Page 100 of Vasmora

He’d studied the expressions of men who’d wanted to kill him, and while vengeance burned in Lothare’s, it was far too dull for an impulsive kill. Disconnected. Perhaps even a small bit conflicted, if Zevander were being generous with his observations.

Lothare’s eyes narrowed on him. “You’re studying me. Gauging whether, or not, I would actually kill you for your father’s cruelty.”

It seemed he was astute, as well.

“This bloodbinder business.” Arms crossed, Lothare stroked his face. “What would I get out of handing him over to you? Hmm?”

Zevander tossed the satchel onto the floor between them.

“What’s this?” Lothare glanced down and back, smiling as he walked toward the bag. “Coin? Jewels? As if that’s going to be worth the life you stole from me?”

“It’s the hand of your sister’s murderer.”

“Vaelora.” The amusement on his face faded for a sobering look, and he froze in place. “What do you know of her?”

“We were imprisoned together.”

Lothare swiped up the bag and backed himself to the throne, keeping his eyes on Zevander. Once there, he plopped down and tugged the severed hand from inside.

“The hand of General Loyce.”

“General Loyce,” he said flatly. “And where is your cadre of assassins? Or did you pull this off single-handedly?” He waved the hand around. “Breaking into her palace on your own?”

“Yes.”

Again, Lothare broke into laughter and waved his hand. “Go. Go get the bloodbinder. We need to straighten some things out.”

One of the masked men broke from his stance and exited the tent.

“See, I don’t believe a word you’re telling me,” Lothare kept on. “The most well-guarded general in all of Solassios, and you waltzed in to kill her. Just like that.”

“I don’t care whether you believe it, or not. And I don’t have time for these theatrics.”

“Well, it’s important that you do care. Because I’m in a bind, Zevander Rydain of Nyxteros. Five minutes ago, I planned to kill you.”

“Why are you holding him?” Zevander dared to ask.

Lothare’s brows shot up, and he shoved Loyce’s hand back into the satchel. “The bloodbinder? Because we intercepted a mimicrow he sent to your king’s Magestroli, informing them to secure the girl before Loyce kills her. I thought it might’ve been some political strategy. Leverage.”

Given how much of a threat Lothare posed, it made sense he’d imagine such a thing. “You thought they were talking about Vaelora.” It’d been a century since she’d died in that pit. The fact that he didn’t know spoke to the iron clutch Loyce’d had over her men, who probably feared the consequences of passing secrets.

“Perhaps. Though, I’m not often hopeful.”

Silence lingered and Zevander glanced around. “Funny, I always imagined your army to be … bigger.”

“Did your mother never tell you it’s rude to comment on the size of a man’s army?”

“My mother’s dead.”

“Something we have in common, then. But, since you’re curious, my army of Wrathborne happens to be exceptional. We’re nothing more than scouts.”

Not that they needed to be massive, when the majority of Wrathborne were known to be skilled mercenaries. “Scouting for what?” Zevander pried.

“Wolves and men. I received word of the den here. We’ve come to recruit them to our cause.”

“Seems dangerous for the leader of a rebellion to prance around.”

“If a king cannot lead his men, then he has no right to be called king.”