Maeve watched from the chair by the fire, cruel amusement on her red lips.

“You saw the horrors of the dungeons and did not fall ill,” she said when he vomited again. The unspoken question shone in her eyes. Why today?

Dorian lifted his head, wiping his mouth on the shoulder of his jacket. “Those collars …” He ran a hand over his neck. “I didn’t think it would affect me like that. To see them again.”

“You were reckless in entering that chamber.”

“Would I have been able to get out, if you hadn’t found me?” He didn’t ask how she’d done so, how she’d sensed the peril. That power of hers no doubt kept track of him wherever he went.

“The collars can do nothing without being attached to a host. But that room is a place of hatred and pain, the memory of it etched into the stones.” She examined her long nails. “It snared you. You let yourself be snared.”

Hadn’t Kaltain said nearly the same thing regarding the collars? “It took me by surprise.”

Maeve let out a hum, well aware of his lie. But she said, “The collars are one of his more brilliant creations. Neither of his brothers was clever enough to come up with it. But Erawan—he always had a gift for ideas.” She leaned back in the chair, crossing her legs. “But that gift also made him arrogant.” She nodded to him. “That he let you remain in Rifthold with your father, rather than bring you here, only proves it. He thought he could control you both from afar. Had he been more cautious, he would have brought you to Morath immediately. Begun work on you.”

The collars flashed before his eyes, leaking their poisoned, oily scent into the world, beckoning, waiting for him—

Dorian heaved again.

Maeve let out a low laugh that raked talons down his spine. His temper.

Dorian mastered himself and twisted toward her. “You gave over those spiders for his princesses, knowing what they’d endure, knowing how it would feel to be trapped like that, albeit in a different manner.” How, he didn’t say. How could you do that, when you knew that sort of terror?

Maeve fell silent for a moment, and he could have sworn something like regret passed over her face. “I would not have done it, unless my need to prove my loyalty compelled me.” Her attention drifted to where Damaris hung at his side. “You do not wish to verify my claim?”

Dorian didn’t touch the golden hilt. “Do you want me to?”

She clicked her tongue. “You are different indeed. I wonder if some of the Valg did cross over when your father bred your mother.”

Dorian cringed. He still hadn’t dared to ask Damaris about it—whether he was human. Whether it mattered now.

“Why?” he asked, gesturing to the keep around them. “Why does Erawan do any of this?” A week after he’d asked the Valg king himself, Dorian still wanted to—needed to know.

“Because he can. Because Erawan delights in such things.”

“You made it sound as if he was the mildest of all three brothers.”

“He is.” She ran a hand over her throat. “Orcus and Mantyx are the ones who taught him all he knows. Should they return here, what Erawan creates in these mountains will seem like lambs.”

He’d heeded that warning from Kaltain, at least. He hadn’t dared venture into the caverns beyond the valley. To the stone altars and the monstrosities Erawan crafted upon them.

He asked, “You never had children? With Orcus?”

“Does my future husband truly wish to know?”

Dorian settled back on his heels. “I wish to understand my enemy.”

She weighed his words. “I did not allow my body to ripen, to ready for children. A small rebellion, and my first, against Orcus.”

“Are the Valg princes and princesses the offspring of the other kings?”

“Some are, some are not. No worthy heir has stepped forward. Though who knows what has occurred in their world in these millennia.” Their world. Not her own. “The princes Erawan summoned have not been strong—not as they were. I am certain it annoys Erawan to no end.”

“Which is why he has brought over the princesses?”

A nod. “The females are the deadliest. But harder to contain within a host.”

The white band of skin on his neck seemed to burn, but he kept his stomach down: this time. “Why did you leave your world?”

She blinked at him, as if surprised.

“What?” he asked.

She angled her head. “It has been a long, long time since I conversed with someone who knows me for what I am. And with someone whose mind remained wholly their own.”

“Even Aelin?”

A muscle in her slim jaw feathered. “Even Aelin of the Wildfire. I could not infiltrate her mind entirely, but little things … those, I could convince her to see.”

“Why did you capture and torture her?” Such a simple way of describing what had happened in Eyllwe and after it.

“Because she would never agree to work with me. And she would never have protected me from Erawan or the Valg.”

“You’re strong—why not protect yourself? Use those spiders to your advantage?”

“Because our kind only fears certain gifts. Mine, alas, are not those things.” She toyed with a strand of her black hair. “I usually keep another Fae female with me. One who has powers that work against the Valg. Different from those Aelin Galathynius possesses.” That she didn’t specify what those powers were told Dorian not to waste his breath in asking her. “She swore the blood oath to me long ago, and has rarely left my side since. But I did not dare bring her to Morath. To have her here would not have convinced Erawan that I came in good faith.” She twirled the strand of hair around a finger. “So you see, I am as defenseless against Erawan as you.”

Dorian highly doubted that, but he rose to his feet at last, aiming for the table where water and food had been laid out. A fine spread, for a demon king’s castle in the dead of winter. He poured himself a glass of water and gulped down the contents. “Is this Erawan’s true form?”

“In a manner of speaking. We are not like the human and Fae, where your souls are invisible, unseen. Our souls have a shape to them. We have bodies that we can fashion around them—adorn them, like jewelry. The form you see on Erawan was always his preferred decoration.”

“What do your souls look like beneath?”

“You would find them displeasing.”

He suppressed a shudder.

“I suppose that makes us shape-shifters, too,” Maeve mused as Dorian aimed for the chair beside hers. He’d spent his nights sleeping on the floor before the fire, one eye watching the queen dozing in the canopied bed behind him. But she had made no move to harm him. Not one.

“Do you feel Valg, or Fae?”

“I am what I am.” For a heartbeat, he could almost glimpse the weight of her eons of existence in her eyes.

“But who do you wish to be?” A careful question.

“Not like Erawan. Or his brothers. I never have.”

“That’s not exactly an answer.”

“Do you know who and what you wish to be?” A challenge—and genuine question.

“I’m figuring it out,” he said. Strange. So strange, to have this conversation. Sparing them both for the time being, Dorian rubbed at his face. “The key is in his tower. I’m sure of it.”

Maeve’s mouth tightened.

Dorian said, “There is no way in—not with the guards. And I’ve flown the exterior enough to know there are no windows, no cracks for me to even creep through.” He held her otherworldly stare. Did not shrink from it. “We need to get in. If only to confirm that it’s there.” She’d once held the keys—she knew what they felt like. That she had come so close then …

“And I suppose you expect me to do that?”

He crossed his arms. “I can think of no one else that Erawan would admit inside.”

Maeve’s solitary blink was her only sign of surprise. “To seduce and betray a king—one of the oldest tricks in the book, as you humans say.”

“Can Erawan be seduced by anyone?”