All I could do was stare at Ash as what he said echoed over and over in my head. Denial immediately rose because of what it meant. I wanted to latch onto that denial, but Ash had said at the lake that not all Primals had been the first.
I’d just never thought he was referring to the Primal of Death.
My thoughts whirled. “Your…your father was the Primal of Death? He made the deal?”
“He did.” Ash stared down at his nearly empty glass. “My father was many things.”
Was.
“And he died?”
“It is not often that a Primal dies. The loss of a being so powerful can create a ripple effect that can even be felt in the mortal realm. Could even set in motion an event that has the potential to unravel the fabric that binds our realms together.” He swished the remaining liquid in his glass. “The only way to prevent that from occurring is having their power—their eather
—transferred to another who can withstand it.” His hand stilled. “That is what happened when my father died. All that was his transferred to me. The Shadowlands. The Court. His responsibilities.”
“And me?” I asked hoarsely.
“And the deal he made with Roderick Mierel.”
I exhaled roughly as the strangest burst of emotions blasted through me. There was definitely relief because if that deal hadn’t transferred to Ash, there would be no way to stop the Rot. But then I realized that if it hadn’t transferred, the deal would’ve been severed in favor of Lasania at the time of the Primal’s death. It hadn’t. Obviously, it had moved to Ash. And what I felt wasn’t relief. It was an emotion I didn’t want to acknowledge—and couldn’t.
He hooked one leg over the other. “Drink, liessa. You look like you need
it.”
I needed an entire bottle of whiskey to get through this conversation, but I took a healthy swallow. I was surprised that I actually did it. Something occurred to me as I placed the glass on the table. “You said there were Primals younger than some of the gods. You were talking about you, weren’t you?” When he nodded, my grip tightened. “Were you…were you even alive when he made the deal?” Immediately, I wished I hadn’t asked because if he hadn’t been, and he now had to die for something his father did…it made it all the worse.
“I had just gone through the Culling—a certain point in our lives where our body begins to go into maturity, slowing our aging and intensifying our eather. I was…” His lips pursed. “Probably a year or so younger than you are now.”
Hearing that he had at least been alive didn’t make it better at all. He’d been my age. What he’d said in the Great Hall came back to me. Choice ends today, and for that, I am sorry. Gods. It wasn’t just the loss of my choice but his, too. He hadn’t chosen this. I felt like I would be sick.
His head tilted. “You’re surprised?”
I tensed. “Are you reading my emotions?”
“A bit of your shock got through my walls, but they’re up.” His gaze met mine. “I swear.”
I believed him because staying out of my emotions would be a kind and decent thing to do.
I took another drink. “Of course, I’m surprised. By a lot. You’re really not as old as I thought you were.”
A dark eyebrow rose. “Is there a difference between two hundred years and two thousand to a mortal?”
Had he not asked the same while we’d been at the lake? “Yes. As bizarre as that may sound, there is a difference. Two hundred years is a long time, but two thousand is unfathomable.”
Ash didn’t respond to that, which allowed me time to try and make sense of all of this—of why his father would do this. “Your mother…?”
That eyebrow climbed more. “You say that as if you’re not sure that I had one.”
“I figured you did.”
“Good. I was afraid for a moment that you might believe I was hatched from an egg.”
“I really don’t know how to respond to that,” I muttered. “Were your parents not together?”
“They were.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it before trying again. “And did they… like each other?”
His chin lowered. “They loved each other very much, from what I recall.”
“Then I’m sure you understand why I’m even more confused that your father would’ve asked for a Consort when he already had one.”
“He no longer had one when he made that deal,” Ash corrected quietly. “My mother…she died during the birthing.”
My lips parted as sorrow rose within me—sadness I didn’t want to feel for him. I tried to shut it down, but I couldn’t. It sat on my chest like a boulder.
“Don’t apologize.” He stretched his neck from side to side. “I don’t tell you this to make you feel sorry for me.”
“I know,” I said, clearing my throat. I resisted the urge to ask how they’d died. I wanted to know, but instinct told me the more I knew about their deaths, the harder it would be for me to do what I must. “This is why you never collected on the deal.”
“You never consented to it.”
The ball of tension inside my chest tightened even further when it should’ve loosened. As did the knowledge that he hadn’t been the one to make the deal that had made me what I was today. A killer. A deal that had taken away every choice I could make. A deal that had set my life on a path that would ultimately end with the loss of my life.
