Page 73 of Spark of the Everflame

“I saidnot now.” A growl, and a pause. “If Sophos can’t find something to match the rebels’ explosives, I’ll find someone else who will. I’ve got too much gold on the line with orders from Meros and Fortos to let anything get in the way of—”

“Father, there’s a healer here to see Evanie.”

A thunderous snarl. “Do I look like I care about a Kindred-damned healer, boy? Go find your mother.”

“But... um... Mother’s out having lunch at House Hanoverre.”

“Thenyouhandle it. What do you expect me to do, hold your hand and walk you to your sister’s room?”

“N-no, Father, I—”

“Then get out of my office. Unless King Ulther himself is at the door, don’t ever bother me during a meeting again.”

Another pause. Then, softly, “Yes, Father.”

Light footsteps moved toward the door. I sprinted down the hallway to the parlor, skidding back into place just as the boy reappeared.

Hurt and anger shone in his downcast eyes. Despite his earlier rudeness, a twinge of sympathy twisted my heart. With a father like that, it was no surprise the boy had turned out so dour.

He squinted as he studied my eyes. “I didn’t know there were any Descended healers in Lumnos.”

For once, I didn’t correct the assumption.

I shrugged. “My mother taught me. It’s an interesting way to pass the decades.”

That sounds like something a Descended would say, right?I wondered.

“What House are you?”

“Um... pardon?”

“Your House. What House are you from?”

My stomach dropped. I’d pieced together enough about Descended society to know they divided themselves up by family heritage, and the status of one’s clan determined their social rank—but other than the royal family of House Corbois, which even I would never be fool enough to claim, I couldn’t name a single Descended House if my life depended on it.

Which it might, in the very near future.Verynear.

“I live on the other side of town,” I said brightly, hoping he’d find me more stupid than suspicious. “Small home though.” I let out a low whistle. “Nowhere near this fancy.”

“Not your residence. Your House. What family do you belong to?”

Henri’s teasing voice drawled in my head.Think fast, Bellator.

I mustered my nastiest glare to rival the boy’s own. “You’re paying me by the minute, you know. Would you like to waste more of your father’s gold getting my life story, or can I get to my duties already?”

He paled at the mention of his father. “Very well. Follow me.”

I trailed him through the house, even managing to catch a peek into the room where I’d heard the voices earlier. Inside, two men reclined beside a mahogany desk piled with books and scattered papers. They spoke in voices too low to hear as they swirled a caramel-colored liquid in sparkling crystal tumblers. Neither man gave us so much as a glance as we passed.

We reached the end of a darkened hallway, and the boy came to a stop and turned awkwardly to me. “Evanie’s in here.”

My eyebrows lifted. He blinked at me in silence.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong with her?” I pressed.

“Isn’t that your job to figure out?”

I made no effort to hide my eyeroll as I brushed past him into the mammoth room, the size of which could have easily engulfed my family’s home. Missing were the candy colors and frivolous trimmings one might expect of a toddler’s room. Instead, the furnishings were muted, dreadfully somber, echoing the austere decor throughout the rest of the estate. Even the toys displayed in perfectly even lines on chest-high shelves were carved from bleached woods or painted in various hues of eggshell and ecru. It was elegantly beautiful—and utterly soulless.

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