s stupid. I’m no worse off than I was before. But I can’t help feeling like I’m six years old again, watching guards carry my brothers off to safety while Enslee and I are left behind and vulnerable.
Once again, I’m reminded that I’m not one ofthem. I’m not Horde. They can pretend otherwise, but at the end of the day, they keep showing me that they don’t consider me an equal. I’m not entitled to any answers or even a say in my own life.
I’m a pawn.
Nothing more.
I’ll shove that assumption down their throats soon enough, but it won’t be tonight. Tomorrow will either go off without a hitch or, more than likely, someone will try to kill me. I wonder how many of my “new guards” will piss their pants when that happens. Or will they be the ones planning the attempted murder?
They’re in for a rude awakening though. Death and I have an unspoken agreement. We like to flirt and toy with one another, but we keep it cutesy and never goall the way.
I rise from my chair, and both Herm and Ogdan mirror me like they’re adhering to some old-fashioned sense of decorum. Herm looks skeptical, and unease settles in Ogdan’s features, but I quickly decide it’s not my problem.
“It’s been a long day. Is there anything else?” I ask stiffly, but I don’t wait for an answer before I peel away in the direction of my dragon stone cage.
Blay straightens from where he was leaning as I approach, and then the sound of the locks disengaging on the armored door fills the room just before the thick tungsten barrier suddenly swings open.
A flat feminine voice intones. “Welcome home, Commander Noctis, Royal Wing, and Authorized Visitor.”
I turn to see Chastain and Sondar striding confidently into the great room. Their Heart, Aeson, is centered in the cluster of guards with Farrow and Karis bringing up the rear, but it’s the commander’sAuthorized Visitorthat draws my eye.
Statuesque and stunning, the female has a shrewd gaze that’s a mesmerizing shade of periwinkle, flawlessly smooth bronze hair, perfect pink lips, and a bodysuit that I’m pretty sure was painted on. I have no idea who she is, but something about her instinctively sets me on edge. I can’t immediately put my finger on what it is, though I try. I can sense it on the tip of my tongue, the answer teasing the periphery of my thoughts. I try to catch it, to examine it, but I can’t seem to get a grasp on what’s setting me off.
And then her scent hits me.
Sharp and electric with notes of fresh tilled soil and an undercurrent of sun-dried animal pelt—deer, I think, or maybe it’s elk.
She’s sorcai.
And from the smell of it, she’s armed with active spells.
Warning zips up my spine and blares in my head. A curtain of red drops over my gaze, and a menacing growl rattles my chest.
She’s dangerous.
She shouldn’t be here.
But that’s okay. I’ll fix the commander’s mistake. I’ll rip her impudent little heart right out of her traitorous fucking body.
Chapter 30
THE LIE OF A FRIENDLY smile on the sorcai bitch’s face instantly drops when our eyes meet.