But, gods, I wished he had. Because I could hold onto that. I could convince myself that he was getting what was coming to him. I could justify my actions.
“You didn’t consent, either,” I stated flatly, looking up at him.
He watched me in that intense way of his. His gaze flicked away. “No, I did not.”
I looked down at my drink, no longer feeling as if I would be sick. Instead, I felt like I wanted to cry. And, gods, when had I cried last? “Do you know why your father asked for a Consort?”
“I have asked that question myself a thousand times.” Ash laughed, but there was no humor to the sound. “I have no idea why he did it. Why he
would ask for a mortal as a Consort. He died loving my mother. It made no sense.”
It really didn’t, which made all of this so much more frustrating. “Why didn’t you come to me at any point and tell me this?” I asked. It wouldn’t have changed anything, but maybe it could have? Perhaps we could have found another way.
“I considered it—more than once—but the less contact I had with you, the better. That is why Lathan often watched over you.”
Watched over me? “The one who was killed?”
“He was a…trusted guard,” he said, and I caught that he did not refer to him as a friend then. “He knew about the deal my father made, and he knew I had no intention of fulfilling it. But that didn’t mean that others wouldn’t learn that a mortal had been promised as my Consort. Either because of your family speaking about the deal, or because you were marked at birth, born in a shroud because of the deal.”
My breath caught as a shiver danced along the nape of my neck.
“And that mark, while unseen by mortals and most, can be felt at times. That would make some curious about you.” Ash drew his booted foot off the table. “It was Lathan who noticed the gods’ activity in Lasania—the ones we saw that night.”
“The ones that killed the Kazin siblings and the child? Andreia?”
“There was some concern that they may have felt this mark and were searching for it.”
My stomach hollowed. “You think they died because of me? Because they were looking for me?”
“At first, possibly.” He tapped his fingers on his knee. “But who they killed never really made sense or fit a pattern, other than the possibility that they all might’ve had a god perched somewhere on their family trees. That’s the only thing I could figure out. They weren’t true godlings, but they could’ve been descendants of a god.”
“Godlings?” I repeated, brows pinching.
“The offspring of a mortal and a god,” he explained. “If a godling then has a child with a mortal, that child would carry some mark upon them, too, but they would not be a godling.”
I understood then. Children could be born of a mortal and a god but it was rare—or at least that was what I’d believed. “I haven’t heard them called that before.”
“It is a term we use. Some of them will have certain godly abilities, depending on how powerful the parentage is. Most godlings live in Iliseeum,” he continued, his lips pursed. “Only the seamstress was someone you seemed to have had any contact with. And as far as we know, what was done to her wasn’t done to the others.”
There was a little relief there. I didn’t want their blood on my hands. There was already enough. “The Kazin siblings? Magus? Apparently, he was a guard, but I don’t know if I ever saw him or if he was even stationed at Wayfair.”
A thoughtful look crept into Ash’s face. “Still, if you did not know him nor the seamstress well, I don’t see how their deaths are related to you.”
I didn’t either. But it also seemed…too close to me. “Have you found out anything more related to what was done to Andreia?”
“Nothing. No one has heard of such a thing, even a mortal with the possibility of a god somewhere in their family line. And, yes, I find the lack of information to be beyond frustrating.”
It must not be often that a Primal couldn’t figure something out.
Another thought rose. “Was Lathan mortal?”
The breath Ash let out was long. “He was a godling. I should’ve corrected your assumption.”
But would it have been necessary? Godling or mortal, a life was a life. “How did he die?”
“He tried to stop them.” His features were unreadable as he stared out the balcony doors. “He was overpowered and outnumbered. He knew better, but he did it anyway.” Ash finished his drink. “Either way, I didn’t come to you because I didn’t want to risk revealing you to those who would seek to use you.”
“Your enemies?” I asked. “Do those gods serve the Court of a Primal who likes to push you?”
“They do.”
“But why would any Primal or god believe that what happens to me would sway you?”
“Why wouldn’t they? They would not have known my intentions regarding you, especially if they had no knowledge of the deal my father made.” His gaze cut to me. “They would have no reason not to believe you were important to me.”
He was right.
I realized in that moment that I’d spent a lifetime believing that the Primal of Death was a cold, apathetic being because of what he represented. I’d been wrong. Ash wasn’t either of those things. He knew that each death left a mark. He understood the power of choice. I even thought of what Aios had said. That there had to be a reason she felt safe with him and trusted him. Ash cared, and I was willing to bet there was more than one decent bone in his body.
