Page 144 of The Mercy of Dawn

Cyril continued to scowl.

She and the ache between her legs were not impressed about any of this.

“So, what? You’re going to bring me here every night, work me up, and not do anything about it? That hardly seems fair.”

“Not every night, no. That would be needlessly cruel.” The smirk on his face told Cyril that needlessly cruel might be something he’d still enjoy. “Just most nights, when we don’t have to worry about…prying eyes.”

Ah, Dion.

“And what I’d really like to do? One night, when I’m sure we can get away, I’ll take you somewhere in the city. Somewhere I can torture you and maybe do a little something about it. Alright?”

On principle, Cyril didn’t want to do everything on Mikael’s terms, but that sounded like the best idea she’d heard in a long time.

She feigned her begrudging sigh as she agreed with the prince and let him lead her back to the palace for the night.

“You sure you don’t want to come in?” she asked, maybe a bit too hopefully, when they stopped in front of her door.

Mikael only smiled and shook his head, leaving her with one hell of a parting kiss before he walked down the hall to his room.

Again, that night, images of her mother haunted Cyril’s dreams.

But it wasn’t just glimmers of what Runa showed her.

This time, her mind tortured her with what could have been.

Fragmented pieces of a different life, one filled with support and warmth and guidance, left her in cold sweats.

Sleep was not something she got much of.

Chapter 34

The next morning, Dion returned from the city. He came and found Cyril in the archives, where her scattered brain had her jumping between six different tomes on different topics with almost no relation to one another.

Under the heavy fog of sleep deprivation and a touch too much ale, little made sense. But Cyril was determined to find a kernel of something, even if it took her all damn day and night. She didn’t care if it was something to aid in the murder investigation or something she might give Mikael about his suspicions. She was desperate to contribute.

“You look like you’ve been...busy?” Dion’s voice was tentative as he pulled up a stool beside her.

Cyril groaned, burying her face in her hands.

“Nothing makes any fucking sense. I think I’ve been through half the archives and haven’t found anything helpful.”

“Cyr, you’ve been learning another language, and cataloging for us. I’d hardly call that not helpful.”

Cyril cast him a narrow, sidelong glance from her palms. She wanted precisely nothing to do with a half-assed pep talk from her uncle.

Dion turned his attention to her shitshow of a desk.

He plucked one of her pieces of notepaper, turning it this way and that as he mumbled aloud what she had written. “Scales tipped…must be reset…cleansing…rune—”

Cyril tried to snatch it out of his hands, but Dion held the paper out of her reach, his eyes still roving her half-scribbled notes and drawings.

“Don’t,” she groaned, “I told you nothing makes sense.”

He cast her a look that had her sinking down into her chair.

“And I already told you about the elemental cleansing stuff, remember?”

Dion made a noise. “The stuff I told you not to worry about? That Ezra and the guard already dismissed?”