Page 93 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
“Ah, there it is,” Balafur purred in delight. “Fear.”
Zarathos lifted his chin, his eyes flashing with a deadly threat. “I think you should take your hands off of my property this instant,” he said in a low voice. His clenched jaw ticked.
The tension between them crackled in the air like a storm about to break, each silently daring the other to make the first move.
Zarathos released a harsh snarl and lashed out, lunging forward with his knife and driving it into Balafur’s right hand. “Release. Her. Now.”
Balafur roared and jerked his hand back, giving Aryana the room she needed to take action. She twisted and brought her knee up, ramming it into Balafur’s balls and was able to pull free as he released another howl of pain.
He turned on Zarathos. Fury wove into his expression, a fraying thread about to unravel as blood dripped from his impaled hand.
Anger coursed through Aryana’s veins. She wanted to strike out. To teach Balafur a lesson. But instead, she stumbled backward. The pitcher was still in her grip and somehow she’d kept it from spilling.
Xaphoron leaned back in his seat and rested his fork on his plate. “Balafur, sit and eat. If you wish to make a show of power against our arch king, save it for the arena. We both know where he is most vulnerable.”
Balafur gazed around the room. Half of the demons from Kingdom Inferna were on their feet, gripping their weapons. The tension was at a fever pitch. He ripped the knife from his hand. “Fuck you. Fuck all of you.” He moved and grabbed the next kalator closest to him, a hobgoblin. Balafur bit into him, causing a wild scream to rush out and blood to spill onto the dining table.
Aryana glanced at Zarathos, gratitude burning in her chest despite the horror playing out before her.
Her heart plummeted. He was gripping the table, leaning forward, stiff, his eyes glassy. His trembling fingernails dug into the wood.
Shit. He must be having another one of his episodes. But why now? She’d thought that the potion caused the seizures and she hadn’t seen him take it recently.
She looked around desperately. The other demons were turning back toward their meals, back to face Zarathos. She raced toward him, clutching the pitcher in her hands.
“Master, allow me to provide you with more drink.”
She dumped it into his lap. Zarathos peered up at her, fear reflected in his eyes. He didn’t even have the ability to react. So she did instead. She gave a sharp gasp, then fell to her knees. The screams from the kalator on the table continued, and she wasn’t sure how many demons were watching, but she focused on her part.
“My master, I’m so sorry. Please forgive my clumsiness. Here, let me get you cleaned up.”
She seized his sleeve and pulled him to his feet. He stood awkwardly, and she spun him away from everyone to hide his face, to hide his trembling. She put her arm around him and rushed him toward the door. “My master, please, please don’t be angry with me. I know what your temper is like, and I beg of you to show mercy on your poor kalator.”
Gods, it had been such a flimsy act. But she wasn’t sure at this point if it mattered if Zarathos had most of the room in his pocket, anyway. And yet, it was better to be safe than sorry. The door shut behind them.
He reached for her with a trembling hand. “Ary…ana.” Before pitching forward into her.
She held him against her as his body began to spasm. Her gaze swept the hallway. Nobody was around, but they couldn’t stay here. The curtained alcove, meant for secret trysts, caught her attention. She gripped him and pulled—mostly dragged—him into it, shutting the curtains behind her and laying him out on the stone bench, his head in her lap as he twitched and shook uncontrollably.
“Zarathos,” she whispered, running her hands through his silken hair. “This is getting out of control. If you’d only just tell me what is going on. Then I could help you.”
This was the second time he’d had an attack. Had he always been like this? How had he handled his seizures before she came along?
“I don’t understand why you are doing all this.” Her teeth sank into her lip, remembering what the demon in the banquet hall had said.
We both know where he is vulnerable.
If he was only going to kill her in the end, why did any of it matter? And yet it did. His actions mattered toher.
She stroked his hair with her fingers, over and over. Until the shaking stopped and stilled, his eyes half open.
And although a part of her only insisted she was acting to get him to fall for her, a deeper part of her was grateful for the way he had protected her. The way he seemed oddly possessive of her. Even if it ended up being for only his own ends.
He lay there, staring up at her. He looked spent. She leaned over and pressed her lips to his forehead.
“Thank you, Zarathos, whatever the reason, for looking out for me.”
Chapter 29