And none of that helped. At all.
My duty was bigger than me—than what I felt. But it hadn’t been him who’d forced that duty upon me.
“Thank you,” I whispered, and the words still felt strange on my lips.
They hurt a little this time.
His gaze returned to me. “For what?”
I let out a short laugh. “For having that one decent bone in your body.”
A faint smiled appeared. “Are you hungry? I know the cooks sent up some soup, but I can have more of whatever you want made.”
I wished he’d refuse me food. “I’m fine.” I dragged my finger over the beveled edges of the glass. Another question rose from the endless cyclone of them. “Are there any…consequences for you?” A surprising, unwanted and wholly hypocritical dose of concern blossomed within me. “I mean, from what I understand of the deals, they require fulfillment from all parties involved.”
“There are no consequences, Sera.”
I eyed him. He’d answered without hesitation. Maybe even too quickly, but that wasn’t a concern of mine. At all. “How long had Lathan been keeping an eye on me?”
“It wasn’t until the last three years, when you were more…active,” he told me. “Does it make you angry to know that?”
It was really weird to know that someone had been keeping an eye on me without my knowledge. Of course, I didn’t like it, but it wasn’t that simple. “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I don’t know if I should feel angry or not.” However, it did make me think of all the weird and dumb things Lathan could have witnessed. But it made sense that there would’ve been no need to keep an eye on me before the night of my seventeenth birthday. Before then, I’d only ever left Wayfair to travel into the Dark Elms outside
of a few, rare occasions. “Why did you have him do that? You didn’t know me. You didn’t make the deal. You have no obligation to me.”
“That’s a good question.” Ash’s thundercloud-hued eyes drilled into mine. “Maybe if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been there that night to stop you from attacking those gods. They would’ve killed you. And, perhaps, that would’ve been a better fate for you.”
Ice drenched my skin as he continued holding my stare. Air thinned in my chest.
“Because now here we are. You’re in the Shadowlands. And soon, you will be known as the Consort,” Ash said. “My enemies will become yours.”
 |
Sleep came surprisingly easy after Ash left, leaving me with even more questions. I expected to do nothing but lay in bed and dwell on everything he’d shared, but either I was exhausted, or I simply wanted to escape everything I’d discovered. I slept deeply, and it felt like a long time before I woke. I had no idea how many hours had passed. The sky was the same shade of gray, still full of stars, but a dull twinge had taken up residence in my upper shoulders. When I checked them in the standing mirror, the wounds appeared significantly less red and swollen. Whatever was in that balm Ash had used was a miracle.
Cinching the sash on my robe, I walked to the balcony doors and opened them. The gray sky was full of stars and no clouds as I walked to the railing overlooking the canopy of blood-colored leaves and the twinkling lights of the city beyond.
I’d learned so much that my thoughts raced from one thing to the next, but they kept coming back around.
Ash hadn’t made the deal.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I closed my eyes as I gripped the railing. It had been his father, for reasons known only to him. A great bit of unease still festered in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t right that Ash should pay with his life for what his father had done. It wasn’t right that I would also pay with mine.
Nothing about this was fair.
The smooth stone pressed into my palms as I continued to squeeze the railing. Nothing had changed, though. It couldn’t. The Rot had to be stopped, and Ash…he was the Primal of Death, the one who now held the deal. I had to fulfill my duty. If I didn’t, Lasania would fall. People would continue dying. There would be more families like the Coupers, no matter who took the Crown.
Was one life more important than tens of thousands? Millions? Even if it was a Primal? But what would happen if I managed to succeed? If he fell in love with me, and I became his weakness, what kind of wrath would his death force upon the realms? How many lives would be lost until another Primal took his spot?
A Primal that didn’t have a kind and decent bone in their body. Who didn’t think highly of freedom and consent. A Primal who didn’t interfere when others took delight in violence. Who didn’t care about murdered descendants that carried some small trace of godly blood within them.
“Gods,” I whispered, stomach twisting. How could I…how could I do this? How could I hide this mess of emotion from him, stop it from piercing whatever walls he had built around himself?
How could I not?
The people of Lasania were more important than my distaste of what I must do. They were more important than Ash. Than me.
