“No fun,” he groaned like a child.
“We’ll start a rotation for Amaris, but I’ll see how my father wishes to proceed.”
Theo wasn’t sure what his father’s intentions were. He expected a decision to be made, but now they’d likely be playing nursemaid while Amaris went about her duties as the new mystique.
Sephardi nodded, watching him as he dragged his thumb along the hilt of his dagger. She wasn’t only strong but also analytical, honing her mind like her own sword. Something wasn’t sitting right with her.
“What is it, Sephardi?” Theo asked.
Esaias had given up on redeeming his pride and retreated to the table by the door, where a basin of water sat for him to wash the blood from his face. Gris again found herself perched on the edge of the platform, but she kept her distance from Theo. A silence sat between them.
“Do you think she did it?”
Theo prodded at his lip that still had a slight puffiness to it. He didn’t know what to think. She’d punched him in the face, held his dagger to his heart, but also saved his life. Would a woman who murdered and butchered a man have risked her life for his?
“Time will tell,” Theo mumbled before picking up his sword and taking a reprieve from her interrogation.
He needed to breathe, to examine everything out before him. His enemy no longer wore a breast plate with a yonedu pressed on the front, with its snarling jaw and color-shifting scales. No, his enemy waited in secret and milled through the same crowds he walked daily.
The high priestess’s warning came to him. Godwin would rage a war in a heartbeat against Deavopan or even the entire Accords if their slavers crossed into their waters. If there was to be another war, Theo wasn’t sure if he’d be able to pick up his sword again, to watch as he drained the life from another set of eyes.
Chapter 13
Amaris
The woman whohad hidden in the back of the throne room raced after Amaris and Alan, grabbing him by the arm and whisking them up a back stairwell. They whispered back and forth, but even with Alan keeping a firm grip on Amaris’s arm, her attempts at eavesdropping were futile. Their echoes turned to muffled speech as they bounced off the walls of the narrow passage.
She pondered the mystery within the throne room—Theodoric’s widened gaze and his quick recovery as he sped into the hall. She’d wanted to chase after him, but Alan had held her back. The duke demanded Alan take her to be cleaned up and see her to her chambers, which Amaris understood, bars or not, was still another prison.
With Alan’s hand wrapped tightly around her limb, she knew she wasn’t simply a visitor or their mystique. She was a prisoner and would be carted around the castle like one. Her muscles clenched as she waited for Alan or the woman to slap iron chains around her, but they stopped at single door.
The woman whispered to Alan, “You better explain yourself later.” Shegave Amaris a side-eye. “It would seem you were sparse with your details.”
Alan released Amaris’s arm, drawing closer to the woman as he whispered, “I didn’t know.”
She eyed Amaris over Alan’s shoulder, then leaned close and whispered something in his ear. He ground his teeth, pushing into the room. She didn’t follow him but instead leaned into the frame, crossing her arms as she dragged her eyes over Amaris.
“What did you do to your hand?” she asked, grabbing Amaris’s forearm.
Here we go.She waited for a shackle to latch on to her arm, but the woman released her grip.
“Accident,” Amaris breathed.
Confidence radiated from the woman. A long leather jacket framed her shoulders and hugged her toned arms as it draped down to her knees. There was no denying that she must have been related to Theodoric. She was a third his size and barely old enough to drink a beer, but she still looked like she could kick his ass.
“Must have been one crack in the realm of an accident,” she said, nodding for Amaris to follow her into the room.
Amaris stepped over the threshold into the biggest disaster ever. Not only had her life crashed in a matter of seconds, but she stumbled into the woman’s room. With her slicked-back ponytail and neat presentation, Amaris expected her room to be pristine, with her comforter tucked and pressed like a military cot, but this was chaos.
A large four-poster bed with black drapes sat in the center and appeared to not have been made in days, with her comforter half on the floor and her top sheet poking out from under the bed. Off to the side sat a black-marble fireplace with red velvet chairs surrounding it. It was the only part of her room not covered in clothes.
The woman, too, struggled to cross the treacherous floor, tripping over a pile of rolled up shirts. The clanking of metal rattled as she kickedit under her bed. She relinquished her jacket, tossing it onto the mattress. Without a single care, she fell into a chair and draped her legs over the side.
“You can wash in there,” she said, pointing to a small bathroom.
Amaris’s legs anchored themselves to the floor. She shifted uncomfortably as they both studied her, but the woman’s eyes didn’t relinquish their focus from Amaris’s hand.
“Do you have some rubbing alcohol and a bandage?” Amaris asked, raising her hand in a plea.
