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Concern lances through me at the suggestion of bringing Florin to the Shore of the Damned. From Rory’s memories, she had a very traumatic experience with her father and the alley cats she came to love. Would seeing Florin bring a smile to her face or tears to her cheeks?

Before I can voice my concerns to Risna, Drac ushers us into the throne room. We approach the dais warily, masks of obedience sliding into place, though all I really want is to end this charade and formally Challenge Mihal.

His cruelty and anger have gone unchecked for too long.

Mihal lounges casually on his throne as if he didn’t just murder one of the strongest oracles Norica has ever seen. As if he didn’t do it out of spite.

“Ah!” He glances out the window to the pale purples and pinks of pre-dawn. “Right on schedule.” He shifts forward, fingers steepling beneath his chin. “Is that a gift for me, Quill?”

“Of course, my liege,” I say. The words taste like ash on my tongue. As I bow, I imagine how I’ll feel once I bring him to his knees. “May I approach?”

“You may.” I hand him the bloodied sack, and he chuckles. “I must say… I had my doubts the Mors Soluta would be able to pull off such a feat, and yet”—he withdraws the head from the sack and sets it on an arm of the throne—“you succeeded where others would have failed.”

“If that concludes our business,” I begin, eager to get this over with.

“It doesn’t,” Mihal snaps. “There’s the matter of your punishment.”

“My liege,” Risna says, tilting her head in reverence. “As you so graciously praised us, we have accomplished a great feat. A punishment for Quill’s earlier failure isn’t necessary.”

“Risna, darling,” Mihal croons. “I much preferred when the only reason you opened your mouth in my presence was to suck my cock. So unless you’re on your knees before me, keep your pretty little trap shut.”

Risna’s nostrils flare as her lips snap into a single tight line. It’s been several lifetimes since Risna and Mihal spent a season consorting with one another behind closed doors, and they both typically refuse to admit it ever happened. For him to bring it up now…

“Where is Adelphi’s Sacrifice?” Mihal asks.

Trepidation courses through me. He cannot find out about Rory because if he does… A shudder crawls down my spine. There’s no telling what he’ll force her to do, what revenge he’ll seek for what happened to Catalin.

Rory is a secret to be kept from him, and one I will take to my second grave.

“I don’t know,” I say.

“Lie.” He fixes his ruthless gaze on Risna. “Where is Adelphi’s Sacrifice?” She clenches her jaw, and he grins maliciously. “Such a good girl, finally following my orders.” He glances back at me. “I will ask you again, Quill. Where is Adelphi’s Sacrifice?”

I shrug casually. “Last I saw her, she was dead.”

Technically not a lie.

“Is that so?” He runs the tip of his finger along the stub of King Joal’s neck. “Because my spies say they saw you flee the capital with Rory Alarie’s body. I wonder what they’ll find when they pay a visit to the Shore of the Damned.”

Dread sluices through me. “The Shore of the Damned does not fall under your jurisdiction, my liege,” I say carefully. “It resides in the sea, and the sea belongs to the siren supreme.”

“And the stories say the first siren supreme gifted the Shore of the Damned to your sire, who left it to you,” he snarls. “I’m well aware.”

“Then you’re also aware you cannot send your spies to my island without my permission.”

“These are semantics, Quill. Whether you live on the mainland or you spend your days on the Shore of the Damned, all vampires in the Wyldelands fall under my rule.” His lips curl as he flashes his fangs. “Now, did you”—his gaze drifts over Risna before snapping back to me—“or one of your kindred sire the sacrifice?”

Neither Risna nor I speak.

“Very well.” Mihal pats the top of King Joal’s head and says, “Drac?”

Drac breezes out of the room.

Risna’s hands are shaking at her sides. The urge to shift must be racing through her. She could tear these males to shreds if she let herself loose, but to attack Mihal is a death sentence.

I cannot lose her. She meets my gaze as I try to silently convey that message, and only when she nods nearly imperceptibly do I fix my attention back on Mihal.

A moment later, Drac returns with a gilded tray bearing two items—a gleaming silver stake and a whip with the end dipped in silver.