Page 154 of Of Bargains & Betrayal

Whatever was in the tar tossed all over her room, it etched the profanities right into the glass of her mirror, and I couldn’t coax it away from anything else with magic.

The first time I tried on a simple piece of clothing, it went up in a burst of nytefire and met a watery end in the sink. A trip to my workshop could have afforded me the chance to do a little research, but I didn’t know when Enora would be back from the barracks, and I’d be damned if things weren’t somewhat back to normal for her.

Days ago, I hadn’t held myself much above begging for forgiveness at her feet, but now? I’d fucking crawl if it would ease a measure of her distress.

Whoever had done this—and I had a healthy suspicion who—was going to have absolute hell to pay, and it wouldn’t even be from me. If Enora got to them first, it would be a bloodbath. If Maksym did, there wouldn’t be a trace of them left.

Thankfully, the Agōn Ferr was already underway to replace the few outgrown Elixia we were bound to be losing soon.

Once I’d finished gathering the pages of Enora’s notebook and wrapping my head around whether it was salvageable, I’d be paying my friend and king a visit.

This entire display of insolence aside, we needed to have a much more meaningful conversation.

I refused to keep him in the dark about what had happened with Enora. While a smarter man would have put more thought into the implications of taking his king’s betrothed to bed, and a more cowardly one would have pretended as if it never happened, I found myself stuck in the middle.

Just like I’d always be with them, for the rest of our goddess-damned lives.

“JASPER!”

I nearly threw the pages I’d been stacking with profound care.

Eilir shot across the room, and their exasperation expanded tenfold as they took in the scene of half-repaired disarray. Whatever else they tried to say, it came out as nothing but a shrill squeak.

“I know, I know.” I set down the papers beside their leather cover. “Don’t worry about this. Enora knows I’m dealing with it. What has you worked into such a dither?”

“Dither?” the sprite squealed. “The council called another event already! Max sent me to find you because he’s freaked out, and I’m freaked out, and Gallan is too! She’s fighting Elixia, Jas. Elixia!”

“What?” I choked on the word.

“Oh, it’s bad. It’s so bad.” Eilir took a shaky breath. “They’re going to beat her to a pulp. I know it. A-And I didn’t mean to not be there, you know? B-but Max asked me to keep an eye on the Wastes, w-with that movement, a-and I⁠—”

Eilir’s next words warbled into a high-pitched shriek as I reached into the planes and pulled myself to the arena.

In the spirit of not startling someone within an inch of their life, I stepped into the corridor behind the royal viewing box and took a much-needed moment to collect myself. I half expected Eilir to be hot on my tail. Hoped they would be, actually, because I had a deluge of questions now that I was afraid to ask anyone else. Some of them were incredibly selfish, but most revolved around why the fuck it had taken hours for anyone to notify me that another event had been called.

Even though Max swore to me up and down that he had the council under control after word got out about a loosely tangible threat on the horizon, I never should have trusted him to handle it on his own. There couldn’t be any other reason they’d chosen to call another event this early. Not that precedent was ever truly set, but to give the competitors only a day of rest, especially after pairing two trials together, was highly unusual.

They had to be panicking about something, or they were out to prove a point.

When I grew tired of my pacing footfalls echoing off the stone corridor, I set my hand on the bronzed, whorled inlay on the door of the royal suite and braced myself as I pushed it open.

The patio was a modest space, built of the same tenebrous stone as the rest of the arena, draped with a rich blue fabric roof to shield the royal family and their court from rain or sun while they spectated games. That was the original intention, at least, long before the Blackspire line was cleaved and whittled down to its last surviving member. The threadbare fabric likely wouldn’t do much for rain anymore.

Max’s gleaming black horns were visible over the top of the stately throne set in the middle of the patio, just as the horns of dozens of Grimmorian Kings before him, but the rest of the seats were vacant. Gallan was the only other occupant on the entire patio, leaning against the railing with his eyes lowered on the activity happening in the arena pit.

It was his attention that slid over first, and he fixed me with an uneasy look and the most subtle shake of his head. Any hope I had of him not remembering what he saw behind the tavern that night was dashed.

As for the odds of him having told anyone…

Sweat beaded on the back of my neck, and I adjusted my collar.

“My liege,” Gallan drawled to our king without breaking eye contact with me.

My feet carried me over with ample hesitation as Maksym leaned on the arm of his throne and cast me a scathing glance. “Where the fuck have you been?”

That was a tone seldom turned in my direction.

My throat worked as I fought to swallow down a lump. “We had a slight…issue this morning. Enora’s quarters were vandalized. Badly. I’ve been dealing with it.”