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“I’d bite off your fingers.” I snap my teeth at him, which doesn’t dissuade him at all. “So, what should I expect tomorrow at the Dark Sithe?”
He leans back in his chair. “Deception. The Dark Sithe values secrets above all else. They collect them like treasures.”
“They’d get along with demons.”
“They would.” Caelan’s lips thin. “Given the chance, they will strip away your secrets one by one until nothing remains. Then they will rebuild you as they see fit.”
The food turns heavy in my stomach. “You think they did this to Elionn?”
His fingers tighten around the goblet. “I pray to the moon it has not gone so far.”
Appetite fading, I push my plate away.
As I do, movement catches in the corner of my eye, and I turn my head to stare at the blanket over the mirror. The material hangs motionless, but I could have sworn it rippled, and the sensation of being watched crawls across my skin, raising the fine hairs on my arms.
“You leave at dawn.” Caelan sets the wineglass down and rises from his chair. “Try to get some rest. You will need your wits about you.”
At the door, Caelan pauses, his fingers lingering on the handle. The silver of his rings catches the blue firelight, throwing tiny stars across the wall.
He turns back to me, shedding some of his princely formality. “How have you been, Amalia Wolf?”
I blink, caught off guard by the shift. No one asks how I’ve been. At least, not anyone with an actual interest in the answer.
“Busy, but staying alive.”
He moves back toward me, leaving the door closed but not returning to his seat. Instead, he leans against the fireplace. “Tell me.”
The command should irritate me, but the wine has loosened my tongue. Or, at least, that’s what I tell myself.
“I’ve been hunting demons who slip through the cracks between planes. Earlier, I was tracking a glasscrawler.” I lift the wine glass and imagine it still holds the warmth of his lips as I take a sip. “It feeds on fear.”
His silver eyebrows arch. “Did you kill it?”
“I was about to when you interfered.” I tap my fingers on the goblet. “Before that, I harvested three akuzal hearts with a small team of mercenaries.”
“Akuzal?” Curiosity brightens his eyes. “Those are rare.”
“Maybe here. They’re all over the demon plane. Just have to let off some magic, and they come running.” I can’t resist bragging a little. “You have to get them onto their backs and take out their underbellies to get to the heart. Made a small fortune even after the split with the rest of the team.”
Caelan remains still as I speak, a trait I’d forgotten about the fae princes. When they focus, they become statues, their fascination betrayed only by the intensity of their attention.
“I also collected rare dirt from the Black Mountains.” I lean back in my chair, stretching my legs under the table. “It’s the only remaining home of ignis demons. They don’t really mind it being collected, but you have to survive the Wastelands to reach it first.”
The moonstone pulses at my throat as I speak, growing warmer with each story I share. Can Elionn somehow hear these tales through our connection? Does the stone carry my voice to wherever he’s imprisoned?
Caelan pushes away from the wall to move closer. “What else?”
I roll my shoulders in a stretch to dispel stiffness grown from days of hard travel and fighting on too little rest. “I’ve collected a few new scars. Got caught by a shapeshifter’s claws in Bluestone Valley. Another from a knife fight in a bar where the bouncer turned out to be a soul-eater.”
His eyes drop, searching for evidence of these wounds through my clothing. “Can I see them?”
My pulse quickens at the request, arching a brow in challenge. “Really?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation.
The blue flames in the hearth flare higher, casting shifting shadows across the floor, and the temperature in the room rises by several degrees.
My tongue skims my lower lip as I stand, and my fingers find the hem of my shirt. “This one’s the worst.”
