Evren's heart seemed to stop the moment his eyes met Azael's, staring down from his throne in the darkness.
He clenched his fists behind his back, one hand folded over the other.
What was the point of lying? Azael had probably overheard everything anyway.
"It's not…" Thorne started.
"I plead my case to speak without consequence, my lord," Evren interjected, briefly side-eying Thorne, who only turned his head slightly to look back at him.
Evren returned his gaze to Azael.
They both knew what he was about to admit could quickly escalate into a conflict.
"Speak," Azael said.
Of course, the vampire king was no coward.
Evren stepped past Thorne, stopping near the mosaic platform before Azael's throne.
The air seemed to thicken the instant his footsteps fell silent.
"Our Kingdom was attacked," Evren said. "Diana was gravely injured."
"Your prisoner?" Azael asked.
Evren's jaw tightened.
He knew better than to let even the slightest trace of temper show.
"She is no longer a prisoner to us," Evren replied. "Sirence was infiltrated for the first time after a century of dominance, and in the years I have known you—even before my transition from man to vampire—none of your enemies had ever been brave enough to breach your realm."
"And your observations borne from?" Azael asked again.
Evren hesitated.
It almost felt as though Thorne's silent objection weighed against his back.
He inhaled.
He could not pretend he wasn't seeing something wrong about that blind slave.
"I met the blind girl while she was already in your custody," Evren continued. "As a monarch, I have spent years observing the character of commoners…and of slaves."
"You believe you have a better understanding of deceptive humans than I do?" Azael asked.
Evren sighed inwardly.
This was never meant to become a challenge.
"I believe those at the bottom of the food chain possess the greatest capacity for desperation," Evren replied, swallowing. "And because of that every opportunity near class causes collapse. We never truly know what curse or affliction follows them from their past lives."
"Your jabs are intentional," Azael said. "Why conceal your true suspect?"
"Because I wasn't met with a flexible mind the first time I did, my lord," Evren replied.
"You dare manipulate me into entertaining your disrespect."
Evren lowered his gaze but refused to yield. It was either instinct or fear, and with the chaos surrounding them growing by the day, he could no longer ignore either.
His fists tightened.
"Perhaps an outsider's perspective may lead you to reconsider Elana's possible involvement in all this," Evren said. "In the end, she may obtain exactly what she wants because of the effect she has on you."
The cold scent of Wisteria suddenly enveloped him.
Evren looked up at once, meeting the narrowed gaze of Azael standing directly before him.
He instinctively stumbled back as Thorne's grip tightened around the hilt of his sword behind him.
"Your words had better not go stale," Azael said, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Evren.
Evren dropped to both knees, his fists clenched against his thighs and his head bowed.
His silence could cost more than his own life.
"I do not intend to come before you as though I were making a threat," he said stiffly. "I would never dare challenge the very source that has sustained my reign for decades. But concern is inevitable when an enemy unlike any we have faced lurks within the shadows of our trust."
"Coward," Azael hissed. "Your words turn on your confidence, yet you choose to blame a blind slave for your own careless compassion toward the rebellious forces within your kingdom."
Evren gritted his teeth.
Then he heard another body drop behind him.
He turned just enough to see Thorne kneeling on one knee, his head respectfully bowed.
"We are indeed cowards before your supremacy, my lord," Thorne said. "We would never meet your eyes and insinuate incompetence. We are unworthy of such arrogance. We only ask that you allow us to present our observations as allies rather than outsiders."
Evren's jaw remained tight as silence settled over the throne room.
"Speak," Azael finally said.
"Fen and his kind had only ever been confined to those lands until now," Thorne began. "None of the kingdoms surrounding Sirence—including Sirence itself—had ever reported a werewolf attack…until one occurred within the grounds of our own palace."
Evren felt Thorne's hesitation.
He knew how heavy the next words would be.
"The sole caretakers of Elana while she was in Sirence are dead as we speak," Thorne continued. "It's only fair that she and the others are properly interrogated at least because of the deceased's kindness."
"We would never insinuate a lack of sagacity on your part," Evren added. "We only ask that you allow us to share the burden, so you need not shoulder it alone.
"And our allegiance would serve you better than five hundred soldiers ever could," Thorne said.
The instant Azael vanished and reappeared upon his throne, Evren lifted his head.
"Your interrogation may proceed with Cara and the boy," Azael said. "Elana will remain under my questioning."
"Yes my lord," Thorne answered immediately.
