Page 35

But it wasn’t the city that stole his breath.

The lake was gone.

Ironfall stood over a bottomless trench, thick steam rising from its depths and swallowing the palace in a dreary haze.

“Draven.”

He slipped his tunic over his head, woefully making eye contact with Chiman at the top of the landing when he pulled it down.

The Imordial was dressed in his royal garb—a long, heavy gray tunic embroidered with red trim over leather pants and black boots. A long black cloak flowed down his back, fastened over his shoulders with the pelt of a fox. Spying Draven with his garnet eyes, Chiman tightened his grip on the banister, swelling the skin around the rings on his thick fingers as his attendants followed closely behind.

Chiman had allied himself with Valen quickly—and worn the decision like armor ever since.

Both men had visions for the future they couldn’t attain alone. They leaned on each other in wake of the other Imordials turning their backs on them.

But that respect for Valen never carried over to his children. For whatever reason, Chiman treated the brothers with disdain from the moment they met. Bare minimum acknowledgment was what Draven got, so it was what he gave.

He forced the man’s name through his teeth. “Chiman.”

Chiman acknowledged him with little more than a sneer. “By your state of undress, I assume you’re returning from that row of whorehouses. A bit early to be burning through all of my coin, isn’t it?”

Draven forced a chuckle, continuing his ascent. He was allotted two free days a month where he could indulge in whatever he liked. The first he prioritized family, the second pleasures of the flesh. Today was the former, but he’d rather drown in an inch of boiling oil than carry on a conversation with Chiman any day. “It’s never too early to make hefty donations to small businesses in your name, Your Highness.”

Chiman’s glare weighed heavy on his back as he hurried up the stairs.

A sudden jolt filled his chest, ripping him from the memory. Apprehensive prickles trailed up his arms, but it wasn’t the Serpent.

This was a feeling he was familiar with.

The presence of another Flare.

Draven kept staring out of the window long after his view of Failen vanished in the haze and the feeling from his skin.

Heels clicked against the tile, each step descending the stairs with a slow, deliberate menace. When they stopped, he glanced over his shoulder.

A tall woman stood at the top of the landing. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders in gentle waves. Her face lay hidden in the shifting light of the foyer, but Draven recognized the unmistakable shine of the Guardian in her eyes. Meeting his gaze, her eyes widened, but no surprise emanated from her aura. In fact, there wasn’t any color to it. It was clear, like river water.

Even in the dark, the Serpent fought for control. It was agitated. Scared, like something was waiting to ambush it.

He scanned the rest of the room.

A grim voice seeped into the heavy silence. “We’re alone.”

Her porcelain face finally broke through the light as she continued her descent. It angled with a familiarity he’d seen in Valen, but her light skin separated half of their parentage. She wore a cream-colored gown, the edges glinting with golden trim. “You look thin. Thinner than the last time I saw you.”

Draven rubbed his narrow jaw. “Do you often visit me?”

“Only once, when I was a child. You were certainly a lot more intimidating back then.”

He cringed. Coming here was a hasty decision. He knew nothing about this woman. Who she was. What she would do. Certainly, she was stronger than him. More capable than he once was with the Guardian if the age Croll told him was true.

And yet, he advanced, one cautious step at a time. The Serpent slithered around in his stomach, protesting the proximity. “You don’t seem surprised to see me.”

“You turning up here answers quite a few questions I’ve had over the last few days.” There was a harshness to her bleak, angelic voice. “I suppose the Gnaw has sent you here to kill me,” she added, as if the prospect was simply an inconvenience.

So Croll’s speculation was correct. Rimore was behind this. “What makes you think I’m aligned with the Gnaw?”

Brialis kept quiet, though the wrinkle between her eyes continued to grow.