Eithan didn’t answer right away, looking again at the scalpel in his hand and edging closer until he stood only a foot away, the sharp blade uncomfortably close to Trey’s arm.

He could still feel the phantom pain of the last one Eithan had used on him, and nausea climbed up his throat as he subconsciously shifted toward the far side of the cot.

“Sulian informed me over our lovely meal that he’s made the decision to send me to Midpath. Spewing some ill-conceived lie about me overseeing the guard in place of Lesta, of all things.”

He huffed a laugh, hatred coating the sound, the first emotion he’d given since entering the room.

“But the truth is, Sulian believes, just as I do, that Vera will return. And he wants to sink his claws into her, himself,” he growled, squeezing the tip of the tool until blood bloomed beneath it.

Vomit filled Trey’s mouth, and he swallowed it back down, desperately trying not to show how completely unnerved he was by Eithan’s unpolished demeanor.

“He’s not planning on her marrying you?” he dared to ask, praying that he was right. Maybe Emperor Sulian had realized how fucking stupid it was to risk a fight with an island of gods damn Magyki all for the hope they’d give him whatever it was he wanted.

Eithan spit. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he locked her away and stuck a child in her himself, just to remove me from next-in-line.”

Trey blanched, his nose wrinkling at even the thought. “Your father may have political power, but even he cannot physically force Vera to do that.”

Eithan nodded, rubbing the blond scruff along his jaw with his non-bloodied hand. Then he cracked his neck and sighed, leaning down closer to Trey’s face.

“Anyway, I don’t know when I’ll be back, and I certainly can’t leave you here to cause trouble, so I’m afraid it’s back home for you.”

Trey’s two-story, childhood house in Southterres immediately came to mind. The blue paint, his mother’s beautiful garden out front, the fence’s gate that creaked no matter how many times he’d worked on it. But he shoved the images out, tucking them away. That wasn’t the home Eithan was referring to, and they both knew it.

“When?” he croaked.

“Soon.” He squatted down, grabbing the longer straps that had hung loose for days, and began securing them back over his body, tightening them until it felt like they were cutting into his blood flow. Then he removed a white cloth and wadded it, holding it up to Trey’s mouth. “Open up.”

He shook his head, lips pressed together, thrashing against the restraints. He took it all back, every word he’d said to Jensen. He’d do anything to have that dagger in his hand again. Anything.

Anything. Anything. Anything. Anything.

“I suggest you listen and open up,” Eithan warned, pressing the cloth against his closed lips, “because I’m really fucking angry.”

And it was those words that had his mind finally snapping, his fear dissipating on the wind as a soul-crushing fury overwhelmed him. He was angry? That spoiled-ass bastard didn’t know what fucking angry was.