“Over a dozen. Not all by Vrekeners.” When he raised his brows, she admitted, “Sorceri plotted against her. Humans executed her for being a witch. And so on.” She paused a moment, then said, “What about your own sibling? Will your brother not plot to murder me?” Might as well dip a toe.

“Aristo? I grant that he hates Sorceri. It’s the cause of much strife between us.”

“So he’s like your father, then?”

“Yes. But if Aristo harmed you, his brother’s sole fated female, it would be like harming me. It would be like killing my future offspring.” He held her gaze. “We hold mates sacred.”

Thronos will never believe me. Lanthe remembered Sabine lamenting that she couldn’t get Vertas warrior Rydstrom to trust her—just because she’d been a Pravus player who’d lied to him and tricked him into a dungeon imprisonment. Sabine had sighed, “How was I supposed to know to act like my word was good?” I hear you, sister.

“Would Uncle Aristo accept those future offspring of yours?” Lanthe asked. “You made it clear that Sorceri blood would be a detriment to any child we had.”

“I was angry when I said that. I would not love a halfling any less.”

“But others might look down on them.”

Thronos’s face turned cold and intent. “I will not tolerate the slightest disrespect to our children.”

Our children. “Aren’t you worried about the insanity tainting my line?”

He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Again, I was angry when I mentioned that.”

“It was true. My mother wasn’t well. With me, you risk having crazed offspring.”

“I met her once.”

“What? When?”

He told her of a brief encounter, when he’d seen Mother worshipping her gold. She’d called him hawkling.

“Wait, Elisabet had known I was seeing you?”

He nodded. “Your mother was harmless, Melanthe. Yet my father murdered the parents of my mate.” Thronos’s eyes grew matte gray. “I looked up at him that night in the abbey and saw a stranger. I grieved his death, but gods I blamed him. I lost you because of him.” He glanced up sharply, as if he hadn’t meant to say that much.

“Why didn’t you tell me about my mother?”

Clearing his throat, he said, “I wanted to. Never seemed like a good time.”

She could scarcely believe her mother had known that secret. Why hadn’t Elisabet feared an attack? Lanthe would have to get Sabine’s take on that.

“Do halfling Sorceri have powers?” Thronos asked.

“Usually, but Vrekeners have stolen so many powers that they’re not being reincarnated. Children are born without souls.”

His lips thinned, but the wheels were obviously turning. “How old were you when you discovered your persuasion?”

“Really young. I told Sabine to close her mouth. She couldn’t open it for a week, not even to eat. She was starving but no one could figure out what had happened to her. You should know, these kinds of things happen with Sorceri kids.”

Instead of appearing horrified by the prospect, he confidently said, “We can handle it.”

It was then that she noticed how much steadier and calmer he’d grown since the island. She would bet steady was his default setting—unless he suspected that his mate had slept with her brother among her string of other men.

Didn’t mean she wouldn’t call him on his bullshit. “Oh, come on, Thronos. What would you do with Sorceri young? If we had a teenage daughter and her skirt was short, I’d think it’d be even cuter if shorter. How would you react to that? And if she hadn’t stolen gold by the time she was twelve, I’d put her in counseling.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Not at all. We’d have you not knowing up from down.” But this didn’t even bear discussion, because if she and Thronos ever did end up together and she got pregnant, the reality would prove far different: She’d happily go to tell him the good news, all fa la la. He’d ask her if he was the father. She’d behead him in a maniacal rage. . . .

“While we’re on the subject, Vrekener, would you expect me to dress differently up there?”

He raked his gaze over her. “Not behind closed doors.” He must have realized how objectionable she found his words, because he added, “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to stand out as the least dressed female in the Territories.”

“You’ve just given me a title to aspire to. And besides, behind closed doors, I wouldn’t dress at all.”

His brows shot up.

She tapped her chin. “Unless I was in the mood for leather or lace.”

“Leather.” He swallowed. “Or lace.”

Then she frowned. “What’s this talk about having no roofs?”

Seeming occupied with his own imaginings, he took a moment to answer. “We feel more comfortable with nothing except sky above us.”

“Yes, but can’t you hear couples having sex all the time?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, as if the skin there had just heated. “We are quiet in matters like that.”

She stopped in her tracks. “What does that mean? Sometimes it can’t be controlled.”

“Vrekeners take pains not to get . . . overly excited.”

“I don’t understand. What about horny young newlyweds? And what about you, Thronos? I’ve discovered you hardly have ice in your veins.”