As their shouts ring out, I shove on the door and step inside.
My entrance causes a stir, but that was to be expected.
All heads turn in my direction, and I take it all in within a few seconds.
The room is far larger and more grandiose than I was expecting.
It has a black marble floor that makes me think my father deliberately chose to mimic the dark keeper’s realm—which he no doubt saw inThe Book of Dark Magic.
A throne sits on a dais at the other end. The dais is cleverly situated at the far end of a long table so that it sits above and beyond the table, keeping the Ultima Nostra’s throne above every other seat in the room.
I rapidly count thirty people sitting at the very large table, all of them spread out in a way that tells me they don’t like each other very much.
They each have another person standing at their back, possibly a beta in the case of the shifters, or a second-in-command for the humans and the other supernaturals. They will be those leaders’ generals and I won’t underestimate them.
My eye is drawn to the bright spot near the throne where the keeper of light magic stands, her shoulders slumped.
She looks thin. Fragile. Her eyes are the same empty, golden orbs that they were when I first saw her.
At that time, her labored breathing had caused her to sway from side to side, but now I can barely hear her breaths because they’re so shallow. Her clothing remains the same: golden armor from her feet to her chin. But it now hangs off her thin frame as if she’s been sucked dry. The curved blade that rests in a harness at her back, the handle of which is visible at her left shoulder, seems to be dragging her down.
He must be draining her too much.
What’s also clear is that there are no other supernaturals standing at my father’s back. His generals are gone. I took them.
Still, my father doesn’t deign to rise from his throne.
He languishes there, his feathery, black wings nestled at his sides and easily accommodated by the throne’s width.
He is luminescent. His golden eyes gleam and his skin practically sparkles. He is a perfect, powerful dark angel.
“Daughter,” he calls across the distance. “You’re finally here.”
As if I kept him waiting.
He waves at the end of the table nearest to me, where there’s an empty seat. His gesture is relaxed, but his voice is a firm command. “Sit down.”
I shun the empty seat and walk to the right of the table instead, steering wide enough of the standing people that they can’t reach out and strike me without leaving their posts. But close enough that it’s clear I’m not afraid of them.
I flick blood off my claws as I go.
The tension rises around me. The leaders haven’t made a move, but they’re all watching me with a reassuring amount of wariness. I’m glad they won’t underestimate me.
I assess each of them as I walk, identifying the energy around them and finally pinpointing the gargoyle king. He’s sitting halfway along the table on the left side—opposite to the side I’m walking on. It puts him farther away from me, but it lets me see his entire face.
He’s as burly as the gargoyles I fought minutes ago, with short, dark hair and thick eyebrows. Even thicker fingers are folded on the table in front of him as he leans slightly forward.
A blonde-haired woman stands at his back, her bare arms covered in tattoos, one of which depicts the same mountain scene Lucian wears.
Before I pass the gargoyle king’s position, I remove my blindfold, ensuring he will see my golden eyes.
I don’t need the blindfold’s protection in this room where the light is dim. If I have to draw a little of my black blood to fully prove my heritage, I’ll do that, too.
All in good time.
For now, I tuck my mother’s shirt into the pocket of my jeans and focus back on my father.
Baring my teeth, I announce my intentions for all to hear. “I’m here for your throne.”
