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“I don’t know…” Lilith rested a hand in her palm, inspecting a seething Jarek. “I think the hand painted murals capture him better.” She tipped her head. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be used to this kind of admiration?”
“Praise is one thing, but an entire temple built on something I never truly represented is beyond excessive.”
The scrape of a chair ripped through the room.
“Very fucking funny.” Aarin laughed, hopping up from the table. “You’re telling me this is—”
“Valen’s First Incarnation, Draven Hazevale, yes,” Lilith confirmed behind a yawn.
Jarek chuckled, taking a hold of Aarin’s fear and calming it until he was back in his seat.
Aarin shot worried glances between Lilith and Jarek. “H-How did this happen, exactly? Aren’t you sided with Rimore, and you’re… you.”
Lilith yawned again. “Very good questions with very interesting answers. You don’t mind filling him in for me, do you, Your Highness?”
Jarek stammered protests as Lilith deftly excused herself from the table. He flipped his head over one shoulder then the other, watching as she sauntered away and up the stairs. Jarek let her go with a sigh, turning back to a nervous Aarin. He once again did as she asked, answering enough of his questions until Aarin’s mood calmed on its own and his influence prodded at him again. Jarek, growing more annoyed with it, reluctantly gave up what was supposed to be his room and compelled the man upstairs.
“I don’t like this,” Croll complained after Aarin was out of sight.
“You’re not the only one,” Jarek said, rubbing his forehead.
“I know you respect Kyer, but this is going out of his way to be rash.”
Jarek cocked a brow at him. “Don’t tell me a few days alone with the Wraith has you enthralled by it as well?”
“It’s nothing of that sort,” Croll retorted. “It’s the trust in the Evelian and by proxy, this newcomer. I am concerned for my own wellbeing, and yours, of course. Not to say you are incapable, but I worry the Evelian’s tour will get the rest of us killed for a couple of witches.”
“They’re women, Croll, and nothing more.” Jarek listened to the pelting rainfall on the tin roof, recalling when he once thought the same. “This isn’t only about them.”
“Then Kyer is crueler than he lets on. She is under the impression killing Caiven is an option.”
“There are methods to the man’s madness.” Jarek’s voice drifted in thought. “He wants Lilith to make the choice herself.”
“How? I don’t recall him sending her with a ruined blade.”
Jarek flexed his weakened left hand.
Ruined blades were short swords crafted using the combined blood of all six Imordials, used to control the rise in Diseased souls hundreds of years before his first life. Valen kept the Guardian’s as a mantel piece in his personal chamber in Ironfall. He didn’t know where Chiman kept his. He only knew it was somewhere within the palace walls. During the Reapers’ War, Valen collected those belonging to the Gnaw and Serpent as well.
The Allay’s remained in Zaitrerin, and Ashbourne’s was upstairs, tucked inside its—hopefully sleeping—vessel.
“The Wraith itself is a ruined blade,” he said. “Only five exist, and all but one belong to Reatia now.”
“More absurd all the time…” Croll muttered. “Caiven’s been walking around with that soul for some ninety years. He will not be easy to tackle, even if she were skilled.”
“Exactly the reason I’m relying on you tomorrow. Ashins or not.”
“You will not have an issue with me, sir. I promise you that.”
A creak in the floorboard snapped Jarek’s attention upward.
“I can take watch for the rest of the night.” The caution in Croll’s voice lighted Jarek’s petulance toward the man.
“No,” he responded sharply, exhausted. “I’ll take care of it.”
Jarek trudged up the stairs, sliding to the wall at the second landing to let a stranger access the stairwell. Jarek walked down the hall, stopping and listening at Lilith’s door for movement, but heard nothing.
The Serpent nudged at the base of his neck. Jarek angled back to the stairs, glancing upward. At the top of the third and final floor, he froze, finding the door of the balcony cracked open at the other end of the dim hall, letting the sound of rain creep inside.
