“I said, leave us!” She raised her throaty voice to a shout, shocking her men.

Gradually, they laid their witchiron on the floor and departed the room one by one until only the captaen lingered near the door. Raising her brow, she mouthed something to him all but silently in witchtongue.

Her peculiar gaze didn’t leave Zaethan’s face while she waited for the captaen to exit. Unable to stomach it, Zaethan looked elsewhere. They were wrong, those eyes. One iris of beryl, the other a swirling, iridescent emptiness. Two sinister globes that hosted pupils like delicate pinpricks. Once they were alone in the training room, the y’siti cocked her head and allowed several seconds to pass before speaking again.

“What is it you want, Lord Darakai?” she asked calmly. She knit her hands behind her, as if they merely spoke about the weather.

“I just told you,” he spat. “Is your head as empty as your chest? My greatest wish is for the Boreali to be exposed as the treacherous, abominable creatures you are.”

“That is only partially true, Zaethan Kasim. Oh, you would enjoy it immensely, that much is plainly evident,” she posed, stepping closer to him. “Everyone desires something very few can give. Therefore, I suggest you think carefully in this moment, and ask yourself what it is you truly desire.”

“What do you know about desire or what I want?” Zaethan’s hand flexed around the hilt of his kopar. “You aren’t even human, you’re a thing. A plague upon Orynthia.”

“I know you are caged by superstition. It’s a noose around your neck, suffocating you more every day.” She peered down and smirked at something unsaid. “It’s time to think, Lord Darakai. Always think before allowing emotions to dictate your path for you.”

By her rigid posture, he knew the al’Haidren was not offering what women like Sayuri or Flourette used to manipulate men. Fleeting uncertainty nudged Zaethan to reconsider his plan. On one hand, he could become a hero to Darakai. His actions might result in a war with Boreal. Lives would be lost, but for a cause such as this, Darakai’s sacrifice would not be in vain. It was unlikely the Ethnicam would defend Boreal’s seat when for the last century, the other Houses had fought to lessen their influence. He would almost certainly be praised, and his father would finally see his value beyond the underlying hatred he held for his son.

Then, Zaethan would never be replaced by a nameless Jwona rapiki like Wekesa.

Zaethan shifted his weight to the other foot, along with his thoughts. Orynthia’s commander honored Wekesa—he’d brought him into Bastiion against territorial protocol. If Wekesa was in the city, then there was always a chance he’d be given credit for Boreal’s fall. Zaethan needed to become his own Fate writer, his own Jwona rapiki. For in the event that his father allowed the bastard to rechallenge Zaethan for the title of Alpha Zà, he’d need a new advantage to defeat Wekesa again.

Chance had delivered him the first victory. Only a strong upper hand could deliver him a second.

Zaethan’s spinning thoughts traveled to the witchiron blades sprawled across the mats. In all of their history with the Ethnicam, a Darakaian had never carried a set of crescent wraiths. An unexpected coupling of emotions seized his gut.

Jealousy.

Exhilaration.

“The crescent wraiths. That’s what I want,” Zaethan declared, his decision made. “Teach me.”

The y’siti contemplated his trade, taking her time. Finally, she shook her head.

“My men can teach you another blade. Either the kuerre or the consort daggers. Whichever you choose, in private, as long as you agree to bind yourself to mutual secrecy.”

“Ano zà.”

“No?” the witch questioned. “Crescent wraiths are advanced Boreali weaponry, Lord Darakai. Luxiron is corrosive. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever handled. You’d likely decapitate yourself and sentence me to execution for it. The former is permissible, the latter is not.”

“Despite your arrogance, y’siti are not the only beings capable of prolonged stamina and flexibility. I promise you, I can handle myself.” Zaethan smirked. “The wraiths, or I join the king for a drink and share with him the sweet tale of Boreal’s demise.”

He watched her bite down. The tension dragged the scar up her neck.

“Fine. Declan or Marek will train you. I will ask them to be discreet.”

“Ano,” he repeated.

“This is tiresome, Lord Darakai.” The witch straightened her shoulders. “Are you a child?”

“You will train me.”

If he was going to study the enemy’s blade, Zaethan needed to learn from the victor. She’d fought more fiercely and fluidly than her shadowman. Zaethan would have to become even faster to eradicate her when the moment came.

A low chuckle escaped her shapely lips. It was a shame they were so pallid and cadaverous.

“Let the record show this course is ill advised,” she boasted, raising that dainty chin. “We are each beholden to keep this secret. If you utter a word of our arrangement outside this conversation, I will expose you for betraying your own kind by dabbling in, as you so tastelessly put it, y’siti custom.”

Zaethan assessed the creature before him. Deadly. Underestimated. He wasn’t sure how he’d endure training sessions in such closeness without smothering his tutor.

The struggle had better be worth it.

“Then it’s settled.” Zaethan grinned. “I hope your dead Boreali flesh can face the light of dawn. We start tomorrow.”

SEVENTEEN

Luscia

   Inquisitive, arctic eyes charted the training space as Luscia tallied the new additions to the formerly forgotten, dirty chamber. Where yesterday lay battered mats and dingy cushions, durable leather replacements rested in their place. Gone were the musky rags that had littered the multiple corners of the room. Instead, various pieces of freshly polished equipment were positioned along the walls, ready for her enlistment.

He’d been busy, this Zaethan Kasim. Luscia peered down at her lycran, her lone confidante, and heaved a sigh.

“What say you, Aksel?” she asked, depositing the wooden globe she carried onto the edge of a mat. “Wem, I concur. This is a wretched idea.”

An energetic swish of his lush tail conveyed her wolx was in higher spirits that morning than she. Unlike her canine accomplice, it was Lusica who’d agreed to commit some degree of treason. But had she not, defiance of Orynthian legislation could have brought charges of sedition against the entire House of Boreal. After all, each member of her party had concealed additional weaponry in their arrival to the city. Conversely, committing infidelity to Boreal by allowing this adulterous handling of luxiron would implicate Luscia alone, though the disciplinary action would surely be severe.