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Micah captures my hand where it grips the blade, his touch firm, his voice an odd mix of command and amusement. “That won’t be necessary. He’s a pain in the ass, but I don’t want him dead. Ember, meet Silas. One of my most trusted warriors.”
Silas wiggles his brows at me. “That’s me.”
“Why are you here?” I demand, not about to take my eyes off him, despite Micah’s hand on my hand.
“To help save you and the world, of course,” he says rather dryly. “That’s why we’re all here. And for food. I’m fucking starving.”
“How do I know you aren’t here to kill me?”
“I could say the same of you,” he rebuts, and while there’s still a curve to his lips, there’s a heaviness to the words.
“And I’m the one holding a weapon in her hand.”
“We’ll meet you inside,” Micah says, dismissing Silas.
Silas offers him an incline of his chin and then disappears. “Why is he here?” I demand, whirling on Micah. “What is this?”
“I sent several of my men to information-hunt. He’s the first to report back.”
“What kind of information?”
“We need to know how to protect you and us when we leave Elysium. When Jeremy can get to you again.”
My heart leaps and my voice lifts. “I can’t just magic Jeremy away?”
“I wish it were that easy,” he says grimly, “especially since you’re catching on to spellcasting easier than expected.”
“But I’m different, right? Maybe I can.”
“Are you willing to gamble on that?” he asks, his tone as hard as it is dark. “Because I am not.”
He doesn’t believe I can fight off Jeremy, and it hits me then that if I don’t convince him otherwise, I’m dead. I will never leave Elysium—that is, unless he can find another way to rid me of the serpent. “What did Silas find out?”
“Why don’t we go ask him together?”
“Where is he?”
“Inside the lighthouse. This is where my men stay when they’re here. And you can bet he’s in the kitchen. He’s a garbage disposal.”
He’s reaching for a lighter mood, but the theme of save me or kill me is hard to get by. “Does he believe I’m the Aza?”
“Do you?” he counters.
“I don’t know,” I say, but it feels like a lie. He believes I’m the Aza, and the argument to that fact would sway a jury toward his version of truth. “And it doesn’t matter what I think anyway,” I add quickly. “It matters what he thinks and how that might translate to him trying to kill me.”
“He won’t do that. Not when you’re under my protection.”
“Can you say the same of Celine?”
“Yes, I can. Celine is many things, but foolish isn’t one of them.”
“I disagree, not on her foolishness, but on her willingness to come at me. I’m good at reading people, Micah. She wants you. She hates me. No, she sees me as an existential threat to her place in your world.”
“She’s Nephilim. You don’t know our kind. Not yet.”
“I don’t need to have lived as a Nephilim to know her kind,” I assure him, thinking of the many people I’ve dealt with through my legal career. “She’d cut me if she got the chance, and she’s not a good selling point for Silas.”
“Silas can make his own case. He’s good at that.” He tugs me closer, and I hate how easily the touch rages like a wild river through me. “Just don’t kill him before he gets the chance,” he orders softly.
