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“I owe you my life. Thank you for it.”

“I should have gone with you that night.” I heard the regret in his voice.

“No, it would have been too obvious. You did what you had to do.” I reassured him. “Like you always do. I don’t deserve you.”

His mouth found mine again. The kiss was slower this time. His lips lingered on mine, tongue sliding into my mouth, unraveling me. He raised his hand. His thumb gently traced the edge of my jaw, then slid down the line of my throat. Every touch was precise, careful—completely knowing.

“You don’t deserve me,” he murmured. “But you’ve got me. Always.”

His hand slipped down my chest, careful to avoid the bandages. His fingers teased at the small gap between my hips and my trousers, then brushed over the fabric, stroking me until I gasped.

“You trust me?”

My chest tightened. “With my life.”

“You trust her?”

The look in his eyes told me he already knew what I was going to say. Still, a slight hesitation, then I nodded. “I do.”

“And you trust us?”

I looked up at him. “This is it, Lysander.”

“Then, we’re her warriors, Avari. She needs us. So let me piece you back together. So we can fight for her. Side by side.”

He shifted, pulling me closer, his hand sliding to unfasten my trousers, his breath warm at my ear. The world narrowed until it was just us. Just him and me, as it had always been. Until now. Now we were three.

Chapter 6

MEDRA

I was not okay. But I had to pretend to be. Even though I felt as if my body hadn’t stopped shaking since I’d left Blake’s room the night he flew off. I slouched lower in my chair, hoping no one would notice my trembling hands, and glanced at the girl in the chair to my left. The one person I might have expected to pick up on my heightened anxiety seemed to be off in a world of her own. Florence’s hands were knotted together, and she stared down at them, clearly lost in her thoughts.

The sound of a door slamming made me jump. I glanced behind me to see Visha marching in. She yanked out the empty chair to my right and slammed her body into it with a remarkable lack of care for pain. That was Visha. I watched her shove her hands through her hair, pushing back the longer wisps of blond along the top.

“Everything all right?” I whispered. She nodded curtly.

“All right, I think that’s the last of us. Shall we begin?” Professor Rodriguez stood at the head of the long boardroom table, shuffling a stack of papers impatiently.

I glanced curiously at Visha. Blake had told me there might be something between his Second and our ever-so-complicated blight-born professor. But the girl’s face was unreadable. I knew if she wanted to talk to me, she would. Visha wasn’t one to hold back. She’d murdered one of her former consorts a few nights ago: Lucian Aleron would never torment another blightborn again.

So maybe she was simply traumatized. I gave a small sigh. We were all in the same fucking club, then. I doubted poor Florence was faring any better after all she must have seen in Veilmar. I needed to give my friends a break. After all, they were probably doing the same with me.

I tried to focus on what Rodriguez was saying.

“… an update on the plague situation. Healer Elycia, if you will?”

The dark-skinned blightborn healer from Avari rose from her seat near the head of the table. “We’ve identified several consistent traits among the infected.” She glanced down at the worn notebook she held. “The first point should be obvious. The infection is still limited to highbloods.”

Professor Alastor Vane made a grumbling sound of protest. I eyed him curiously. I’d never had a class with the highblood instructor before. I knew he taught Drakharrow students blood magic. Vane was a tall, slim man with a receding hairline and thinning hair so pale it seemed white. The fact that he wore it all tied back in a long greasy-looking queue didn’t help his appearance. Still, regardless of his grimy demeanor, I remembered Blake saying he was a brilliant scholar in his subject area.

“I know some won’t wish to hear this,” Elycia said, raising her voice a little and looked pointedly at Vane, “but it’s simply a fact.”

Vane snorted. “Is it, indeed?”

“If you’d like to come down to the makeshift morgue we’ve set up, Alastor—” Elycia said, sounding as if she was losing patience “—and inspect some of the infected bodies, you are more than welcome to do so at any time.”

Vane harrumphed. “Might just have to. Someone impartial must verify your claims.”