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Water dripped down the walls as they descended further, and the musty scent of decay overtook the other prisoner’s stench. He ignored those who called to them in passing, ignored the guards who tugged on his chains.
Rion no longer cared because, just as he’d told Saoirse, he was tired of fighting. He was thankful to his sister. Really. She was the one who’d convinced Alec to aid Móirín and now that more people knew Arianna’s secret, he didn’t need to worry about her safety.
And he’d be out of her life forever.
She’d find her mate and live happily ever after without The Demon to haunt her.
Rion entered his cell, and the guards slammed the iron door behind him. He walked to the far corner, leaned against it, and sank to the cold floor.
Forgotten. That’s what he deserved to be. And eventually, his memory would fade from the world and all would be right again.
Rion closed his eyes. Despite his longing for solitude, heavy footsteps sounded minutes later with male voices echoing down the corridor. He sighed when those boots sloshed through the puddle outside his cell.
“You’re really going to just let them kill you?” Was that disappointment in his voice? Rion looked at Talon. He stood with his arms crossed, a long sword strapped to his back, and countless blades hidden between the folds of his clothing.
“It was bound to happen, eventually.”
“And Arianna?”
Rion’s jaw clenched, remembering Talon’s arms around her. “She’ll be safe in your care.”
“She’ll mourn for you.” Yes, she would, because that was Arianna and though the thought pained him, it hurt far more to imagine a life without her.
“I never realized you were so easy to kill.”
Rion smirked. “Jealous?”
Talon ignored the jab. Trickling water filled the silence, then the male sighed. “You realize what Avalon plans will hurt a great deal.”
“Good.”
Again, silence. “I want to know who killed Lillian.”
Rion stretched his legs out. “Ask Avalon.”
“I’m asking you. I no longer serve Avalon, I serve my queen, and I will bring Lillian’s murderer to justice.”
“Justice. People’s definition of it is a funny thing.”
Talon growled. “Tell me.”
Rion allowed himself a sarcastic smile. He’d miss riling this male up. “I hunted him afterward. Not out of any love for the Lady of Móirín, but because another stole my charge and thought he’d get away with it. However, I didn’t calculate how much time the new war would steal from my personal vendettas.”
“So you never found out?”
Rion flashed him a look. “I made time. I tracked his warriors to the border of Fiadh and after a bit of convincing, they gave me a name.”
“Spit it out.”
“The estranged son of Fiadh’s High Lord. From what I gathered, he’s a shadow weaver himself and a powerful one. He acted outside his father’s influence and concocted a plan to divide Móirín and Brónach for his country’s own glory.” Rion leaned his head back against the damp wall. “There’s also rumor that Pádraigín is involved though it’s unclear how deep their alliance runs.”
“Pádraigín? I thought the two countries hated one another.”
“The countries, maybe, but sometimes individuals make their own plans.”
Talon shifted on his feet. “I knew to keep an eye on Fiadh, they’re warmongering dogs, but I never expected them to pit our countries against one another.”
“Nor did I expect to be the pawn that started it.”
