He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe power comes in different forms, and maybe we get a choice how we use it.” He glances down and his eyes darken. “Maybe not everything that seems weaker is.”
Then he looks back up. “But I gotta go now.” He climbs onto the bed. “And you’re not going to see me again until you’re in Bron. But when you do, don’t let them know you’ve met me. My father and family, they . . . they wouldn’t like that.”
I almost grab his foot to pull him back as he clambers up through the square hole. He can’t go. I have more questions!
Too late though.
He’s already through and scritch-scritching away.
CHAPTER 11
THE BRON GUARD DOESN’T ALLOW ME OUT OF the room again until the following afternoon, and just like before, the two Faelen bodyguards follow as well. Rasha and I are barely in the hall when she stops us all and says, “Can you give us a minute, handsomes?”
Is she going to bring up the boy, Kel? Has she seen him too?
The soldiers wait as she tips toward my ear and lowers her voice. “In case I don’t get the chance to say this later, I want you to know I believe Myles is going to offer you something once we reach Bron. And on absolutely no condition should you accept.”
Oh.
I glance toward his room. Offer something? What could he have that’d be remotely desirable versus nauseating?
“I sensed it the other night when we snuck on board and ran into him.”
I wait for her to elaborate. She doesn’t. “Okay. And his offer will be . . .?”
“I don’t want to say in case he changes his mind. I simply wanted to make sure I mentioned it before the day was out. Mainly because what he’s got in mind is . . . unnatural.”
Ha. I bet it is.
“I’m serious, Nym. What Myles is—what he does . . . I don’t want to see him do that to you. I’m just telling you so you’ll believe me and steer clear of whatever he’s selling you.”
“Oh, I believe you. I just have no idea what you’re talking about.”
A strange expression slips across her face. She narrows her gaze and seems about to say something but stops. “I apologize for the confusion, but I’d rather caution you against an idea than introduce you to it. And it won’t matter as long as you decide now not to consider it. You are enough as you are. You’ll figure this crisis out without his help.”
An uncomfortable ache edges against my spine. I look ahead toward the door the Bron guard’s holding open to the noisy dinner room.
Rasha’s voice softens. “Promise me you won’t follow him because while some of his desire is to actually help you, his other motives are not.”
“What are his other motives—aside from the world-rulership obsession, obviously?”
“To use you.”
I snort. Nothing new there.
“Fine.” I pat her hand and pretend it really is fine. “I wouldn’t trust Myles with a ferret-cat, let alone with whatever it is you’re worried about.”
Her sigh is loud and relieved. The next moment she’s grinning and flourishing a hand at the waiting guards. “In that case, onward with the torture, gentlemen.”
“Torture is the accurate word,” I mutter, when we step through the door to find that, not only are all the delegates seated around the dining table, but so is Eogan.
I choke on the unbidden lump in my throat as everything within me begs to slip over and touch him, to connect with his calm, his closeness, to forget for one moment the monster beneath his skin. The next second I’m rocked by the look of absolute vileness on his face and have to fight the urge to locate the nearest knife to shove in Draewulf’s gut in payment for what he’s done.
Rasha gives my arm a quick squeeze of caution, and after a moment of glaring at him, I force my legs to move and make my way over to a chair at the end of the table near the windows. I sit and study the beast while Rasha takes her seat and my Faelen bodyguards hover nearby.
Lady Gwen is leaning over her plate. “So what did you say in response?”
Draewulf curls his lips. “I didn’t say anything. I simply waited until she fell asleep and then sewed her mouth shut.”
The three Faelen delegates burst out laughing, and for a moment their noise drowns out the airship’s drone permeating the walls as Draewulf’s disgusting comment slips effortlessly from Eogan.
I stare at them. How can they laugh at that?
He turns me a sly gaze and tucks a strand of jagged hair behind his ear. I narrow my eyes and debate revealing his horrific identity.
“Aren’t you hungry, girl?” Lord Wellimton calls.
“I thought slave girls didn’t get hungry,” Draewulf says. “After all, the good ones are only useful for one thing.”
The group howls with renewed laughter, and a shiver shreds my spine as he continues to leer.
The words the vent boy, Kel, said about his old king despising compassion float into mind. If that was the case, what will he think of this new king? Will Bron applaud this disgusting Draewulf version?