Fall of Ruin and Wrath (Awakening, #1)

“Hundreds?” the Prince questioned, either unaware of the Commander’s stare or ignoring him. “How can anyone be sure of that? I imagine they all look the same.”

“They don’t look the same, though.” I tipped forward in my chair. “Some grow to over a foot while others hug the ground. Their stems can be rather delicate and easily snapped, but they can choke out even the most persistent of weeds— especially a type called Dragon’s Blood, which spreads rather rapidly. They’re a genus of succulent that . . .” I trailed off, realizing that everyone, including the staff, was staring at me.

Lord Bastian had that curious little smile on his face.

Commander Rhaziel appeared as if icepicks were being driven into his ears.

But Prince Thorne . . . he looked engrossed. “And what?” he insisted.

I cleared my throat. “And they come in almost every color, but I . . . I prefer the red and pink kinds. They seem to be easier to cultivate and last the longest.”

Prince Thorne flexed the hand that tapped. “What is the most common then?”

Aware of the other Hyhborn’s gazes bouncing between the Prince and me, I felt warmth creep into my cheeks. “Likely a type known as Autumn Joy. It reminds me a bit of cauliflower in appearance throughout summer, and then blooms a bright pink starting in September.”

“I believe we have them in the Highlands,” Lord Bastian said, drawing his fork over what was left of the duck on his plate. He grinned at me. “I only know this because I too think they resemble cauliflower.”

I tentatively returned his smile.

“Speaking of the Highlands,” Claude chimed in, drinking from his glass. “All of you have traveled from Vytrus?”

Nearly positive that that was the second time he’d asked that, I glanced at him. Was there a slight glaze to his eyes? I swallowed a sigh.

Lord Bastian’s fork stilled, his lazy grin fading as Mollie came to my side of the table with a fresh pitcher of water. “We have.”

I leaned toward her, keeping my voice low as I said, “Can you make sure the cook knows to not let what food is left go to waste?”

Understanding what I requested, Mollie nodded, her brown eyes briefly meeting mine.

“Thank you,” I whispered, once again facing forward.

Prince Thorne watched, the blue of his eyes darkening. I wiggled a little in my chair.

“Did you travel by horse or ship?” Hymel asked, shattering the ensuing silence.

“Horse.” Commander Rhaziel held the stem of his glass, but I hadn’t seen him drink from it.

I thought of what Claude had said that morning. That the Prince was harder to get through but the others wouldn’t be. There was a chance he was simply speaking nonsense, but I could find out now, couldn’t I? Rhaziel was a lord, but I thought about what I felt when he first entered the dining hall. He didn’t carry with him the same . . . aura of power.

“Horse?” Claude laughed, eyes widening. “That must have been an incredibly long trip. To be honest, I’m not sure I would’ve survived such a journey,” he prattled on. “I’m far too impatient. I would’ve taken a ship.”

“One would be unable to take a ship from the Highlands,” the Commander pointed out as I worked up the nerve to try reading him.

Over the rim of my glass, I focused on the dark-haired Hyhborn. Quieting my mind, I opened up my senses. I created that string in my mind, connecting us. That white wall became visible. The shield. I pictured my hand stretching out, brushing against it, and then I pictured my fingers digging into the light, scouring the wall.

The shield split, and at once I heard what the Commander thought. How in the five lands has this man kept this city afloat?

My own shock pulled me from the Commander’s mind before I could sense any more. Claude had been right. My gaze darted to the Baron.

“Of course. You’re surrounded by mountains and the Wychwoods.” Champagne dripped as he flung his wrist toward the Hyhborn, causing me to give a little jump. “Yet, the Eastern Canal is accessible within the Wychwoods, is it not?”

Then again, perhaps I needed no intuition to know what these Hyhborn thought of the Baron.

I focused on Lord Bastian this time, creating that string and finding that white wall. It took several moments, but his shield cracked just enough for me to hear Exactly how much has he drunk this evening?

Severing the connection, I shifted with unease. Claude had been right about being able to read Hyhborn, but had he been intentionally correct? Because this wasn’t something he would know simply because he was caelestia. He could know only if he had experience with someone like me in the past.

The Commander raised a brow, appearing unaware of my intrusion. “It would be several days’ ride to reach the Eastern Canal.”

“Is it? Then again, geography was never my strong suit.” Claude’s glass moved wildly again, and this time, I caught his sleeved arm before he ended up dumping half the champagne into his or my lap. He glanced over at me, his smile loose. “Apologies, my pet. I do get a bit animated when I speak. Got it from my mother.”

“ ‘Pet’?” Prince Thorne queried softly.

The back of my neck tingled, and it had nothing to do with intuition.

“Is there an animal in the hall that I’m unaware of?” the Prince continued. “A hound or even a cat?”

A snort came from the general direction of Hymel, and I found myself suddenly staring at my knife. Oh, how badly I would enjoy stabbing Hymel with it.

“Goodness no.” Claude laughed, tipping his head back. “It’s a term of endearment for Lis.”

“Is that so?” murmured Prince Thorne. “What a . . . fitting endearment.”

Muscles along my spine tensed as my gaze collided with the Prince’s. There was no mistaking the derision in his tone. One needed only an ear to hear it. “Far more fitting than other endearments,” I said.

The corners of his mouth twitched. “I can think of at least one that is better suited.”

“You can?” Claude leaned forward, far too eager. “I am dying to hear what you’d think would be more fitting after spending such a short time with her.”

Prince Thorne opened his mouth.

“How have you all been enjoying the late-spring Midlands weather?” I jumped in, glancing among the Hyhborn. “I hear the weather of the Highlands is quite temperamental.”

“One could say that.” Lord Bastian leaned back in his seat, that grin of his having returned at some point. “It is far cooler than here.” He glanced at Prince Thorne. “What other terms of endearment are you thinking of?”

Oh, my gods. . . .

Prince Thorne’s lips curved up in a slow, smoky smile. “Na’laa.”

The Commander sounded like he choked.

“What does that mean?” Claude asked.

“It has many meanings,” Lord Bastian answered. “I am curious as to which is meant in this case.”

“He thinks I’m stubborn,” I said, meeting the Prince’s gaze.

“Well,” Claude drawled. “That I can agree with.”

“And ungrateful,” I added before Prince Thorne could.

Claude frowned.

“I was going to say brave,” Prince Thorne said instead.

My lips pursed as I felt my cheeks heat again.

Prince Thorne’s attention was fixed on me, hand curled loosely around the stem of his glass while his other fingers tapped on the surface of the table. He hadn’t eaten much but appeared to be done eating. Tentatively, I opened my senses and let them stretch out to him. I met the white wall almost instantaneously. The hand I pictured did nothing.

“The humidity here is quite unbearable,” the Commander added just then, almost reluctantly, as if he thought he needed to add something to the conversation that had veered so off track.

“Yes, we don’t escape the humidity that bleeds out from the Lowlands,” Claude was saying as his glass was topped off once more. “You’ll be relieved to learn that the worst of the humidity doesn’t arrive until the Feasts. I imagine you all will be gone well before then.”

“That I cannot answer,” Prince Thorne answered. “We will be here for some time.”





CHAPTER 21


I stiffened, caught between a wave of dread and . . . relief, and about a dozen other emotions I couldn’t even begin to figure out.