I only knew of a handful of females boasting the color, and none of them had ‘devious eyes.’

What does that even mean?

Xannirin sat back, rubbing his hand across his chin and scratching his scruff. A few strands of his long hair fell away from the band of leather holding it back as he returned his stare to Kiira.

“It’s the drawings,” I blurted out, kicking myself for not immediately going there. They’d disturbed me long enough that should have been where my mind went.

Xannirin’s gaze slid to mine. “We need her to wake up.”

That was the understatement of the millenia.

What felt like hours passed before Kiira finally stirred. Blinking rapidly, she bolted upright, clutching for something. “Oh, Fates,” she gasped, when she realized where she was. “How did I get here?”

“You arrived mid-vision,” Xannirin told her.

Sinking back, she nodded. I handed her the nearly full glass of citrus water, and she accepted it readily. Tipping it to her lips, she drank down every last drop. Beneath her closed eyes, sunken dark spots caught my attention, a true testament to her exhaustion.

She handed the glass to me when she finished, and I set it aside. “Are you alright?”

The vehemence with which she shook her head tightened my shoulders. “No, but I need to get this out now before another one overtakes me.”

“Have they come frequently as of late?” Xannirin asked her, his tone soft and brimming with concern.

Kiira pushed herself further upright, her thin arms trembling as she did so. Some color had returned to her cheeks at least. “That is why I have delayed this, between the visions and the new arrivals, I have been too exhausted to have a proper conversation with you both. I promise, nothing is wrong, and our alliance remains as strong as the Weaver’s thread.”

“We could have come to you,” I said, readjusting my position to face her.

A long, pained sigh escaped her. “No, you couldn’t. The halls are overflowing with females wanting to enter the faithful. Most come as refugees from the north, with more arriving by the day. My acolytes get the sense that most were sent by their parents for safekeeping.”

“Fuck,” I cursed, fingers curling into my palms. No wonder the nobles, merchants, and soldiers were whispering with such fervency. This was exactly what I was afraid of happening with the Angel’s advance. Uzhhorod was at its maximum capacity as it was with the army convening outside its gates, let alone a fresh wave retreating from threat of death.

“Actually, that might work in our favor,” Xannirin mused, drawing out his words. He drummed his fingers on his thigh while he continued to think. “We conscripted so many from the south, where all the hard labor of growing food is done. Send them there to assist.”

Xannirin was right. “If you send them, accompanied by some trusted females, they can spread the word of the Kral’s generosity in helping with their day to day lives since so many volunteered for the war effort.”

“There are more than a few priestesses assigned to settlements in the south that will readily pick up on the phrasing and sell it to their communities. Priestess Anara for one, from House Olmuth’s vidék,” Kiira added, twisting a strand of her long hair around her finger as she pondered the plan. Finally, she nodded. “I will have my acolytes coordinate their departure as quickly as possible, so the people are not stewing on their situation for long. The Fates always offer a solution to every problem. It is simply a matter of connecting the threads.”

“Aye,” Xannirin agreed, slinging his arm over the back of the lounger and propping his head on his fist. “Like this burgundy-eyed female. What else can you tell us from that vision?”

Kiira paused her twisting, hair still poised around her finger, then let it drop. “What burgundy-eyed female?”

Xannirin and I’s gazes collided over Kiira’s head. If she didn’t remember what she had said, and she didn’t remember sending Xannirin the drawings…

“Kiira,” I said, keeping my voice measured, “how long has this been happening? Not remembering your visions?”

A flush crept across her cheeks, and she ducked her head. “I don’t know.”

Fuck, this isn’t good.

My nails bit into my palms as I tried to quell my rising frustration. What if Kiira’s visions had become unreliable? Or what if the Weaver had opened too many possible paths and the Giver couldn’t convey them accurately any longer to Kiira?

“The last vision you had was nearly two years ago, right? Now they are coming daily. Perhaps the frequency is making you forget?” Xannirin offered gently.

“Perhaps,” she sighed, lifting her head, showing us eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t want to let either of you down. I know my visions have helped us so far…”

“Never, Kiira.” Xannirin gave her hand a squeeze. “The sheer amount of work you’ve taken on, overseeing the spiritual life in the Demon Realm, has helped more than one singular vision.”

As much as I wanted to press Kiira to remember, she was clearly in no state to do so. Xannirin and I would have to puzzle out the rest on our own. “Nothing will ever change how we feel about you,” I promised her.

“Thank you,” she whispered, letting the tears carve paths down her cheeks before swiping them away.

“How about some scale and talk of something else?” Xannirin offered, and Kiira made a face.

“No scale for me. Wine?” she asked, perking up a bit. “You have the best wine in Gyor. I can’t seem to convince the wine merchants in Uzhhorod to send their best bottles to Varbad.”

“I will send someone to fetch a bottle of red I think you’ll adore, and then see to it that the wine merchants give you equal access at Varbad as we have at Gyor. I’m sorry our plans have caused you to feel less than. Just know that you never will be when you’re here with us,” Xannirin told her, brushing his knuckles across her cheek.

“It will be worth it when you’re Kral of all of Keleti,” she smiled back, though it wasn’t one filled with joy, but rather, sympathy and understanding for our positions.

Leaving them to have a moment to themselves, I stuck my head into the hall and asked for some wine and light food to be brought to the study.

Grem and Zeec snoozed on either side of the door, nearly mirroring one another with their heads resting on their crossed paws. I squatted and stroked their black fur as I waited for the inevitable knock that would signal the arrival of food and drink. A huff escaped Zeec as he flopped on his side, clearly dissatisfied with pets on his head. I rubbed his belly, focusing on the feel of his fur under my palm, the heat radiating off his skin, and tried to let go of all these questions about a burgundy-eyed female.

By the time the servant returned with nourishment, Kiira had straightened, and her eyes no longer shone with sadness. They did, however, light up as she sipped the rich red wine. “Yes, Xannirin, this is the good stuff,” she commented with a smack of her lips.

Stealing her glass, I tasted it, nose scrunching as I handed it back to her. “It’s too sweet.”

The two of them laughed. “You only eat and drink things that have a kick to them,” Kiira commented. “You might be a masochist as well as a sadist, Rokath.”

I snorted, then covered the sweet taste of the wine with the spicy scale. “With how long we live, you have to keep life interesting somehow.”

“We could play another game of kazat,” Xannirin offered, his grin as wicked as the suggestion itself.

Kiira and I groaned simultaneously. “No way, Xannirin,” Kiira protested. “You make the wildest bets and somehow always win. After our last game two years ago, I swore never again.”

An image of Kiira perched on the edge of a cliff, black wings tucked tight and ready to leap for a flying falcon popped into my mind. The one bird she’d managed to catch gouged a cut so deep in her arm the healers had to break out their emergency stores of pium to assist in Kiira’s own natural healing before she bled out.