Pivoting around, he released the heavy lock bar and opened the door. The room inside was dark, but not dark enough to conceal the shriveled form standing in the center of the large chamber in loose-fitting linen pants and a long tunic.
And not dark enough to conceal the gaunt face and wild eyes of the madman who’d been Ebarron’s Master for centuries, until Sorin forcibly took his seat a year ago.
Behind him, Asha let out a small gasp. Sorin turned back to her, caressing her cheek on a throttled growl. “Go with Milo. You don’t need to worry about me.”
~
He was gone for more than an hour.
Ashayla sat on an oxblood leather sofa in a large salon inside what she assumed was Sorin’s private apartments in the massive Ebarron stronghold. His Watchman waited with her in measured silence, standing across the room like a statue until the door opened and Sorin strode inside.
He was scowling fiercely, but to Ashayla he seemed more weary than anything else. His broad mouth was drawn at the corners, his sharp topaz eyes dulled with fatigue and stress. He dismissed Milo in hushed tones, then closed the door behind him as the Watchman departed.
“I need a shower,” he murmured, scrubbing a hand over his head and jaw. He arched a brow at her in invitation. “You’re welcome to join me, if you like.”
He was trying to be light and casual, trying to return to their banter from before he’d been summoned to his father’s heavily locked room. She couldn’t play along after what she’d heard and seen outside that chamber, but she followed him into the adjacent bedroom. “Is he all right, Sorin?”
“He’s insane, as you might’ve guessed. And he’s furious with me for petitioning the rest of the family to see him ousted from power as Master of Ebarron, so I could take control.”
“Why did you do it?”
“It was best for the House.” His tone held little inflection. When he pivoted to face her, as guarded as his expression was, she also saw weariness. There was a sadness in his grim features that she suspected he let few others see in him. “My mother was the one who asked me to challenge my father’s seat as Master. She came to me two years ago—not long before she died—and pleaded for me to step in.”
“Because he wasn’t well?” Ashayla guessed.
Sorin nodded. “That had long been a concern of hers, yes. Mine as well. But also because now more than ever, the Incubi Houses need to be strong, united. If the angels in their Conclave and the Three in their temple are plotting an insurrection, or manipulating our Sovereign to light the first spark, then we all need to be ready for what comes next.”
“You’re talking about war between the Incubi and the angels?”
“If the Houses don’t stop it first, Asha, I could be talking about war between Heaven and Hell.”
She swallowed the dread that crept up her throat. Although her life in Chicago was far removed from the one Sorin referred to, she knew enough from talking with Gran over the years to understand the danger of corruption on the Obsidian Throne, the highest seat of power in the Incubi and Nephilim realms. The Incubus who ruled from it as the Sovereign held authority over the portals of both Heaven and Hell. If the Throne were to fall, there would be no holding back the chaos that would follow.
Sorin gave a grim shake of his head. “My mother loved my father as only a mate can, but she also loved Ebarron and wanted the House to thrive for future generations. I had no interest in serving as its Master, least of all while my father was still alive. But she was right. Duty comes first. The House and all who live under its protection come before anyone else. So, I presented my case before my brothers and cousins and they agreed that I should step in.”
“How did your father take the news when your mother told him what she’d done?”
Sorin gave a vague shrug. “He doesn’t know. She didn’t want him to know it was her idea, so neither of us told him and no one else knew. My mother was killed a few months later, when her car swerved off one of the mountain passes. After she was gone, I didn’t see the point in tarnishing his feelings toward her.”
“But he thinks it was you, Sorin. He thinks it was your idea to push him out of the way.” Ashayla shook her head. “Why let him think the worst of you?”
“It would’ve destroyed him more to know that she felt him unfit to lead. He was bad off already. I saw no need to add fuel to the fire.”
Sorin spoke like a man used to shouldering heavy burdens without complaint. His actions seemed equally unfazed. She watched as he began to undress, his suit coat slung over the back of a chair across from the bed before he started unbuttoning his white shirt.
“Your father looks very weak. Is he dying too?”