Trust me.
— J
The blood drains from my face.
I saw it.
If the Flame hadn't shown me that vision of my brother's hand closing around the scepter I might have overlooked those three words. Might have dismissed them as Jordi being dramatic. But I did see it. And this is Jordi. My hands grip the edge of the counter until my knuckles go white.
Foresight is not a gift men are given in this realm. It's why so many of them have enslaved women who possess it. Caged them. Used them.
Wrung visions from their minds like water from cloth. The only other way for a man to see the future is to bargain for it. And only one god is said to grant that bargain. But Lugal doesn't have a scepter. Not that I know of.
Did Jordi somehow use Mortiana's scepter to bargain with her consort? That's the only explanation I can think of. Butwhy? Why would my brother willingly enter a bargain with the god of war? What could possibly be worth that price?
That thought is what finally gets me moving. I slide into my patent shoes, grab my cloak, my keys. Yank the door open and freeze. The sconces in the shared space between my quarters and Jordi’s have been snuffed out.
Every nerve in my body screams as I turn to lock my bedroom door behind me. I try to reason with myself that maybe I didn’t turn on the lights when I arrived, but I remember it vividly. I strain to hear movement, but there’s nothing. A prickle of awareness skates down my spine and spreads through my chest. I may not hear or sense anyone in the dark, but I know something is there.
I feel them watching me. Heart in my throat, I reach for the iron poker beside the fireplace. I grip it tight and turn slowly, lifting the poker toward the dark like a blade. I feel ridiculous. But I'd rather look like a fool than die as one.
“What, exactly, are you going to do with that?” The voice is deep. Quiet. Laced with something that might be amusement. I go still. Then I tighten my grip and swing the poker into the dark.
“Who's there?”
Low laughter ripples through the shadows and curls into the pit of my stomach.
“Who is there?” I call out, my voice wavering. “What do you want?”
I lift a trembling hand and summon fire. The flame that answers is small and shaking. Pitiful. But it's enough to see the outline of a massive figure lounging in one of the wingback chairs at the center of the room. Long legs stretched out. Arms draped over the rests like a king on a throne. His amusement washes over me, unbidden.
“Nice trick,” he murmurs.
I grip the poker tighter. “Who are you?”
He doesn't answer. Instead, every sconce in the room flares to life at once.
I flinch against the sudden blaze of light, blinking hard as my eyes adjust. When they do, I study the intruder. A dark hooded cloak swallows most of him. Everything but the sheer size of him.
He’s built like Jacobi Draven, my brother’s mentor, a former warrior turned scholar. But Draven would never sit like that. Sprawled in the chair like he owns it. Like he owns the room. Like he ownsme.
The thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth. It could be one of his friends. If this is how he greets strangers, by lurking in the dark and laughing at their fear, we’re going to have a problem.
My eyes dart around the room. Land on Jordi's satchel behind the chair. If the scepter is in there— No. There's no way I'm getting within arm's reach of this man.
I can't fight him. I’m not sure I can fight anyone. The Sages made us take combat lessons, so in theory I know how to punch, kick, stab. In reality, my skills lie in avoiding those things even when it comes to people my size.
“Who are you?” I bite out, keeping the poker pointed at him as I take a step toward the door.
“Why don't you have a seat?”
“Tell me who you are.”
“Sit down, and I will.”
“No.” I take another step toward the door. “Who are you, and why were you sitting here in the dark?”
He tilts his head. Just slightly. Like a predator deciding whether to pounce. “Waiting for you, of course.”
