As Emmery sat back on her heels, her cloak flapped in the brisk breeze. She hauled it closer around herself and wished she’d worn something thicker than her thin tunic. It made her think of the King’s warm cloak, how it felt wrapped around her shoulders, how his body heat clung to it, and it caressed her skin like an embrace. “Does Destonne pray?”
Brennen slowly shook his head.
Not much the King did made sense. He seemed to be a series of contradictions, with his malicious actions and unexpected moments of kindness sprinkled in. Always at his own twisted discretion.
Brennen went on,“He hasn’t come to theInvaria Sectamsince someone close to him passed. He doesn’t talk about it much, but I think he stopped then.”
Emmery stood and dusted off her trousers. If the loss had caused him to discard his beliefs, it must have been a devastating one. Even though she didn’t care to admit it, she'd struggled too after losing her mother and Maela. Though now she supposed they weren’t really family at all. Not blood anyway. “The cruelty of life can kill your faith, but it's our job to keep it alive. To nurture it.”
“We’ve all been through a lot.”Brennen glanced behind him at the deserted streets lit only by the moon’s pale glow, so similar to Vesper’s eyes. “Ready to head back, princess?”
“I really wish you’d stop calling me that, dog,” Emmery grumbled.
He flashed her a canine grin. “Too bad.”
She bit back a tiny smile. “Thank you for bringing me. For taking the time.”
“If this small thing makes you happy, I’m glad I could give you that.”Brennen looked up at her with those strange orange eyes, like a flickering flame. “If you ever need me, I’m here. Even if it’s just to annoy you.”
Emmery bumped him with her hip and Brennen nudged her back.
As they walked, the castle came into view, and Emmery noted the lit training ring sconces. Vera was likely still there after the fever had incapacitated her for two days. Today in the training ring as Emmery finished her rigorous practice of rings, barriers, and walls of flame, Destonne had strolled through the door with a red-handled longsword strapped to his back and unbridled sureness in his gait. Each time Emmery finished her training, the King would enter, as if he knew the moment she was done. Yet today, instead of leaving, she made a quick excuse toBrennen and stuck around to watch. She wasn’t sure why she did it, only that she couldn’t help herself.
It was educational, to say the least.
Destonne was a skilled swordsman. His footwork, lightning-quick reflexes, and the strength in his core, arms, and thighs was like nothing Emmery had seen before, other than Callias. But while Callias fought with brute, egregious muscle, Destonne decimated with honed strength and silent rage he carried like a battle scar, clearly from decades of practice.
Emmery had lingered behind a pillar, studying the flex of his back muscles through his tunic, the sheen of sweat on his brow, and the elegance with which he always held himself injected into combat. It got to the point she feared her watching bordered on creepy, and yet she couldn’t pull herself away. Maybe she’d sought the secrets of his tricks and tactics should the King ever turn on her, but even she knew that was a lie.
And she’d slunk away like some lovestruck teenager caught peeping.
Brennen chuffed a laugh, tearing Emmery from her thoughts. “What are you thinking about?”
She narrowed her eyes at the wolf. “Nothing.”
“Probably best I don't know with that flush to your cheeks.”
In a refusal to grace his observation with a response, she cleared her throat. “Where’s Cyrilla? I haven’t seen her since we visited Reize.”
“Dez sent her out to deal with some …things.”
“What, uhm—” She fumbled for an adequate question. “What does she do exactly?”
“She has a few roles. She’s very good at acquiring information by whatever means necessary. I’ll put it that way.”
She read between the lines. And her demeanor made sense for the nature of her work, but it was such a strange phenomenonto watch Cyrilla’s hard exterior soften around her son. “If she’s gone, who’s looking after Soren?”
“Dez.”
For an unknown reason, Emmery’s stomach knotted. As they rounded the corner, then skirted the castle walls, her mind raced. Maybe she’d been right in her assumption, but it could be a coincidence they looked alike. Though she told herself she didn’t care, after biting down on her lip to hold back the question, Emmery blurted, “Is Soren his son?”
Brennen gave her an assessing gaze which morphed from a confused daze of questions to a snap of realization, but for what she couldn’t pinpoint.“We don’t know who Soren’s parents are.”
“But Cyrilla—”
“She found him abandoned in Malheim a little over a year ago. He was only an infant.” Shadows darkened Brennen’s stare. “They heard him crying in an alleyway next to a heap of trash. Cyrilla refused to leave him.”
Emmery’s pace slowed as her stomach rolled. How could anyone do that? The thought was unfathomable, like lopping off a limb and choosing to live without it. “And what did Destonne say?”