Page 570 of Flirting with Darkness

She let out a melodic laugh, like tiny bells.

“You should see your face.” She grinned wider when he met her gaze. “You do look so like him, you know, but for one thing. Fortunately or unfortunately for you, that one thing is absolutely critical however, and makes you look nothing whatsoever like him at all.”

“And whatone thingis that, dear sister?” he asked flatly.

“The sheer transparency of your emotion.” She aimed a finger in a lazy circle at his face. “You’ll need to work on that, dear brother mine, if you plan to survive in this viper’s nest. This ‘lion’s den,’ as you call it. The court intrigues will rip you apart. Not a one of them wouldn’t be willing to eat their own children if it would gain them more political fame and power. Father himself will exploit any weakness mercilessly, I’m afraid. Like I said… he simply cannot help himself. It is his nature.”

“To be a snake-minded, manipulative devil?” Ghost retorted.

“He is a lion,” she said simply. “You said it yourself. Lions hunt.”

Ghost stared at her blankly.

Then he burst out in a humorless laugh.

“What utter poppycock––” Ghost scoffed.

“He is what he is. None of us can change that. Believe me when I say it, dear brother, for many have tried. You will never reach him that way.”

Her violet eyes grew a shade colder.

Ghost saw the warning there.

He heard it in her voice.

He might have laughed again anyway, but he was back to studying her, just as she was him. This familiarity he felt between them nagged at him. It was something he had felt only a few times in his life. Her words, despite himself, nagged at him too. He had never been accused of being transparent in emotion before.

Other things, yes.

But not that.

“What is this, sister?” he asked after another beat. “Why this game? Why bring me to his house like this? Why send you?”

She looked away from the window.

That time, he saw genuine surprise in her face.

“You’re his son,” she said.

Ghost let a cynical smile grow on his lips.

That time, it only seemed to annoy her.

“You have the mark of the mage on you. Are you going to pretend you do not? He has sired many, waiting for one who does, whoreallydoes… not halfway, like I and a few of the others. And you camehere,brother. Of your own volition. Did you not?”

She waited for his answer.

When he didn’t speak, the surprise in her voice and eyes turned to impatience.

“Did youhonestlythink you could hide who you are from him, Lazarus? Or perhaps you thought you might surprise him somehow? At his own summoning?”

Ghost’s lips lost their cynical smile.

“Summoning?” He stared at her face. “What does that mean?”

When she only looked at him disbelievingly, he sharpened his voice.

“He does this every year. Does he not? I was told the winter balls of Aslanov are famous. Even infamous… and definitely not to be missed. I was told the Tsar himself usually attends. His family members, at least. I was told these parties of his are the talk of the town for months after. That all of the most powerful families in Europe attend––”

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