A knock hits the door. Once. Then Arabar’s voice comes through, calm and clear.
“Majesty. Your father asked that I remind you the Thren cannot die today. That is his condition.”
Colsar exhales once. The pressure releases.
Teorin stumbles back and catches himself, blood already at his lip and jaw and hands. They stand facing each other, bruised and breathing harder, and Teorin studies him for a long moment before he smiles, slow.
“You do not even smell like her.” He watches that land. “After everything you put her through, you are not even with her.” His eyes move over Colsar. “Let me guess. You are here for that whore, Jessamy.”
“I should kill you,” Colsar says.
“But you will not,” Teorin replies, stepping closer again, his voice dropping back into something almost conversational, which is somehow worse than the anger. “Now listen to me. I need you to get a message to her. Her life is at?—”
Colsar laughs, and there is nothing warm in it. “You have never had anyone’s interest in mind but your own. I am not interested in your lies or whatever game you are playing.” His power rises again, the heat pressing against the walls. “Get out.”
Teorin does not move. He tilts his head slightly, the way someone does when they have found exactly what they were looking for. “Since you are determined to be a fool, I may decide to save her myself again.” A pause. “Or I may not. But if I do, know that I may decide I do not want to give her back.” He takes one more step forward, unhurried, watching Colsar’s face the entire time. “What is it they call it? First rights under Rathmor law. If the youngest sibling dies and the others are unmarried, by default your wife becomes my wife.” His voice goes quieter. “Your children become my?—”
Colsar hits him with enough force to crack the table beside them in half.
Power slams through the room, heat pouring outward against the walls. His hand locks around Teorin’s throat and lifts him just enough to matter, the glyphs burning hotter, his left eye glowing like something that has forgotten it was ever anything else.
“I will kill you,” Colsar says, and there is nothing left in it that resembles restraint.
The doors slam open.
Shalvar soldiers flood the room.
And the moment breaks.
CHAPTER 52
After
Iknow something is wrong before the door opens. The air changes, not something I can see but something I feel, pressing into the room with a weight that does not belong to quiet or rest. Fiorakis stirs in my arms, a small restless sound leaving her as she presses closer. Ari sleeps beside me, undisturbed, one hand open against the blanket.
I tighten my hold on her. The door opens. Colsar steps inside and blood marks him first, across his mouth and jaw and hands, bruising already forming beneath his skin along his cheek and into his shoulder, the fabric pulled tighter across his ribs.
He stops. Sees me.
I push myself upright before I can think better of it, and pain tears through me immediately, dragging a sound from my throat.
He is at my side before I finish making it.
"Do not move," he says, his voice rough.
"I am fine."
"You are not."
His hand braces my back, the other steadying Fiorakis as I shift her higher. The pain lingers, heavy and pulling, but I breathe through it and look at him.
"What happened?"
He does not answer right away. Then, "He was here."
My fingers tighten around Fiorakis. “Who?”
“Teorin.”
