Maksym leaned back in his chair, flexing his fingers as the green sparks continued to pop and sizzle at his fingertips—a pointed demonstration of his power. “I’m listening.”
Richelle swallowed. “Your former partner is stirring again.”
Maksym’s sparks hissed out and he splayed his palms onto the table. “Elaborate.”
Richelle’s eyes darted towards Xenia.
Maksym waved off Richelle’s discomfort. “She is a meaningless pawn. A means to an end with little chance of escape. Say what you need to say.”
“Roeki found a memory,” Richelle continued in a low voice. “One that, though scrambled, revealed the location of the necklace. Our sources informed us that she stole it from a ship headed to Meridon. A ship which subsequently burned down and sank to the bottom of the ocean.”
Xenia’s ears perked up, but she didn’t let anything show on her face. Sipped her wine and picked at her nails, trying to look bored and disinterested. Surely they were speaking of the ship Cassandra had been on.
“Interesting,” Maksym said, sitting back in his chair and carving his fingers through his silvery tufts of hair. “Roeki does nothing without a purpose.”
“Exactly,” Richelle hissed, clenching her hands into fists. “Why join the playing field now? You two did not exactly part on the best of terms.”
Maksym’s joyless laugh made the hair on Xenia’s arms rise. “I welcome her efforts. But it’s best to never guess at her intentions. Even if you were right, she’ll change tactics just to prove you wrong.” His lips curved into an amused smile, full of reluctant admiration. “It’s a shame our partnership had to end over a silly little dispute about her compensation.”
“Regardless, we’ve been tracking her movements,” Richelle said, blooming with pride. “We learned this morning that she was headed to Vaengya. We immediately sent Zakariah after her.”
Maksym placed an index finger atop the back of Richelle’s hand and summoned a small zap. She seized and let out a shaky whimper before drawing her hand back and sucking on the burn.
“Do not get ahead of yourself, Richelle,” Maksym scolded. “If Zakariah fails, we are lost. The seam of Thalassium in the mountains is protected by the Empire and its allies. That necklace is our only hope of achieving our plans.”
He rose from his chair to stand behind Xenia.
Xenia placed her wineglass on the table and squeezed her hands in her lap to calm herself, unsure of his intentions. Sure, he may still have a need of her to capture more Sisters, but there was plenty of harm he could inflict without rendering her useless.
He shoved a fist into her curls and yanked her head back so she was forced to look up at him. He grazed his sharp fingernails along her neck with enough pressure to scratch but not break skin. “You were very bad today. I question the sanity of anyone willing to betray me. But I’m not sure if you are insane or just monumentally stupid.”
With his fist tangled in her hair, he brought his chin down upon her shoulder to whisper into her ear. A faint buzz emanated from his skin, as if those sparks she saw jumping from his fingertips were always there within him, resting just below the surface.
“Of course, there is another possibility.” His lips brushed against her ear and she shuddered in disgust. “Perhaps the Windrider doesn’t mean as much to you as I thought. Shall I test that theory?”
The tall door lumbered open, and Alexei and another Deathstalker guard hauled a shirtless Cael into the room, his wrists and ankles bound.
Cael’s eyes cut straight to her, and he bared his teeth upon seeing her in Maksym’s grip.
Xenia tried to leap from her chair, but Maksym held her still while Alexei and the guard strung Cael up in the corner, his arms and legs splayed and his magnificent wings on display. Xenia had to remind herself to breathe.
Watching someone else be punished for one’s own failures was a special kind of torture. And just the kind of tactic she’d suspect from someone like Maksym.
She berated herself for trying to escape this morning. What had she been thinking? But she’d been caught between two wretched choices. In the end, someone was always going to get hurt. If she’d managed to lure a Sister, would she have felt better that a stranger was being tortured rather than someone she, grudgingly, cared about? Someone she was starting to care about more and more? Wrath of Vestan, she’d rather Maksym take his anger out on her.
“Don’t hurt him,” she whispered. “Today was my fault, my choice. He doesn’t deserve to bear the consequences of my actions. Punish me instead.”
“Xenia, shut the fuck up,” Cael growled from the corner.
“Yes, I agree with your friend,” Maksym said, yanking her out of the chair by her hair. Richelle snickered, and Xenia wanted to claw her eyes out.
But her fiery anger was swiftly replaced by the coldest fear at the unmistakable metallic hiss of a weapon being unsheathed.
Alexei brandished a massive Typhon-steel broadsword. The whorled pattern on the blade was both a testament to the bladesmith’s craftsmanship and the most horrifying sight Xenia had ever seen. She knew how deadly these weapons were. They’d made countless appearances in the published histories of Ethyrios. The thought of that steel being applied to any part of Cael’s beautiful body caused the wine she’d drank to rise up her throat, threatening to choke her.
A wound delivered to a Fae by Typhon steel would not heal quickly, if at all, and would leave permanent scars. The dragon fire that forged these weapons was just as effective a healing suppressant as that deep purple liquid they’d been forcing Cael to drink.
Maksym dragged Xenia to the corner of the room to witness up close whatever terrible punishment he had in store. “I warned you, little mouse, from the very first day. Behave, he gets rewarded. Disobey, he gets punished. Either you forgot those words or you care very little for him.”