Opening my eyes, I jerked back from the railing as movement from the courtyard below snagged my attention. I scanned the ground, breath catching as I recognized Ash’s tall, broad form. Even from a distance, I knew it was him. A breeze moved across the courtyard, tossing the loose strands of his hair around his shoulders. His strides were long and sure as he walked alone, heading toward the cluster of the dark red trees.
What was he doing?
A knock on the door drew me from my thoughts. Knowing it wasn’t Ash, habit had me reaching for my thigh, but there was no dagger there. No real weapon at all. I went to the door, only to discover that it was Aios.
She flowed into the room with clothing draped over her arm. “Glad you’re awake,” she said. “We were starting to worry. You’ve been asleep for a day.”
A day?
I blinked as a younger man entered behind her, bowing his head in my direction before placing a covered dish and a glass on the table. The aroma
of food reached me, stirring my nearly empty stomach. He kept his head down, and most of his face was hidden behind a sheet of blond hair. Aios made a beeline for the wardrobe, throwing it open as I watched him turn to leave, noticing that he favored his right leg over his left. It wasn’t until he was closing the door behind him that he looked up, and I saw that his eyes were brown and there was no glow of eather in them.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d like to eat,” Aios said. “So, I had a little bit of everything made. Please eat before it gets cold.”
Somewhat in a daze, I roamed over to the table and lifted the cloche to reveal a mound of fluffy eggs, a few strips of bacon, a biscuit, and a small bowl of fruit. I stared at the food for several moments, unable to remember the last time I’d had warm eggs. I sat slowly, my gaze falling to the glass of orange juice. For some reason, the back of my throat burned. I closed my eyes, wrangling my emotions. It was just warm eggs and bacon. That was all. When I was positive that I had control of myself, I opened my eyes and slowly picked up the fork. I tasted the eggs and nearly moaned. Cheese. There was melted cheese in them. I nearly devoured the entire mound in less than a minute.
“You’ll be happy to know that I was able to find some clothing for you,” Aios said as she hung the items inside the wardrobe.
Forcing myself to slow down, I looked over my shoulder at her. I thought of the glow in her eyes. “You’re a goddess, right?”
Aios faced me with a quizzical lift to her brows. “On most days.”
I cracked a grin. “And the young man that was just here. Is he a…a godling?”
She shook her head as she turned back to the wardrobe, hanging what appeared to be a gray sweater. “Have you ever met a godling?”
“Not that I know of,” I admitted, thinking of Andreia. “I don’t know much about them.”
“What would you like to know?” she said, turning from the wardrobe. “Everything.”
Aios laughed softly, the sound warm and airy. “Finish eating, and I’ll tell you.”
For once, I didn’t mind being told what to do. I broke apart the toasted, buttery biscuit as Aios said, “Most godlings are mortal. They carry no essence of the gods in them. Therefore, they live and die just like any other mortal.”
I thought of how Ash had said that most godlings lived in Iliseeum. “Do they typically reside in the mortal realm?”
“Some do. Others choose to live in Iliseeum. But for those who carry the eather in their blood, it’s usually because their mother or father was a powerful god. That eather is passed down to them.”
Was that the case for the Kazin siblings? One of them, or maybe even the babe, had enough eather in them to make them a godling? The babe with the missing father? Or did they just have a trace? Either way, why would the gods kill them?
“For the first eighteen to twenty years of life, they live relatively mortal lives,” she continued, snapping my attention back to her. “They may not even know that they carry the blood of the gods in them. But they soon will.”
“The Culling?” I guessed, picking up a slice of bacon.
She nodded. “Yes. They will begin to go through the Culling. That is when some learn that they are not completely mortal.”
My brows lifted. “That would be one hell of a way to find out.”
“That it would be.” Her head tilted, sending several long locks of red hair cascading over a shoulder. “But for most, they don’t survive the change. You see, their bodies are still mortal. And as the Culling sets in, and the eather in them begins to multiply and grow, infiltrating every part of them, their bodies can’t facilitate such a process. They die.”
“That…” I shook my head as I dropped the slice of bacon back onto the plate. “The eather sounds like a weed growing out of control in their bodies.”
Aios let out a surprised laugh. “I suppose that is one way to look at it. Or maybe, for some, a beautiful garden. Those who survive the Culling will then age much, much slower than mortals. Basically, for every three or so decades a mortal lives, it is equivalent to one year for a godling.”
What mortal lived to a hundred? Odetta had to have been close. “That sounds like immortality to me.”