Evren bowed once more, though a slight frown lingered on his face.
"Yes my lord."
**
Eira's irritation only deepened even as she stood behind the high rails of her private balcony overlooking the crowded tavern below.
Men and women filled the spacious hall beneath the warm glow of three antique square lanterns suspended from the ceiling, their intricate black frames casting soft light over the room while leaving much of the tavern shrouded in shadow.
Only Eira's inhuman vision could truly see the atrocities hidden within those pockets of darkness.
Rich timber tables were scattered throughout the hall, some surrounded by chairs, others standing alone.
Drunken patrons leaned across them, whispering, laughing, and exchanging intoxicated stories.
The scent of ale and spirits saturated the air.
On the stage, a dark-haired boy in his finest attire poured his heart into the violin, tapping his foot to the rhythm as a fiery-haired girl with bright green eyes played the piano before her.
Dressed in a light peach gown, she smiled as their melodies blended effortlessly together.
Their chemistry was convincing enough to enchant the crowd.
Eira scoffed and adjusted the crossed front of her long golden dress.
A slit veiled with transparent netting stretched from her pelvis over her smooth stomach before meeting the space between her elegantly covered breasts.
Of course they had to be believable.
She was paying them well enough.
She crossed the balcony and dropped into the rich wooden chair cushioned with soft peach fabric.
Crossing one leg over the other, she idly swung one foot in frustration.
Nothing she had planned had worked.
That slave girl had even possessed the audacity to mock her.
Frowning, Eira folded her arms across her chest, her fingers digging lightly into her sleeves.
What infuriated her the most was the thought that Fen might already be several steps ahead while she was still trying to bring even Zane under her influence.
Theo's information had proven useful, but she wanted to speak with the sorcerer herself. Unfortunately, hiding within Fen's territory was nearly impossible for any vampire, especially with those abominable hybrids patrolling his lands.
They would detect her immediately.
And Fen would have every excuse he needed to finally kill her.
Leaning further back into her chair, she stared absentmindedly across the tavern as she searched for another approach.
Could Theo's cowardly advice truly be the wise path?
"Mistress."
The familiar baritone voice of one of her guards pulled her from her thoughts.
She turned toward the balcony entrance where he stood, his broad frame filling the doorway, long brown hair resting over his shoulders.
"You had better have a good reason for interrupting me, Jelesh," Eira hissed.
"I would never interrupt without one," he replied with a faint smirk.
Eira scoffed again and looked away.
Managing these men often felt like managing oversized children.
"There's a young man downstairs," Jelesh continued. "He says his name is Zane?"
Eira immediately looked back at him.
"Bring him."
Jelesh nodded before disappearing through the doorway.
Excitement quickened Eira's heartbeat, and a smile tugged at her lips.
Finally.
Her plans were about to move beyond simple observation.
The music and cheers below swelled louder as a drunken man wearing a pointed hat was now dancing clumsily in the open space before the stage as the crowd roared with laughter.
Eira leaned back again with a slow breath.
This was one of the days she wouldn't have minded Azael's company.
Though the only tavern of hers he had ever agreed to visit lay far beyond these lands.
A glimmer from the nearest chandelier caught her attention and her gaze stayed on it.
What if she finally succeeded in conquering Azael?
What if the sorcerer could even make him desire her as desperately as she desired him?
"Eira."
She turned sharply to the voice, quickly concealing her shock at being distracted a second time as her eyes landed on Zane.
Zane stood at the entrance, leaning slightly on a polished wooden cane.
Though standing, he still looked weak from his injuries, sweat beading across his forehead as he struggled to remain upright.
Jelesh entered behind him carrying one of the tavern's chairs.
"Here you go, buddy," Jelesh said, setting it behind Zane.
"T-Thank you," Zane replied, glancing at Jelesh before carefully lowering himself into the chair.
Eira shifted her gaze toward Jelesh.
"You may leave."
"I'll be at my duty post if you need me," Jelesh replied with another smile that only further irritated her before finally leaving.
"I can't stay long," Zane said, resting one hand atop his cane.
"I was beginning to think you'd never change your mind," Eira replied, wanting to savor her small victory.
"If betraying Azael was so easy to you," Zane asked, "why didn't you do it to his face?"
Eira scoffed.
"Then you tell me what exactly brought you here," she said with a smirk. "It certainly wasn't courage replacing your cowardice."
Zane hesitated, turning toward the balcony rail.
His jaw tightened.
