The feeling of Rhyian's cold fingers over mine was both a shock and a strange, unwelcome comfort. My hand, which had held a blade with unflinching steadiness just an hour ago, now trembled under his touch. For seven years, my every thought had been geared toward survival, toward hating him, toward keeping the wall around my heart solid and impenetrable. Now, with a single confession and a kneeling plea, he had found a crack.
I pulled my hand away. Not sharply, but with a deliberate, final motion. The connection was broken.
He didn't try to reclaim it. He remained on his knees, his silver eyes watching me, waiting for my verdict.
"Get up, Rhyian," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "I can't talk to you like that."
He rose slowly, gracefully, a king reclaiming his posture but not his crown. He stood before me, his expression open and vulnerable in a way I had never seen. He was waiting for my answer to his plea for a new truce.
"Fine," I said, the word feeling inadequate for the monumental shift that had just occurred. "A new truce. As equals."
A wave of palpable relief washed over his features, so profound it was like seeing a statue breathe for the first time.
"Thank you, Carys."
"Don't thank me yet," I warned, standing up to face him, my own exhaustion warring with a new sense of purpose. "This partnership has conditions. My conditions."
"Name them," he said without hesitation.
"First," I said, my voice gaining strength. "No more secrets. Not from me. You promised me knowledge, answers. I want everything. I want the full, unredacted history of the Dravos Prophecy. I want every file you have on the Ash-Scythe Coven. And I want to know everything you know about the Aethel. You thought we were a myth. Why? What are the stories?"
"Done," he agreed instantly. "You will have unrestricted access to the library, including Silas's sealed archives. I will answer any question you ask, truthfully and completely."
"Second," I continued, pressing my advantage. "Rowan. Our deal stands, but it's more important now than ever. He is not to be treated like a prince or an heir. He is a little boy. I don't want him surrounded by guards or sycophants. And I will be the one to tell him about us, about what we are. When he is ready. Not before."
"Agreed," Rhyian said, though I could see the effort it cost him. "His childhood will be protected."
"Good." I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the final, most important condition. "And third... Silas."
Rhyian's face hardened.
"He will be dealt with. I will handle it."
"No," I said, my voice ringing with an authority that felt new and right. "You will not 'handle it.' You won't kill him. Not yet. He's the only link we have to the Coven's leadership. He knows who they are, how they communicate, and what their real plan is. A dead traitor tells no tales."
"He is a venomous snake in my house," Rhyian countered, his anger simmering just below the surface. "He put you and my son in mortal danger. He deserves a thousand years of agony."
"I don't care what he deserves," I shot back. "I care about what we can get from him. You said it yourself: his mind is shielded. Torture won't work. We need a different approach. We need to be smarter." I looked at the gruesome sack on the table. "He doesn't know that we know. Joric sealed his room, but as far as Silas knows, he's merely under quarantine pending an investigation. He thinks his package is still in play."
A slow, dangerous understanding began to dawn in Rhyian's eyes.
"What are you suggesting?"
"I'm suggesting we use his own trap against him," I said, my hunter's mind kicking into gear. "He used his position as the kind, helpful archivist to get close to me. To assess me. He thinks I'm a gullible human, a 'little bird' he can manipulate." A cold smile touched my lips. "Let's let him keep thinking that. I will be the one to interrogate him."
Rhyian stared at me, his initial disbelief giving way to a grudging admiration.
"You want to walk back into the lion's den after discovering he has been sharpening his claws for you."
"He thinks I'm a sheep," I corrected. "He won't be expecting a wolf. You and your men, with your strength and your intimidation... you are the hammer. He is expecting a hammer. I am the scalpel. I can get under his shields in a way you never could. I can play the part of the frightened, confused human who has come to her 'only friend' in the tower for help."
The plan was forming in my mind, sharp and clear. I would go to Silas, show him the box, and pretend I didn't understand the significance of the ring. I would play on his ego, his belief in my weakness, and trick him into revealing his next move.
Rhyian was silent for a long time, studying me. He was seeing me now, not as the woman he'd lost or the mother of his child, but as a strategist. A fellow predator.
"It is an incredibly dangerous gambit," he said finally. "If he suspects for a second that you know the truth, he will kill you without hesitation."
"Then I'll have to be very convincing," I said simply. "This is my condition, Rhyian. We do this my way. No guards at the door, no 'intervening' if you get nervous. You will watch from the command center, and you will trust me to see it through. This is the first test of our new partnership."
I was asking him to place my life, the success of the mission, and the exposure of the conspiracy entirely in my hands. I was asking for the one thing he had never given anyone: complete and total trust.
He walked over to the window, staring out at the dark city below. The fate of his court, his son, and his own tormented past rested on this decision. I held my breath, waiting.
"Alright, Carys," he said, turning back to face me, his silver eyes blazing with a potent mixture of fear and pride. "We do it your way."