Chapter 9

The first thing that reaches me is the smell. Not incense, not the sugared wine they burn at the base of my tower, but iron and smoke and wet leather—battlefield air tearing straight through the perfumed veil of the Gilded Pavilion. The doors slam open so hard the golden chimes over the lintel scream. Mara jolts to her feet from the low couch, half-bow, half-flinch. The two lanterns on either side of my bed sway, shadows jumping over the painted ceiling. He fills the doorway like a storm. Kian’s...