Page 123 of The Sins of Silas

The words of Ryia La’Rune came to me, visions of the painting in Castle La'Rune seizing my mind.

Death by a lover's fire.

I frowned.

Only through fire can the phoenix be reborn from the ashes.

I thought surely that was a coincidence until I remembered the name of the piece.

Rebirth.

I sucked in a breath, not wanting to appear crazy and have another outburst like before.

Rebirth…could that painting have somehow symbolized the awakening of the God of Rebirth? Ryia had mentioned it was a painting commissioned here. What was the artist's name? Did the artist know something? Or was it simply just a painting inspired by ancient myths?

And why, once again, was there a hint residing in Otacia?

I exhausted an exhale as I dismounted Donut. When I glanced at Merrick, who looked at me in question, I shook my head. Theories could wait until later. Surviving this encounter was all I should focus on.

My eyes flicked up to the blackbird perched atop the stone gargoyle looming above. Viola.

We walked up the steps to the front entrance of the castle, Viola watching us closely just as the fly buzzing around us zoomed inside.

Elowen was stiff as she walked beside me. I brushed her arm in comfort, and she gave me a worried smile. Edmund's gloved hand was around her hip, and his boots were effectively hiding his enchanted limb. Of course, all of us Mages were glamoured.

The inside of the castle matched its outside: bare, grey brick, cream floors, and warm sconces. The walls of the hallway we were led down were lined with Faltrun's flag, art pieces that probablycost thousands of gold pieces, and knight armor that stood menacingly. Less of a modern feel like Otacia's castle.

Wooden doors before us creaked as the guards guiding us flung them open, leading us into a banquet hall.

My jaw dropped at the sight of the long table—big enough to seat maybe thirty people. On it was a spread of enough food to feed an army: soups, breads, and pies. Vegetables, pastries, and every meat imaginable. There was a pig's head, for fuck's sake.

At the back of the room was an elevated throne, a man sitting sloppily in it. We walked past the table as we approached him, and my mouth watered. No one else was in this room except for two guards on either side of the King.

Who is this feast for?

“The Prince of Otacia,” Dimitri drawled as we approached, rotating the silver goblet in his hand as he eyed Silas. “What is your excuse for blessing us with your presence?”

His long, frizzy hair was jet-black. His ice-blue eyes popped against his tanned skin, and they were half-lidded, suggesting that the man had consumed a bit too much alcohol or perhaps a substance of some kind.

He didn’t appear old, perhaps in his late thirties, but his skin showed signs of aging, the bags under his eyes more prominent than expected for a man his age.

At Silas's pause, Dimitri's eerie grin grew, and he gestured to the banquet table. “Come—sit. You must be famished from your travels. We were just setting up a feast to celebrate our recent triumph.”

Silas's brows lowered. “Oh? And what is that?”

Dimitri stood, swaying slightly. “All good things to those who wait,” he insisted, raising a finger. He slowly paced to the head ofthe table, the guards escorting him and watching closely in case they needed to grasp his arms to prevent him from collapsing.

The guard to his right hauled out his chair, but I noticed that his eyes remained on me. He was handsome, so much so that it seemed bizarre seeing him stand behind this King. He was older, probably in his forties, but his skin was smooth, nothing but the crinkles of his eyes giving away his age.

Dimitri Cortev plopped himself down, chugging the remainder of his drink as we all took a seat.

“I come to seek an alliance with Faltrun," Silas said in the drawn-out silence from his spot at the table, eyes hardened on the drunken King. None of us dared to touch any food.

Dimitri's vile smile grew slowly until he was in a full drunken laugh. “You and what army?” His eyes widened, his bright blue eyes piercing as he continued in a mocking tone. “You're a witch sympathizer now, is that it?” His gaze danced over us all. “Do you travel with any now?”

Silas's frown deepened. “No,” he lied.

The guard to his right would not stop staring at me, his green eyes almost wide. Almost. He was doing his best to school his expression, but I could see through it.

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