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The five of us gaze at the half-finished dagger on my wrist.
All that’s left is the blade.
Let’s hope I don’t get my throat slit acquiring it.
Chapter 31
RORY
The sun is warm on my skin as I knit a tiny sage-green blanket for Lowella on the quilt Risna and I spread across a pocket of the beach this morning.
With such a beautiful shade of bright blue coloring the sky, Risna declared she wouldn’t spend another moment cooped up indoors waiting for that bastard fae king and demanded the five of us get on with our lives.
Now, the two of us are lazing about while the others train.
Three days have passed since Alyvia and Eliphas cast their votes onto Quill. Three days since I nearly came face-to-face with Vivvy. The fear that lanced through me nearly tore me in half, but we fled from Nightfell as their witches attempted to break the wards, and we scarcely escaped what may have been a deadly confrontation.
Once we made it back to the Shore of the Damned, I expected said bastard fae king—Riven—would be waiting for us.
He wasn’t.
It seems Quill’s half-brother has a penchant for doing things on his own time.
Quill, however, doesn’t seem bothered by Riven’s delay. Instead, he’s spent the last three days sparring with Carver and Eivor for hours on end. Preparation for whatever duel Mihal will eventually declare once Quill has enough votes to officially Challenge him.
I don’t like to think about that too much.
Or what will happen after all is said and done if Quill doesn’t win.
I bite my lip. Not hard enough to break skin, but enough to feel a tiny bite of pain.
Quill glances over at me and narrowly takes a throwing spear to the shoulder. The fool will get himself killed if he’s always fretting about me and whatever emotions he feels through the sire bond.
Focus on your sparring, I chide as Carver raises another spear and hurls it at him.
Quill dances to the side, conjuring four more illusions of himself. My toes curl into the sand as a sinful idea takes root deep in my core. For the first time, I wonder how else he could use these illusions.
Beside me, Risna hums, “Careful, Rory; the scent of your desire might make his power falter, and then Carver will finally kick his ass.”
She perches on a stool in front of an easel with a tray of paint in one hand, a brush in the other. A rainbow of color speckles her skin like freckles as she eyes the sea stretching out before her, the sun reflecting off the calm waters in fractured beams.
Eivor grins as he plops down onto the blanket beside me, sending beads of water flying from his broad, muscular chest and bulky arms. His wheat blond hair is drenched and loose from its usual braid, and I can’t help but grin back at him.
“How was your swim?” I ask, eager to change the subject from my desire.
If Eivor scents it, he doesn’t say. A true gentleman.
“Divine,” he says, gazing out at the sea. “I feel closer to my people when I’m off land. If I could live in the water, I would.”
“The sirens would devour you in a heartbeat,” Risna says mildly. “And then I’d have to avenge you.” A dab of cloudy blue paint drips from her brush and lands alongside other splotches of color, staining her ivory coveralls. “Messy business for all involved.”
Eivor laughs, reaching for the small, dirty animal horn he brought out here this morning.
“When we first met, Carver called you an Östman,” I say, watching his movement. “What did he mean by that?”
“You truly have not heard of my people?” I shake my head, and he continues. “I cannot believe those bastard mortal kings had the audacity to erase history like this. There were no books about my people in Adelphi? Nothing that gave any indication of how the world outside of Norica was before the Crimson War?”
“None that I saw, and I ventured to Adelphi’s public library quite often.” I set aside my knitting needles and yarn and rest my chin in my hands. “My nursemaid once told me all the old history books were burned after the Treaty of the Five Kings was signed. Only the mortals who were alive back then would have any knowledge pre-dating the war, and they’re long gone.”
