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I frown. “I don’t get that. Why wouldn’t they use Alasdair to track Tor down, then?”

“They did. It’s how they found her in the first place. But Atticus didn’t like his son being used as a hunting dog. They tethered him, but he kept slipping free, so they welded it closed. I was sent instead.”

I snort. “I see your father had no issue using you as a hunting dog.”

Those sharp blue eyes slice through me and I flinch. Valen leans against his armrest. “My father recognized me as a valuable player, not a curse-mad liability. Perhaps Astoria did not share this with you, but it was I who told her about Atticus knowing of her curse. It was hidden within the letter I delivered.”

His words hit their mark, but I’m not about to let him see that. I smirk. “Sorry, we were too busy fucking after you left to do much talking. Thanks for all those tips, but discovering all the places that make her moan myself is much more fun.”

Valen’s eyes spark dangerously, sending a chill down me when he responds coolly, “Yes, I remember sampling your talents. I see why Dimitar was willing to trade so much to get his hands on you again.”

The barbed arrow of his words strikes my chest with a thump that twitches my shoulders. I shove down hard the surging memories, the pain and betrayal. The fear I refuse to look at.

Valen’s eyes dip down my bare chest and his thumb traces his lip. My flinch sends a series of sharp pangs that break through the potion, and Valen’s gaze flicks away.

Before I can piece together a response, Valen continues in a perfectly unaffected tone like we didn’t just verbally go for each other’s throats. “I haven’t heard of Alasdair being seen outside the estate yet, but I’ve also haven’t been back for that long. It’s strange. His transformation is unusual. For him to be so well after the physical toll the curse took from him…” Valen pauses, gaze going distant.

How he can switch conversations like this is beyond me. I am still reeling from all the old wounds he effectively ripped open and clear my throat before asking, “What?”

“The black mist you described, I think your theory on that is right. Alasdair is feeding off of Tori’s imprisonment. That’s why he wasn’t debilitated from keeping her alive within the stone when facing you. Though, I wonder how he repaired his body before. It must’ve been a massive feed to not only regenerate, but provide the power needed to defeat Astoria and Jinx.”

My heart hammers. “What do you mean?”

“Entropy curses feed on the soul’s energy. For weavers, this is the magic from the Soul Thread, but I believe Alasdair is feeding off something more specific. I’d have to do some research, but there is a priesthood grimoire in the museum that is believed to detail dark, terrible magic where the entropy feeds from the pain and suffering of the soul instead of the magic. No one dares commune with it, so I don’t know for sure.”

A jolt of realization flinches me in all the wrong places again, and I grit my teeth against the various stings. “Something else happened.”

He scans me slowly. “Did you neglect to tell me the whole story? And here I thought you were desperate to free Astoria.”

I glare. “I am.”

“Then spare no details. The more I know, the more I can assist. Now, what else happened?”

I work my jaw, but I unhinge it to finish the rest of the story. He’s right. He knows more about weaver magic than I do.

Once I’m done, Valen rubs his lips again, his gaze going distant. “A mangled corpse… and blood was everywhere? It must’ve been very fresh. A spray like that would require moving circulation unless Alasdair has developed a grim artistic eye for such things. Did the officers say who they were searching for?”

My tongue clicks when my lips part, but I hesitate. Could the body really be Vincentius? The disgusting, sinewy muscles and white ligaments flash before me. A massive wave of guilt hits me hard in the gut. Valen might’ve left us for the Order, he might’ve written me a bullshit letter, but if the body belongs to Vincentius… Valen doesn’t deserve to lose a parent like that. I swallow and lower my gaze. No one deserves that kind of pain.

Nausea surges and sweat chills me. I swallow rhythmically, memories I buried long ago surfacing in a wave of cold horror. Two dead bodies. One so peaceful she could awaken any moment and another twisted in pain.

Valen’s chair squeaks. “Lucas?”

I squeeze my eyes closed and cover my mouth with my bandaged hand. The chair rattles and Valen is beside me in an instant. I flinch from his gentle touch, his smooth aristocratic hands sliding up and down my arms. His voice is calm, penetrating the swirling, building panic as I try to shove away my worst memories over and over.

“Breathe. That’s it. Breathe deep, now hold it. And release slowly.”

His long fingers wrap around my wrist, and he takes the glass that is still clutched in my hand away. He presses my palm against his chest. “Follow me. Breathe.”

It helps while also making it all that much worse. I don’t think I can stand to tell him that the body might be his dad without throwing up all over this fancy bed. My body is slick and my skin twitches.

I knew I should’ve made Tori do it. Damn it.

“Valen.” My voice cracks and my shoulders roll in.

“Shh, it’s okay. Straighten a bit so your chest can expand.”

“No, I need to tell you.”