Page 55 of Throne of Air and Darkness

She expected it. The ant knew what the giant did—it killed and maimed. I killed and maimed. I enjoyed it. And I’d never felt a single shred of guilt until that moment.

“No,” Arran said forcefully.

It was true—if only technically.

Sylva sank back into the chair directly opposite of me. For the first time since we’d

arrived, I saw fear rim her eyes. The same fear that had Maisri had seen in the other townspeople. “Then it was the darkness that took him.”

Cold slid down my spine. “What do you know of the darkness?”

Her eyes were empty now, distant. Thinking. Remembering. “You saw the others—that

kind of desperation takes time and torture. Months and months of watching our men go mad, one by one.”

Lyrena was leaning forward now. “What do you mean—”

“Maisri, go wait outside,” I said sharply.

Her eyes popped up to me, crumbs littering her little lips. “But—”

I remembered the easy, trusting weight of her warm hand in mine. “Your Queen

commands it.”

She looked mutinous. But she tossed her dark curls over her head and went to the door, passing Osheen. He and Arran traded places, a subtle, silent communication passing between them.

Arran’s eyes went to mine. I expected that cold, hard black gaze he always wore when dealing with matters of ruling. But his eyes were soft—and they were on me.

I’d had my innocence stolen.

I couldn’t shield Maisri from the realities of our world. But I could make sure she didn’t listen to this conversation.

I knew Arran marked the bob of my throat and the tightening of my knuckles. But when I blinked, his hard, resolute mask was back in place. It gave me the strength to turn back to Sylva.

“Your men go mad—only your men?” I asked.

She shifted in her seat. The time it had taken me to banish Maisri was all she’d needed

to collect herself. “Yes. One night they go to sleep, and when they rouse… they are mad.”

“What do you mean by madness?” Cyara asked, shifting on the edge of the sofa where

she was perched. She hadn’t touched her tea. Watching and listening, as always.

Sylva regarded her through squinted eyes. “You haven’t seen it.”

A low growl slid through me.

Not my own—and not for anyone else’s ears.

I scooted closer without meaning too, bringing myself to the edge of the sofa. Within easy reach. Arran didn’t hesitate. He reached out and laid a hand on my shoulder—the one that wasn’t resting on the head of his axe.

Just like that, the roiling in my stomach eased. I could feel his tension easing too.

Through the bond.

It wasn’t a tangible thing, no specific sensation I could name. But I simplyknew.

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