“Yes,” he confirms. “Lord Rengard’s letter said she was an exceptionally shy and devoted creature. He couldn’t understand why anyone would want to harm her.” He watches me closely, and I get the sense he’s feeding me a piece of important information, waiting to see if I clue in.
“They misjudged her.” I echo the reason Tyree gave for killing the tributary. A devoted creature. Devoted to her keeper. “It’s because she wasn’t willing to poison him. These others must have refused as well.”
“Or they figured out what the Ybarisans have in their possession and threatened to speak.” He frowns. “But I also must assume that many are willing.”
“They’re tired of having their children taken away.” I grimace with new understanding.
Wendeline’s curious eyes bounce back and forth between us, but she remains quiet.
Zander drops into the limited space on the small settee, forcing me to shift to make room. Resting his elbows on his knees, he leans forward and studies the priestess until she begins to squirm.
I know that unnerving feeling well.
“Ianca.”
She waits a moment and then, as if realizing he is waiting for her to speak, says, “I’m sorry, Your Highness? I do not understand.”
“Do you know anyone by that name?”
“Here, in Islor? No? I don’t believe so.”
“What about in Ybaris?”
She shakes her head.
“An elemental,” he pushes. “She’s one of Neilina’s.”
“I left Mordain when I was seventeen, and I never spent time in Argon. And I’ve been here for twenty-eight years. May I ask, what is this about?”
Zander sighs. “It is as we suspected. Margrethe was not the first to summon the fates for Romeria.”
My jaw drops. “You already knew!” Or at least suspected. And he didn’t tell me? I don’t know why I’m surprised or angry by this—he’s hidden everything else from me, only revealing information as necessary—but my indignation burns.
He ignores my reaction. “Ianca summoned Aoife.”
“Aoife.” Wendeline’s eyes widen. “Against Neilina’s will?”
“Tyree did not say.”
“No. She knew,” I interject. “Neilina was disappointed that we failed. Whatever the plan was, she was a part of it, and that must have included what happened with Aoife.” I shoot a glare at Zander.
Wendeline seems to consider that. “And Neilina would have had to remove Ianca’s collar for her, so yes, I think you are correct.” Her gaze dances with thought as it settles on the table between us. “Did he say what precisely they asked Aoife for?”
“No, but I believe it is also as we suspected,” he says quietly. “Either way, we will not get any more information from him.”
Despite what Tyree did to me, I cringe at the gruesome memory. “And what did you two suspect that you haven’t told me?”
Zander stalls on the answer, but then resignation fills his expression. “That you were already a weapon when you arrived here. One that could not be fed upon and could not be turned.” His jaw tenses. “And one that I would not be able to resist.”
Tyree’s dark laughter and words skate through my mind. So, the fool is still enchanted, despite everything. “Bewitched,” I hear myself say out loud. That was the word Annika used. Consumed by your beauty and blind to your treachery. “So it is true?” Whatever else Ianca asked of Aoife, she wanted Zander to fall for me, and fall hard.
Zander’s intent focus is on the priestess, but I don’t miss the way his cheeks flush. He’s embarrassed by it. “I would like to know all your thoughts on this. Candidly.” It’s a request rather than a demand.
Wendeline told me Zander seeks her counsel on many things related to the casters, but it’s refreshing to see him burying his arrogance and bowing to others for expertise. Korsakov never asked anyone for advice, and if he asked for their opinion? It was always part of a game to prove them wrong and himself superior.
“If Neilina broke her own decree to summon Aoife for Romeria,” she says slowly, “then it is safe to assume whatever she asked for would be detrimental not just to you but to all Islorian immortals.”
He smirks. “You mean, like a princess who would kill any of us with the blood that courses through her veins?”