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Amused by his temper, Lyonesse folded her wings. Wind played in her hair as she dropped out of the sky. Her feet slammed into the turf. Bits of grass, rock, and loam exploded into a ring around her.
Priestly spun to face her. His noses flared. “Done circling like carrion?”
The sharp insult struck.
Lyonesse steeled herself, then smoothed her expression, refusing to let him get under her skin. Now was no time to take offense. And laughing at him while he frothed at the mouth? A terrible idea, one unworthy of her. Stoking his anger, picking apart his pride, made for a more enjoyable game.
Settling her wings, she ran her gaze over him. Such a beautiful specimen — strong, striking in appearance, iron-willed. The kind of warrior she’d choose to father her children one day if fate spun the way she wanted. Westvane would’ve done too, but his inferior bloodline — the ruination of his genes — made that impossible. When she bred, it would be to a pure-blooded Electi, someone of stellar lineage, a male of sound body, mind, and spirit.
“You seem out of sorts, Priestly,” she murmured, poking at him. “Something happen I should know about?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You already know.”
True. But what better way to remind him of his failure than by forcing him to voice it. “Tell me anyway.”
“Little witch pinned me to the ground. Interrupted my fight with Westvane.”
The news flattened her good mood.Immobilized? Fight with Westvane?Lyonesse frowned. Seemed as though Anckar missed relaying some of the more pertinent details of Priestly’s encounter with the Door Master.
“Do you know how long I’ve waited to cross swords him?” Golden eyes glowing with fury, Priestly snarled, “Do you?”
Processing the information, Lyonesse shook her head.
“Meddling little witch.”
Lyonesse took a step toward him. “Priestly —”
“She’s strong.” Ignoring her, he paced in a circle, stopping in front of the lone tree clinging to the cliff side. “Much more powerful than the last.”
“Stronger than Herron?” Lyonesse clenched her teeth. Saying the name of the former Door Master aloud offended her. It left the worst taste in her mouth. “You’re sure?”
“I saw it with my own eyes. Untapped magic. Formidable. Strongest I’ve ever seen.” He scowled. “Not that she knows how to use it yet.”
Well, finally. Some good news.
His scowl so black it scorched the air, Priestly kicked a raised tree root. “And Westvane.”
“He was with her?”
“He protected her.”
“The traitor,” she said, fisting her hands so tight her nails cut into her palms. “Nothing but flesh and filth.”
“Not the worst, or the least of it.”
Her gaze narrowed on Priestly. “What could be worse than that?”
“He commands magic, Majesty. Has black-feathered wings. Fully fledged,” he said, his unease mirroring her own. “He’s an Electi — one of us.”
“No, he isn’t,” she said, hissing at him. “Tainted blood runs through his veins.”
“Only makes him stronger. Electi magic and Assenta strength combined. He’s more dangerous than ever. You should’ve killed him when you had the chance.”
She knew that, but…
“My father loved him. I made a promise.”
“One you must break now.” Watching her with shimmering golden eyes, Priestly exhaled long and slow. “Something else too.”
