One Fae, a massive beast of a male with glistening ice-blue tattoos swirling up his neck and across his exposed forearms, held Tristan’s gaze as his laughter subsided. Amusement glinted in the male’s single visible eye, a mottled blue and yellow marble. A black patch covered the other, and a gnarly scar spiderwebbed up through an ebony eyebrow, a stark contrast to the male’s snow-white hair.
Tristan recognized him instantly—Ronin Matakos, the Butcher of Aethalia.
What the fuck was the ancient warrior doing in the colonies?
The Beastrunner—a white wolf bi-form—had slaughtered thousands of humans during the war. At the Battle of Aethalia in Cernodas, one of the bloodiest clashes, he’d been single-handedly responsible for the deaths of over two thousand human soldiers. A painting in the Imperial palace in Delos glorified the Fae victory, showcasing a colossal white wolf with blood-soaked muzzle and paws standing atop a pile of broken human bodies.
Some said the scar Ronin bore was from that battle; others claimed the male had given it to himself in an attempt to appear more intimidating. Given the crazed look in the male’s single eye and the insouciant curve of his lips as he leaned back in his chair, Tristan was inclined to believe the latter.
An older mortal male with an ingrained air of authority spoke from across the table. “We were all wondering if there have been any breakthroughs in the search for my family’s necklace,” Alcander Pagonis said, flicking a speck of dust from the shoulder of his impeccably tailored navy suit. “Delirium sales are down eight percent this week in both the colonies and the continent. The populace isspooked.”The man’s dark blue eyes flared as he pursed his lips, conveying the ridiculousness of the people’s fears. “Afraid to drink a drop lest their minds get hijacked by a madman.”
“Maksym has been dealt with, and the necklace has slipped from his grasp, thankfully,” Tristan addressed Pagonis with the half-truth, wondering how Cael’s expedition was faring, before turning to the larger group. “Though we suspect it may have fallen into the hands of even more powerful enemies: an emerging rebel organization who’ve been stirring here and on the continent. Their methods do not seem to be the same as Maksym’s, though. In fact, we believe they may have taken the necklace solely to thwart him.”
“Are you going to thank them for doing your job?” Pagonis crooned.
Tough crowd, Tristan thought as he surveyed the self-possessed man. He truly had no idea which side Pagonis was on.
The Vicereine turned her attention back to Lambros. “How’s the mood in your district, August?” Varuna asked.
Lambros represented one of the suburban districts surrounding Thalenn, an area filled with the mortal class somewhere between the Heronswood ultra-rich and the tired and unwashed masses of the slums. Though, the population in his district was growing smaller and smaller by the decade as the Heronswood families and the Fae hoarded Ethyrios’s wealth.
“Abysmal,” August barked out, his sapphire wings rustling with the force of his outburst. Clearly this guy had one setting: aggressive asshole. “There have been several more attacks just this past week. And they’ve escalated from looting and petty vandalism. Last night, a bomb went off in the Imperial Capital Alliance on Front Street. Millions ofdrachaswere destroyed. There are rumors spreading, people beginning to question my power.”
Of course that’s all he was worried about.
“Was anyone harmed in the explosion?” Tristan asked.
August shook his head. “Just a few low-level night clerks. No one important, thank the High Gods.”
Tristan understood the subtext: only mortals had been killed. He smothered his rising anger. It was one thing to forgive the actions of those ignorant Windrider tourists who’d abandoned the ship disaster—they’d spent their entire lives on the continent and rarely visited the colonies. It was quite another to accept a brazen disregard for mortal life from a male who, in title, represented them.
“Did the culprits leave anything behind?” Tristan asked. “A note, a calling card?”
August ruffled his feathers, his eyes darting away from Tristan’s piercing gaze. “There was a symbol painted onto the rubble at every scene. A circle slashed through with a vertical line.”
Tristan clocked the reactions around the table, wondering if any of them would offer up the name of the symbol or the organization to which it belonged. But he was met with an unsurprising array of poker faces. Similar to the ones he’d seen in all his drudging meetings this week. These councilors had spent decades, centuries in some cases, playing these games.
“We’d do well to assign some additional protection to the districts,” August said.
“Absolutely, August,” Tristan said, plastering on a saccharine grin. “I’ll have the Vestians assign patrols today.”
“Wonderful,” the Vicereine said. “Meeting adjourned. See you all at the palace tonight. Reminder that your consorts are very much welcome. Jealous spouses, of course, can stay home.” She emitted a vicious chuckle as she rose, striding out of the room.
Tristan lingered at the table, noting the groups that naturally formed as the councilors strolled out of the chamber. Alcander sought out the two other mortals in the room, an older man and younger woman, representatives of smaller city districts. August stormed out alone, pushing through the remaining Fae councilors.
As Tristan left the table, Ronin lingered by the door. Tristan ambled over, and Ronin stretched out a hand. The phrase tattooed across the male’s knuckles,Inom Than, translated tobecome deathin Aramaelish.
Subtle.
“Nice to finally meet you, Ghostwalker,” Ronin said, a hungry gleam in his eye as he crushed Tristan’s hand. Tristan refused to flinch. “Your brother’s told me so much about you. Been enjoying yourself, slumming it down here in the colonies for the past two centuries? Guess the access to all the easy mortal pussy’s been a perk. August was telling me about your delicious new consort; she sounds like quite a treat. I’d love a taste at the party tonight.”
Ronin squeezed Tristan’s hand harder and Tristan squeezed back, refusing to cower at the male’s domination tactics. What the hell was this party everyone was talking about? And why did Ronin thinkCassandrawould be there?
“I’m more than she can handle,” Tristan smirked, before gnashing his sharp canines and fluttering his wings. “What are you doing in the colonies, Matakos? You been demoted?”
The white wolf bi-form smiled back, a wide, half-crazed grin exposing thick, sharp fangs. “Your brother asked me to come. Wanted me here for that speech he’s making at the end of the week.”
Eamon wanted the continent’s most notorious human killer present for his speech? It would certainly set a tone.
