He returned their curiosity with his own careful scrutiny, eyes gliding over each of their faces, every nook, door, window, and hallway.
“Still looking for an escape route,” I muttered, as my own gaze searched not for an exit, but a friendly face to ground me in this skeptical standstill.
But the only person who could’ve quieted this frantic drum in my chest and eased the roiling tension in my belly was thousands of miles away.
The pressure in my temples grew, as if it wanted to cage my thoughts.
Between the leathers, furs, and weapons, my frenzied stare caught Vylkor, one of the land’s best–and tallest–warriors.
He’d been at the battle.
Had seen my powers light up the passage.
We’d howled together in the dead of night.
Vylkor must’ve sensed the intrusion and leapt out of bed without Mrs. Thornbrew’s say, because gauze still covered half of his face, a bloody red line soaking through it. With his powers, Ryker had healed his wounds before he’d been forced to leave. The scars must’ve split open while we’d rushed back to the city.
With a limp, Vylkor stopped near one of the pillars holding up the domed ceiling, right underneath Sylvester.
Gossips, both of them.
At least Vylkor could walk. And scowl.
Gods, did he scowl at Dax, top lip curling underneath his thick, blond beard, teeth bared and all. Which surely must’ve pained him after having half his face sliced open, but it seemed he considered the ache a worthy price to pay for open hostility.
As a disappointed sigh threatened to break my composure, Vylkor turned his attention to me. The antipathy thawed, even as his right hand still instinctively reached for the broadsword he wasn’t carrying.
Vylkor raised his good eyebrow at me.
Waiting for a command or an answer. Respecting the chain of rule, nonetheless.
That small show of faith tempered my galloping heart.
“Cousin,” I mouthed.
Vylkor gave me a curt, warrior nod, and leaned against the pillar, crossing his hands in front of his broad chest, as if he’d been waiting for permission to relax. A hint of frustration clung to him that he wouldn’t be attacking anyone today.
He tilted his head, no longer watching Dax as an intruder, but an anomaly. A strange man who’d braved the crater and was now smiling at them, of all things.
The crowd gave Dax and me a wide, cautious berth as we advanced.
“Allow me to introduce you to Dax Vegheara, member of the First Family,” I announced. “Blood from my blood.”
Dax gave a low, respectful bow, smile not wavering for a moment.
More silence.
Back in Aquila, we greeted all official visitors with salt, bread, and wine, to the tune of lutes and drums. A joyous moment, not a funeral, mistrusting stillness.
My fingers ached to twitch and my feet wanted to pace the hectic energy away.
“Send for Mrs. Thornbrew, please,” I said to no one in particular, keeping my gaze unflinching.
Calm.
The kind of attitude that wouldn’t alarm people, even big, burly, battle-seasoned warriors.
My voice echoed for a few surprised moments, before it was broken by the scuffle of heavy boots disappearing down one of the hallways.
