Page 70 of Blood On His Lips

I know there is. You've been with me since I was a child. . .grooming me, though I wasn’t certain if I truly believed that anymore. . .you've been patient, kind. You taught me. You've kept me from falling apart more times than I can count, and when even that wasn’t enough, you were there guiding me on how to glue back the pieces.

I felt him listening. His macabre breadcrumbs diminished, forcing us to pause while I used the compass in my chest guiding me towards him.

We ran through District streets preternaturally quiet, lit poorly by the partially obscured moon.

I know there's good in you. This isn't you, Darkan—Raniel.

If I had handled him differently, perhaps these words would even be true. Theyweretrue. I—we—were just too late. He was Old. He could not be saved, only chained to his desire to indulge me. If he wished me to be happy, then he would have to curtail his worst impulses. Ihopedthat was how it would work.

Sweet halfling child.The distant affection in his voice gave me hope.I'm tempted to allow you to retain your naiveté a few years longer. But you drew the gaze of Nayya Gravenrose, and where the eye of one Ancient is cast, others soon follow. Now I have no time to indulge you. I know my mother—she will see you dead if she decides you are a threat. And my father. . .He fell silent.Assariel is a monster.

I cared nothing about his parents right now, though we’d both have to unpack our issues with our parents at some point. For now, Assariel and Nayya weren’t the monsters on-site destroying everything. Their son was.

We saw the stream of blood at the same time.

Numair grabbed my upper arm, though I’d already halted. We were in Faronne District, approaching our business square. Scarlet trickled in a steady flow through the paving stones, and as we inched forward, the compass in my chest heated, then sang with a silent ring of rightness.

Rightness.

There was nothing right about this carnage. The newly unveiled bond didn’t care, it only wanted its other half.

“Stay out of sight,” I said, though I held little hope that the Prince was unaware of Numair and Juliette.

Numair looked like he wanted to argue again, but they fell back. Once within eyesight of the Prince, they would be nothing but fodder, hostages to use against me.

I turned a corner and emerged into the green, suppressing the need to glance at my café to make sure the windows were dark and my employees had evacuated.

Renaud stood there in the center, next to a bench and a plot of yellow flowers washed gray in the clouded moonlight. His gray robes had dried, and remained unmarred by dirt or blood.

“Lady of Faronne.”

He wasn’t alone. I distanced myself, recognizing the Faronne tabard over leather armor. The male wasn’t alive. No one living could survive the loss of that much blood, and his throat. . .

I slowed, transferring my gaze from the warrior to Renaud. “Prince of Everenne.” I halted, bowed, the tinge of his amusement the only warmth in me.

My heart beat in my mouth and I let any emotion that would not serve me bleed onto the ground. I could not retreat to my iron box, not if I were to make Renaud think I would be his. A cloak would do. A velvet swath of calm concern, chagrined submission.

“My Prince.” I pitched my voice low, soft. “May I approach?”

“My hand is still held out to you, Aerinne. I admit being mine is bondage—I will not let you go. But you will not suffer. . .much. After I have addressed your recalcitrance.”

Raniel had never spoken to me like this, or Darkan. So many things had changed between us, and so many things remained the same. “Your hand is still wrapped around the throat of an innocent.”

He gave me a slight smile, none of that smile in his eyes. “What have I told you about innocents?”

“You know I won’t forsake the people.” I lifted my chin, stepped forward. “What is your price to release Everenne from this siege?”

Careful. I must carefully bait the trap. He would not believe the lie if I appeared to abandon my usual goal.

Renaud tossed the corpse aside, flicking his hand to rid himself of the chunk of torn out throat.

“Little halfling, how sweetly you don my chains. All I had to do was spend a few lives that meant nothing to you. You could not even hold out a day against me. How would you fare against someone who truly wished you harm? You cannot be so weak—you make every child, every animal, every flower a potential hostage.”

“You think the death of innocents means nothing to me?”

“No, Aerinne. I know you care. You care when you should not. These I killed? Whether they live or die is irrelevant to your goals. This weakness will destroy you.”

“Why do you want me then, if I am this weak, lowly thing?”

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