Her voice went cold. “Isolde will kill you the moment you walk into her territory. And she’ll enjoy every messy second of it.”
“So maybe,” I drawled, too exhausted for subtlety, “we pretend we have something she wants first. Gain her trust, then propose an alliance with her, get information from grandma, kill Obrann, and then, I don’t know, backtrack and stab Isolde right in the empty pit where her heart should be?”
I felt a tug on the bond, a warmth spiraling up my spine.
“You arenotforming an alliance with the witch queen,” a firm voice rolled from the doorway.
Smoke curled around Ronan as he entered, steady as his gaze, wrapping around the weathered fabric of his wonderfully revealing unbuttoned tunic.
The humidity had coaxed his curls into soft waves, and Elva’s precious oil, which she had bullied both him and Elysian into trying, left them gleaming like spun midnight.
“What do we even have to offer her?” Nezra had taken off her cloak, now pacing in only her leather pants and thin fabric top, as if I had made her overheat with the suggestion. “Why would she break an alliance with the king for a group of mutts and outlaws?”
“No one else is offering a plan,” I muttered.
Ronan’s glare cut through the room as he asked, “Isolde is in alliance with Obrann?”
“We’re offering reality, Verena,” Nezra said, softly now, like she was trying to soothe me back into place.
I hated that. Heat crawled up my throat, all the way to my skull, scraping its fangs down my bones. My vision blurred, funneled, shifting between its gaze and my own.
“And yes,” she added, this time to Ronan.
His expression hardened, fury drawn tight and silent as his fingers drummed against his leg. The bond pulled tight, and I felt it, that coil of rage thrumming just beneath his skin.
“Why does that make you so angry?” I asked him.
His eyes snapped to mine, black flame simmering deep in them.
The Viper hissed in delight, coiling closer to the heat of him.Press him. Tear it out. He hides more than you know.
The bond went quiet as Ronan exhaled through his nose, steady now, contained. “We will not waste thought on why the king crawls into bed with witches, if that’s even true. It changes nothing. Our task is the same.”
But that silence in the bond screamed clear enough.
“Itistrue,” I stated. “I can’t seriously be the only one who noticed the rings they’ve all been wearing. That’s not suspicious to anyone else?”
“The witches don’t have magic anymore,” Ronan retorted. “And there is no way for them to get it back unless the gods themselves hand deliver it. So, while it is odd for them to all bear rings, it likely means nothing except some useless show of hand that they belong to Obrann.”
“Odd?” I sneered. “That’s the only word your prince brain could come up with?”
“Are we sure Obrann just isn’t overcompensating for something?” Ford asked, eyes hovering over Inessa. “Or, be honest, would a pinky ring make me look more intimidating?”
“Yes,” Ronan answered, Ford’s face lighting up at the thought of new jewelry. “Odd is the only word.”
Ford’s face fell straight back into ogling Inessa’s novel.
“Ford.” I motioned toward him, desperate for a diversion. “Your important discovery?”
He blinked up. “Right. Me and—” Turning, he realized the space beside him was empty. “Where the hel did he go?”
Wells shimmered into view beside him, the air bending to reveal his form. “Here.”
“We,” Ford flung a hand toward him, flustered, “found something worth noting. Remember how the Brightwalker’s killed the pixie leader?”
“Maerin.” I stood, folding my arms across my chest in hopes no one could see the crack that had been added. “And we don’t know she's dead.”
Carefully, Ford asked, “We’re not pretending she survived that, right?”
