Page 25 of Elysian

‘Do not,’ Cassiel ordered.

I finished pouring into his glass, hands shaking as I withdrew.

“Is something amiss?” Vaner mused, catching my arm. His fingernails dug into my skin with a pinch.

I could not smooth the pain from my face in time.

“Lord Vaner!” Cassiel boomed.

Focus swung in our direction. I did not miss the flashes of fear across the council and their companions. Vaner’s eyes narrowed.

“Do not touch her.” Cassiel’s order came with all the derision imbued from centuries of being an Elite.

Vaner turned with such leisure to pierce Cassiel with his stare. Branwen squealed from landing upon the lord’s lap. His hands went everywhere.

So much helplessness . . .

“Such anger.” Despite the show of indifference, the line of Vaner’s shoulders had tightened. “And for a dirty redblood.”

“Lie.” My voice, although low, seemed to reach Vaner. Branwen stopped struggling, her face becoming impassive under the gropes of that man. A gut-deep rage brewed in my veins, manifesting in the tremors of my hands.

He turned so slowly. “What?”

“Lies, it is all lies. I am not filth. All you have done is spread falsehoods about the designations.”

His expression rippled, and I knew I had misspoken. I should not have knowledge of the word.

“How do you know this?”

I thinned my lips.

“You!” Vaner shouted, pointing across the hall. “Bring me that feeder girl.” The officer he had pointed toward stepped forward and seized Branwen’s arm. She stumbled in his grip until he brought her before him, nearer to Cassiel’s side. Vaner took a dull knife from the table and grabbed Branwen by the back of her hair, dragging her toward me, knife to her throat. “Speak.”

‘Do not.’

“Now! And do not think to lie,” he roared, pressing harder against her throat until the dullness forced a slim line to open. She was so terrified. I struggled to swallow.

“The Lore of Old.”

I could have heard a pin drop.

“The one the prophet burned?” Lord Horveau questioned, standing.

Vaner released Branwen, and she backed against the wall. He came for me.

“What else do you know?” Vaner’s hand cupped the bottom of my face, forcing my neck to strain upward. He reached around with his other hand, fingertips lightly touching the swell of my cheek.

Vaner’s eyes narrowed. He dug his thumb into the side of my eye. My pulse fluttered and panic almost removed reason.

“Listen well, you will tell me everything you know of the Lore of Old. Everything the prophet told you, or you will lose an eye.”

His finger dug into the corner. I flinched, trying to get away from it, but his hold would not allow it. The pain began, and I bit the inside of my cheek. So be it. I stiffened my shoulders.

“If you pluck her eyes out, how do you expect her to read Larien?”

‘I cannot have you harmed further.’ A taste of his panic saturated his words, at such an opposite of how calm he sounded when he addressed Vaner.

Vaner stilled, frowning. “What does that mean?”