Page 117 of This Dark Descent
Galan Adair had the same sharp-eyed observation and indelible calm as his son, and she felt Damien stiffen beneath his attention. “How are you feeling, Father?” he asked.
“Better, with another glass.” Galan lifted his cup, and Damien approached to pour him more wine from the decanter by the fire. Another man stood beside it, a berator with light brown skin and thick spectacles framing earnest eyes that surveyed them both. He clasped a case in his broad hands, not touching his own glass of wine.
“I told you that you were asking the wrong child.” Shira sat behind agreat oak desk, her boots propped on one corner and a book splayed open in her lap. “I have a terrible habit of trying to prevent my ailing father from poisoning himself.”
Galan’s laugh bordered on a wheeze. “Only you would deny a dying man his last comforts, my dear daughter.”
“Silly me,” she riposted. “There I went trying to prolong your life again.”
“A losing battle, I’m afraid.”
She flashed him a grin. “My favorite kind.”
A half smile pulled at Damien’s lips as he filled the wineglass before rejoining her at the edge of the sitting area. Shira caught Ari’s gaze and winked, as if they shared some great secret. Ari smiled back. Perhaps they did. She had expected to feel strange being here, like a flower growing out of season, but Damien had assured her that her family knew her attendance meant he trusted her irrevocably, a thought that warmed her to her core.
Sure enough, Galan and Shira had absorbed her presence without protest, and she might even have said that Galan looked pleased that she was there. Damien had warned her that his father often asked if there was anyone new in his life, and it had been a while since he’d been able to say yes.
They waited for some time, the clock on the fireplace mantel ticking away. At last, Damien addressed his father, “I don’t think Loic is coming, Father. His plans didn’t go as he expected.”
Galan regarded him with somber gray eyes. “We shall begin, but your brother’s absence does not forfeit him until the ceremony’s end. Mr. Eross, if you please.”
Mr. Eross joined Shira at the desk, where he laid out the Ascension document. “Whenever you are all ready, then.”
Shira withdrew a paper from her pocket and tossed it still folded to the berator. “I present a trade deal with the Ranoen ambassador. They’ve decided not to resign with House Vanadahl and instead shift their shipments to Adair whiskey.”
“Well done,” Galan said as the berator marked down the entry. It was a solid move for the family, but also a very clear message from Shira: she had no interest in winning. It seemed Damien’s assessment of her was correct. Which only made Ari all the more curious about why Shira had been so intent on keeping an eye on her and Mikira.
Galan looked to his son.
Damien set his case on the desk, withdrawing the deed to the Illinir and handing it to Mr. Eross. “I present the right of ownership to the Illinir, taken from House Kelbra.”
Galan’s face slackened with shock. Satisfaction curled deep in Ari’s belly as Galan took the paper from the berator, his eyes racing along each line. When he looked back up, the pure, unbridled pride in his face made Damien straighten.
“I knew you would do something extraordinary, but this?” Galan shook his head. “Goddess help this city. Damien Adair, I name you—”
The door flew open, slamming into the wall. Loic’s hulking form stood shadowed in the frame, something large and dripping dangling from his hand.
“Not until I’ve entered my offering,” he snarled, and stepped into the light.
Hanging from his hand by the roots of its hair, was the head of High Lord Eradas Kelbra.
Damien drew his gun at the same time that Ari muttered a binding, magic flooding through her body.
“What have you done?” Damien demanded.
Loic flashed a wild grin. “I have dealt a deadly blow to our greatest rival. That is what I’ve done.” All those weeks spent cozying up to Rezek—he wasn’t the only one whose trust Loic must have earned. Eradas had let his guard down, had let Loic too close.
“You’ve started a war,” Shira whispered.
“You’ve put Rezek at the head of the family!” Damien snarled.
Loic beat his empty fist against his chest. “I’ve taken my place as rightful heir to the Adair family. Your pieces of paper mean nothing compared to this.”
He bore down upon Galan. “Name me.”
Galan looked from Loic to Damien. He couldn’t possibly intend to name Loic? The man was unhinged, even Ari could see that. But Damien had said that he and Rezek had bonded over their tumultuous relationships with their older brothers, and Eradas Kelbra had always favored his eldest. Perhaps the same could be said of Galan, who likely felt some satisfaction at the death of his enemy.
“Name me!” Loic roared.
