Page 198 of Starside

“How do you think?” he says, words full of mirth.

I reach for the goblet in front of me. A golden liquid sparkles inside. Wine. “I think it was handed to you, just like that seat, just like this house, just like that silver hair. I think you were born with all of it at your fingertips.”

Someone drops something behind me. Another attendant horrified by how I’m speaking to their lord, no doubt.

Vander Evren’s own wineglass was halfway to his lips, but it stills. All at once, the force of him fills the room, power like an invisible, crushing wave, searing through my skin and bones, as if the entire time, he’s been holding it back. Ice-cold fear grips my chest. That’s when I realize, perhaps for the first time, the immortal I’m dealing with.

The supposed greatest heir in a millennium. The warrior that quieted the whole forest. That even the cavalry stayed away from.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe I don’t have any sense of self-preservation.

I swallow.

All at once, that power is ripped away, as if taken back. I rock forward, released from its hold.

He sets down his glass with unnerving gentleness. “You don’t know anything about me, or what I’ve done.” He looks me over. “I could tell you, but you’d be dead of old age before I got to any of the good parts.” He looks bored. “I won’t waste my breath. Eat.”

The word is a brutal command, and after that wordless display, I heed it. Gaze not leaving his, I slowly pick up my fork and stab at something orange. I bring it to my mouth.

And try not to let my face reveal how extraordinarily delicious it is as I chew some type of vegetable that is sweeter than any honey.

Vander watches me eat for several moments, until half my plate is empty. Only then does he speak again. “Who was Stellan to you?”

The question hits me right in the chest. Every twisted shard of guilt and sadness that I buried pokes through my ribs.

I take a sip of the wine, the sweet nectar slightly burning down my throat but not doing anything for the knot in it. My voice is tight. “He was—he was my savior.”

Vander nods. His gaze touches the table, then me. “That, human, we have in common.”

I blink. He must know I’m wondering how Stellan, a mortal, could possibly be an immortal’s savior.

He leans back in his chair, looking every inch the powerful warrior heir.

“Half a century ago, he saved my life. I gave him a piece of rare metal in thanks and hosted him on his journey.” I don’t breathe, remembering the sparkling silver. The most valuable item Stellan owned and turned into a gift for me.

The dagger he died for.

“He learned about my people’s … suffering. He finished the quest. Instead of going for the gates, he came here. He gave the magic to me, and to my people.” My eyes widen. That’s where the magic went. Confusion grips me. Why would Stellan help immortals who have so much … instead of our own neighbors?

Vander looks me over. “He was a friend to me at my worst, a friend to all immortals, when he had little reason to be.” His gaze hardens. “That friendship and sacrifice are the only reasons I answered your call.”

My eyes burn. Stellan—he was a friend to me too. He died because of me. And, even in those final moments, even as he called me a fool, I know he didn’t regret taking me in.

I blink, and a tear escapes. It runs down my cheek. Vander turns his head, studying it, as if it’s something grossly unfamiliar.

He stands. A blur, and he’s right in front of me, fast as lightning.

Slowly, he reaches forward and brushes away the tear. His skin barely touches mine. He’s entirely focused on the liquid.

He rubs it between his fingers. He frowns.

His arm extends in a flash, and his magnificent blade is hurtling across the room, into his hand. It’s against my neck in an instant, glowing wildly. Yes, definitely a godsword. He’s right in front of me, and his face—it’s transformed.

It’s become a mask of cold rage.

“Why so guilty, human?” he growls. “Did you kill him?”

I can’t even find it in myself to feel fear. All I feel is knee-wobbling sadness. And yes, guilt.