"I'm interested…" he began quietly, "…in the terms of your offer."
Eira's smile widened, determined to enjoy his misery a moment longer.
She looked away again.
"I'm a busy woman, Zane," she said. "I make many offers to people I consider disposable. Some I remember. Others I don't."
Without looking at him, she could still feel his stare fixed upon her.
Desperation had finally outweighed his pride.
"I need to…to become stronger," he admitted. "And I'm only doing this for Elana."
Eira looked at him with a feigned smile.
"How touching," she said. "Though I don't think that slave knows what's best for herself anymore."
"She's no longer a slave."
"Oh but she is," Eira smiled. "Only there might be a status change of her slaving away only in Azael's bedroom instead."
His eyes widened.
"That's not—"
"It doesn't matter whether it's true," Eira interrupted. "She'll certainly not have a choice where Azael is concerned."
Zane's jaw tightened further.
His fist slowly closed.
"That's why I'm here," he said. "To give Elana a choice."
"You mean to present yourself as one."
"I believe in doing the right thing."
"You're not surrendering your humanity to a supernatural creature for the right thing, Zane," Eira replied. "From this moment on, you will do as I command—whether it's right or wrong."
"I thought this was supposed to be a partnership," he answered. "I'm not giving up my humanity to serve anyone. If that's your condition…I'd rather die a man."
Eira's expression darkened.
"You can't turn back now."
"Then do your worst," Zane replied, groaning as he pushed himself to his feet. "One thing I know is that you secretly despise the way Azael chooses Elana over you. I'm not helping you achieve your personal obsession."
For one dangerous moment, Eira nearly snapped his neck where he stood.
A fragile human, barely healed.
Forced to lean upon a cane simply to remain standing.
But she needed him.
She needed Elana removed entirely from the board, and if matters ever unraveled, Zane would make the perfect scapegoat.
A pleasant smile returned to her face.
"I respect your decision," she said smoothly. "Now sit and allow my servants to bring you a fine glass of gin. It should ease your fatigue."
**
"All I ask is your guidance," the mage pleaded, standing with his arms spread in reverence before her.
The Tree witch was tempted to answer him.
Now more than ever, however, she had to be careful. Fen could never discover that she had healed the sorcerer, nor catch them speaking together.
A heavy thud broke the silence as the mage dropped to his knees, bowing his head until both hands rested against the cold forest floor.
"My first attempt at conquering a half-demon was a disaster," he said, his voice trembling. "It cost the lives of countless men…and my own freedom within the lands of Lumere."
"I possess nothing but my books and spells," he continued. "Fen demands the ritual be completed with such haste that it may very well cost me my life if I don't succumb to his urgency. How can…how can you
save a man only to abandon him?
Was it so Fen could kill me himself?"
He was not entirely wrong.
Fen could be careless.
Yet she needed them both if she was ever to reach the one she truly desired to conquer.
Azael.
She moved through her vines behind Syrus, who immediately jerked backward from his kneeling position and landed hard on his butt in the forest sand.
The scent of his fear mingled with his excitement beneath the pale moonlight.
"Proceed with the ritual," she said. "Any sorcerer bold enough to summon a demon must possess a heart that does not falter, even in the depths of the abyss."
"The ritual…" Syrus asked hesitantly, "…takes place in the abyss?"
"Transitions through it," she replied. "I require the essence of an infant—the purest of human blood. Bury your fear and obey Fen without hesitation. His body will remain a suitable vessel for only a short while before I possess it completely."
Syrus immediately returned to his knees.
"My questions…"
"Keep them," she said coldly. "And make progress with the reason I spared your life. Curiosity is a luxury you can't afford."
"Prove first that you are a mage who has stood worthy before a demon. Only then will you earn the answers you seek."
"I…I could die," Syrus stammered. "My books of spells say—"
Her patience ended, and her vines burst from the earth beneath him.
Before Syrus could utter another word, they coiled around both his arms, yanking them out from under him and slamming the side of his face into the dirt.
"Please…spare me," he pleaded, his voice muffled beneath the immovable pull of the vines forcing him deeper into the earth.
"Make no mistake," the Tree witch said, her voice dropping colder than the night itself. "I will kill you far faster than Fen ever could."
"Y-Yes," Syrus gasped, desperately nodding as dust filled his lungs beneath the relentless pressure.
Only then did the vines release him.
He remained kneeling, coughing into the forest floor.
"For now," she said, retreating into the bark of her skin, "this shall be the last time we speak."