Skylar takes another sip of wine. “I don’t think it was ever aboutprotectingme.”
Simone gives her a look out of those almost-yellow eyes. “No. But I suppose times have changed, haven’t they?”
“Well, it’s nice to see you and all that, but if you could just—” Skylar makes to step around Simone, but is blocked again. Skylar narrows her eyes.
Simone grins. “Thought you said it was nice to see me?”
“And me?” Zryan appears at Simone’s side.
Skylar looks up into her brother’s face—no mask, because of course he’s decided not to play by the rules, but she likes the wings. “I’m reserving judgment.”
“Of course you are.”
She takes a breath. If she doesn’t say it now, she never will. “Look, Zryan. About…”
“You nearly killing me?”
She grimaces. “Yes. About that.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Skylar snorts incredulously, and her drink sloshes in its glass. “Seriously? Don’t worry about nearly killing you?”
“I think I might check out of this one.” Simone winks at Skylar before moving away.
“Well,” Zryan says, “I mean, maybe don’t make a habit of it, but you don’t need to apologize. We were trying to get you to use your power—and you did.” She wonders if that was all it was, him going after her like that, but decides to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Besides, when Mjolnir first bonded with me, it was like I’d only just come into my power. I’d try to Teleport a foot and end up a mile away. With Kaida, things are bound to be a bit… unsettled… for a while.”
Well, that might explain the not-so-welcome emotions that are churning within her this evening. His gaze travels over her head, looking for someone—and she thinks she knows who. And it’s probably the drink talking, but why not? Why fucking not—if not tonight, then when?
“No hard feelings, okay?” he says, and she nods—because it’s notlike shelikesapologizing. “Anyway, I’ve got to…” He gestures vaguely into the crowd.
“?’Course you do.” She smirks. He moves past her. “Have fun!” she calls to his back. He ignores that.
She turns, locating the soldier weaving through the crowd, and follows him toward the iron door, shrouded in darkness. There is a group of three soldiers already there—a mix of red and blue bands on their arms. Meaning both the Blooded and Bloodless sections are here.
“What did the prince want, Luc?” a woman—Bloodless—asks.
“Just seeing how everything is at the camps, really,” Luc says. Skylar’s heart beats in anticipation as she moves closer to them, unnoticed in the crowd.
“Luc has a bit of a thing for the prince,” a man with huge arms says dryly.
“Which one?” asks the woman.
Luc rolls his eyes, as if the answer to this is obvious. Zeb, apparently, is not the legend Zryan was in the army. “You’d have a thing for him, too, if you’d seen what the guy can do. The stories don’t do him justice, trust me.”
The big-armed man scoffs. He’s Blooded, too, Skylar notes.
But so what?
She steps all the way up to them, and their gazes flick toward her, no longer able to dismiss her among the partygoers. She sees the way one of the men and the woman appraise her, their eyes traveling quickly over the length of her bare legs, up to the fire mask that she knows, from looking in the mirror, makes her look fierce.
Luc—Zryan’s superfan—folds his arms. “Yes? Can we help you?”
Her mouth feels dry. There are four soldiers, right in front of her. This is better than she could have hoped for—better than a drunken courtier to try to manipulate. And yet suddenly she has no clue what to say. Not all the army were conscripted. Somechosethis life—the Bloodless in particular.
Big Arms scoffs—scathing is apparently his thing. “Don’t tell me you’re an army groupie? Not interested, love.”
The woman cocks her head. Light blue studs glitter in her ears, matching her mask. “Speak for yourself,” she says slyly.
