They might shower him with treasure. And when he shared he had no stomach for the ways of the Go’Doan, not after the mess of The Rising, and he renounced his priesthood, they might even give him a manor (he’d pick southern Airen, it was rather temperate down there, perhaps a lovely vineyard all his own, he quite fancied making wine).

Daemon’s grunts grew louder. The bed shook more powerfully. And Marian couldn’t quite conceal the lilt of pain in her moans.

And Jellan closed his eyes tighter.

But even attempting to drown them out, he would have felt the shimmering.

It was not only in the veil; it was of the earth.

Of the earth.

The very bed he lay upon hummed with it.

Like a coo.

Even a cuddle.

Enfolding him in warmth.

He opened his eyes and by the true gods…

He could even see it glimmer in the air.

Marian’s moans became high-pitched before Daemon shouted his release and Jellan turned his head to the side, not seeing their calves there.

Holding his breath.

Waiting.

Daemon shoved her off and she fell to the bed above Jellan’s head.

“Now, you,” Daemon decreed, and Jellan found his body also pushed up as Daemon positioned between his legs.

He held them high behind Jellan’s knees as he used him, but Jellan didn’t think on it.

He stroked his own cock, as Daemon liked, and brought forth a mediocre orgasm, something Daemon didn’t know was mediocre, and even if he did, he probably would not care, but either way, he liked that too.

But this was all a distraction.

Because they had not felt it.

Going about their vile business, they had not felt it.

The prophesied lovers’ power was growing, even beyond what Jellan could have imagined.

Yes, he had to get to the them.

He’d made his choice.

It was time.

And he would.

He would escape.

For he had power too.

138

The Interrogation

King Noctorno

Interrogation Cell, Crittich Keep, Notting Thicket

WODELL

“Alfie should be here,” Apollo murmured. “I feel he is about to break.”

“Allow Bronagh time to do her work and Alfie time to get stronger. He will venture out,” Tor replied.

Or Tor hoped so.

Eventually.

“He’s getting around well in that chair that Maddie and Cora helped Bronagh design for him that he can wheel himself,” Apollo said.

“He can hardly wheel his way across the city, my friend,” Tor pointed out.

Apollo drummed the leather-covered fingers of his right hand on the table at which he sat.

Tor fought a smile.

Apollo hadn’t even taken off his gloves.

He grew impatient with this G’Seph-Seph-Joseph (as Cora would say, whatever) cretin.

As did Tor.

They should be away to Sky Bay. They needed to join the others, not dither about denying aught to a prisoner with no leverage trying to convince them he had leverage.