“Godlings can live for thousands of years if they’re careful. They are susceptible to very few illnesses. But they’re not as…impervious to injuries as the gods and Primals are,” she explained. “For that reason, most godlings who survive the Culling live in Iliseeum.”
That made sense. A five-hundred-year-old person who looked as if they were twenty would definitely draw attention. That was also probably why
we believed that the children of mortals and gods—godlings—were rare. A thought struck me, causing my stomach to twist. “Can Primals and mortals have children?”
She shook her head. “A Primal is an entirely different being in that way.”
I took a drink of the juice to hide my relief. It could take months…or even years to fulfill my duty. I didn’t want to bring a child into this only to leave them orphaned like Ash had been.
Like, in some ways, I had been.
My hand trembled slightly as I placed the glass down. “So how do some survive, while others don’t?”
“It all depends on whether a god assisted the godling,” she said, reaching up to toy with the chain around her neck. “That is the only way a godling survives.”
“And how would a god assist them?”
She grinned, a mischievous sort of look filling her golden eyes. “You may find such information to be quite scandalous.”
“Doubtful,” I murmured.
Aios laughed again. “Well, all right, then.” The hem of her flared sweater swished around her knees as she drifted closer. “They need to feed from a god.”
I leaned forward. “I assume you do not mean the type of food I just consumed?”
“No.” Her grin spread as she lifted a finger to her rosy lips. She tapped a fingernail off one delicate fang. “They do not grow these, but they will need blood. Quite a bit of it at first. And then, every so often once the Culling is complete.”
“Do all gods need to feed?” I asked. “Like that?” She sat on the chair opposite me. “Yes.”
My stomach tumbled a bit. I’d obviously known that they could…bite, but I hadn’t known it was something they had to do.
A bit of her smile faded. “Does that bother you?”
“No,” I said quickly. “I mean, the idea of drinking blood makes me a little nauseous.”
“As it would for most who are not like us.”
But I…I also remembered the scrape of Ash’s fangs against my skin. I felt myself flush. “Do you all feed off mortals?”
Aios arched a brow as she watched me. “We can. It does the same for us as feeding off a god would.”
My gaze flicked back to Aios’s beautiful face. Who did Ash feed from? “Are Primals the same?”
“They do not need to feed unless they’ve experienced some sort of weakening.” Her fingers returned to the chain. “Which isn’t often.”
“Oh,” I murmured, not exactly thrilled with the buzz of relief I felt. Something occurred to me. “Does anything happen to the mortal when a Primal or god feeds off them?”
“No. Not if we’re careful. Obviously, a mortal may feel the effects of the feeding more than any of us would, and if we were to take too much, then…well, it would be a tragedy if they were not third sons or daughters.” Her lips tensed. “It’s forbidden to Ascend them—to save them.”
Curiosity trickled through me. “Why?”
Tension bracketed her mouth. “They would become what we call demis
—a being with godlike power that was never meant to carry such a gift… and burden. They are something else.”
I frowned, thinking that wasn’t much of an answer.
“But to answer your original question,” she continued, changing the subject, “the young man who was in here? His name is Paxton, and he’s completely mortal.”
So many more questions flooded me. Surprise flickered through me. “What is a mortal doing here?”
“Many mortals live in Iliseeum,” she told me, and it was clear that she thought that was common knowledge.
“Are they all…lovers?” I fiddled with the sash on the robe, thinking Paxton appeared far too young for that.
“Some have befriended a god or became their lover.” She lifted a shoulder. “Others have talents that appealed to one of the gods. For many of them, coming to Iliseeum was an opportunity to start over. Their paths are all different.”
An opportunity to start over. My heart skipped. Wouldn’t that be nice? I glanced down at my plate. There was no starting over, no other paths. There never had been.
“May I ask you something?” Aios asked, and I looked up, nodding. “Did you know?” She had come closer, her voice lower. “About the deal, before he came for you?”
“I did.”
“Still, that must’ve been a lot to deal with.” Aios clasped her hands together. “To know you had been promised to a Primal.”
“It was, but I learned a while ago that if you can’t deal with something, you find a way to do so,” I said. “You have to.”
A far-off look crept into Aios’s features as she nodded slowly. “Yes, you have to.” She cleared her throat, rising abruptly and making her way to the wardrobe. “By the way, I was able to find two gowns that I believe will fit. But Nyktos mentioned that you preferred pants over gowns.”
I rose slowly and tentatively walked forward. He’d thought enough to mention that to Aios?
