And yours does . . . ?
She continued, "You've two sisters, Mia and Zoe, who you barely speak to. They have their own lives, and you wonder if maybe you should have involved them more in your quest. You're ashamed because you found yourself envious of a friend of yours who'd finally found his mate. A Lykae. I think his name is Bowen MacRieve?"
Rydstrom met her gaze, though he was discomfited by what she'd seen. Because he was envious, and he con­sidered that a weakness. A good man would be happy for a friend.
But Rydstrom was one of the oldest in the Lore, and over the long years of his life, it seemed that one at a time, each of his comrades had found their females.
All of them had experienced something he could only dream of... something so vital, they'd each begun to pity him for the lack.
His mien was stoic, but she could tell he was unsettled by all that she'd discovered. "Anything else, sorceress?"
"Lots and lots." The demon was a solitary male. He had friends but was too obsessed with his mission to enjoy them. He didn't approve of his disreputable brother or his brother's crew of mercenaries, so he didn't spend unnecessary time with them.
Sabine had taken him from no lover.
"Mainly," she said, "I saw that you are . . . lonely." And his loneliness had called to her-which mystified Sabine, only adding to her general state of vexation. Last night, when she'd imagined the pain Rydstrom would feel to have his arms hacked off, she'd been so consumed with something that she hadn't even heard Hettiah approaching to attack. Feelings made people stupid, vulnerable.
And more, she'd been embarrassed by what Rydstrom had seen at court. She'd never forget the revolted look on his face when he'd surveyed what used to be his.
For some reason, she didn't want him to think that just because she lived here, she was like them.
Just because I don't flinch doesn't mean I'm blind.
"You had no right to be in my head!" He twisted in the bed, his lips thinned in obvious pain. "And then you made me dream of..."
"Dream of what, Rydstrom?" She'd missed it. "I bade you to dream of what you needed most. I'd meant heal­ing. Did your mind supply other particulars?"
His expression grew closed. "It's none of your con-cern."
She let that drop. For now. "I've also seen that you want to take me over to your side. That would be quite a coup. One thing though-I'm not likely to align myself against the most powerful sorcerer ever to live."
"I saw your power. You're stronger than he is."
"Don't play to my considerable vanity, demon." She examined her nails. "It will gain you nothing." "Ally with me and seek asylum within our army."
"Asylum? Where? In your castle? Oh, I forgot, you haven't one. At least with Omort, I'm kept protected from your kind."
"Become my kind, and no one will ever hurt you again."
She sat at the foot of the bed. "That's the difference between me and you. I won't try to convert you. Do I like that you never lie and esteem things like valor? Of course not. But I don't try to rid you of those traits. Why does your kind forever seek to change ours?" That was'what she hated most about them-not their odd,
counter-intuitive beliefs per se, but that they would force them on others.
"Because we live more contented lives. We have loy­alty, fidelity, honor-"
"All three are overrated. The only chance you have to demonstrate any of them is to deny yourself some-thing or someone that you desire."
"Then in the same vein, what about your loyalty to Omort? Have you been tempted to align with his
enemies?"
"Never," she lied. She was constantly tempted to betray him. Even more so now that he was cracking under the pressure of the uprising rebels, the vampires waiting at the castle walls to strike at sundown, the taunting of a foolish Valkyrie.
The idea of Sabine with a demon.... But in truth, Sabine could have been steadfast to Omort. She recalled when he'd first come to find her. He'd seemed gallant as he'd saved her and Lanthe from an attack by ignorant humans. When he'd brought them to live in a plane with no humans or Vrekeners, the sisters had finally felt safe, protected in Tornin. Until the first time Omort had laid his hand on
Sabine's thigh.
Of course, they hadn't believed he was their half brother simply because he'd said so. But they had known that their mother, Elisabet, had committed some sin that made the noble family of Deie Sorceri disown her. Some transgression had made her feel so unworthy that Sabine and Lanthe's worthless father had seemed a good catch.
From Omort they'd learned that Elisabet had been the Vessel of her own time-and she'd given birth to an ultimate evil-him. . . .
Rydstrom interrupted her thoughts. "Omort can't fight off" the alliance the Valkyrie Nïx is forming. Not
alone."
"Ah, yes, your Vertas. That's what Nïx called it."
"You're talking to her?"
"Corresponding more like. She's utterly unhinged, by the way. You'd trust a madwoman to lead your army?"
"There's a method to her madness," he said dryly, but she caught the undertone of respect in his voice.
Luckily, Sabine didn't want his respect, so she wasn't jealous of the Valkyrie. She could earn his respect any time she wanted-if she wanted.
"Besides, Omort won't be alone, demon. You saw members of his army." Members that they would be los­ing if Omort didn't get control of himself soon. "This Accession should be a good one."
"And it doesn't bother you that we'll be on opposing
sides."
"You act as though we haven't always been." "Maybe so, but we will not be any longer." "Then you'll have to join the Pravus, because I plan to be on the winning side." Yet for the first time, she won­dered. Omort was proving useless against the threats sur­rounding them. Without him at the helm, the army was rife with rumor and instability. Already covenants were breaking as smaller factions defected from the Pravus.
This evening, with the coming dusk, Sabine and Lanthe would have to risk their lives in battle because
he couldn't rise to the challenge. "Demon, you have to understand-Omort truly can't be killed. There's simply no way to defeat him."
"What if there were?"
"And still, you believe in Groot's sword." She gave him an indulgent expression. "It's a fable, Rydstrom. Even if it would work, and even if you were free, you'd never get close enough to Omort to use it."
"It will work. Nïx has vowed that it will. She is never wrong."