“I couldn’t get my hands on any tights, but these breeches should fit you.” Aios tugged on a pair of fawn-colored pants and then on a black pair she’d hung. “I hope these are sufficient.”
“Actually, I prefer them over tights. They’re thicker and have pockets.”
She nodded, flipping through the items she’d hung. “You have some long-sleeved blouses, vests, and sweaters. They’re a bit plain,” she said, running a hand over something silky and pale. “There are two nightgowns here for you and some basic undergarments. I imagine you’ll soon have many more items to choose from.” Turning to me, she once again folded her hands. “Is there anything else you need?”
I opened my mouth, reluctant to let her leave. I’d spent the vast majority of my life alone and left to my own devices. But this room was huge, and nothing about it was familiar. I shook my head.
Aios had just started for the door when I stopped her. “I do have one more question.”
“Yes?”
“Are you from the Shadowlands Court?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I once belonged to the Court of Kithreia.”
It took me a moment to recall what I had learned about the different Courts. “Maia,” I said, surprising myself by remembering the name of the Primal of Love, Beauty, and Fertility’s Court. “You served the Primal Maia?”
“At one time.”
Curiosity buzzed within me. I hadn’t known that any gods left the Primal they were born to serve. “How did you end up here?”
Her shoulders tensed. “As I mentioned before, it was the only place I knew would be safe.”
Feeling unsettled, I didn’t stop her as she left. While I took some comfort in knowing she felt safe here, I couldn’t help but wonder how secure it could truly be when those who liked to push the Primal of Death had strung those gods to the wall.
That was around the time I realized that Ash hadn’t told me who had done that to the gods.
I turned back to the wardrobe. The undergarments were nothing more than scraps of lace that I imagined most would find indecent. I flipped past the gowns and found a narrow leather strap beside the remaining clothing. I grabbed a sweater and breeches and changed into them.
After locating a comb and spending an inordinate amount of time working out the numerous knots in my hair, I braided it, recalling Ash’s words about hair that looked like spun moonlight.
That was such a silly thing to say.
Returning to the bedchamber, I found myself staring at the chamber door.
Was I locked in my room?
Oh, gods, if they’d imprisoned me, I would—I didn’t even know what I would do, but it would probably involve finding the closest blunt object and knocking Ash over the head with it.
My heart hammered as I went to the door, bare feet whispering over the cool stone. I placed my hand on the brass knob. I took a deep breath and turned.
It wasn’t locked.
Relief shuddered through me, and I opened the door—
I gasped. A light-haired and fair-skinned god stood in the middle of the hall, facing my room. He was dressed as before, in black adorned with silver scrollwork across the chest, a short sword strapped to his side.
“Ector,” I squeaked. “Hi.” “Hello.”
“Can I help you with something?”
He shook his head, remaining exactly where he stood, feet planted in the center of the hall like an unmovable tree.
Wait…
I inhaled sharply. “I doubt you’re standing there because you have nothing better to do, correct?”
“I have many, many better things I could be doing,” he replied. “And yet, you’re standing guard outside my chamber?”
“Sure appears that way.”
Anger simmered, threatening to boil over. What good did an unlocked door do when he placed a guard outside my room? “You’re here to make sure I don’t leave my chambers.”
“I’m here for your safety,” Ector corrected. “I’ve also heard you tend to wander off into dangerous areas.”
“I don’t have a habit of roaming.”
“I’m sorry. Maybe I misheard and it’s that you have a habit of entering places without making sure they’re secure.”
“Oh, well, now I know you spoke to Ash.”
“Ash?” Ector repeated. His brows rose. “I didn’t know you two were on that kind of name basis.”
And he wasn’t? I am not that to you. That was what Ash had said when I’d called him Nyktos.
I blew out an aggravated breath. It didn’t matter. “If I wanted to leave my room right now, would you stop me?”
“At the moment, yes.” “Why?”
“Because if something were to happen to you, I imagine Nyktos would probably be displeased.”
“Probably?” Ector shrugged.
“What about later?” I demanded.
“That will be different, and we would have to see.”
“Have to see?” I laughed harshly. Unbelievable. “Where is he?” “He’s busy at the moment.”
“And I imagine he can’t be interrupted?” Ector nodded.
“So, what am I supposed to do?” I asked. “Stay in my room until he isn’t busy?”
“I’m not entirely sure what you’re supposed to do.” Amber eyes met mine. “And to be honest, I don’t think even he knows what to do with you.”
