Scorched Skies by Samantha Young Page B

children. What has my brilliant boy been up to now?
    Not fooled by his placid smile, The Red King crossed his arms over his chest and widened his stance. I think you know , he growled, the anger he felt over Ari ’ s attack feeding into every word.
    Gleaming shrugged. I may have told him about the Seal. I didn ’ t know it was a secret.
    Do you like making yourself sound like a fool?
    Red… be careful. You are in my house now.
    Your son has attacked the Seal.
    Ah , Gleaming nodded, his eyes glittering with humor, I thought that was why he left here in such an excited rush. My boy thinks he can wield the Seal? Ha, he is splendid isn ’ t he?
    Fighting the impulse to eviscerate his brother, The Red King put his hands behind his back, missing the jeans he ’ d swapped for leather trousers when he entered Mount Qaf. He could have just slammed his hands into his jean ’ s pockets instead of physically having to restrain them from wrapping around Gleaming ’ s throat. This particular brother had always rubbed him the wrong way. All he had to do was smile and The Red King wanted to kill him. They ’ d had many fights in their younger years and The Red King was almost certain that Gleaming was the one who started interfering in days that were not his jurisdiction first.
    Where is he?
    I don ’ t know. He won ’ t answer my calls . He frowned now. That ’ s not like him. You ’ ll have a difficult time finding Dalí; he ’ s more powerful than even he knows, and like all half-breeds very elusive. He laughed. Little shit didn ’ t give me his correct address. Doesn ’ t even trust his own father. Could a father be any prouder than I?
    The Red King rolled his eyes. You ’ re so twisted.
    Thank you. Gleaming chuckled at his expression. Oh please, you know all about twisted, Red. If I didn ’ t know you for the cold, heartless, traitorous little bug you are, I would suspect you had grown fond of the Seal. Even if it were true you ’ d betray her in a second if Father told you to.
    Cold violence settled over The Red King and his eyes blazed an unnatural color. He attempted to ignore Gleaming ’ s chilling truths and decided to try and play on his loyalty. The White King will not be amused by Dalí ’ s pursuit of Ari.
    It didn ’ t receive the reaction he ’ d hoped. Instead of cowering at the thought, Gleaming shrugged. I cannot control my son just as White cannot control his daughter.
    Realizing Gleaming would be unmoving in this, The Red King stepped back, leaving through the Peripatos without another word. Frustrated and knowing he should discuss this with his Father, The Red King stepped out of the Peripatos and into Azazil ’ s private receiving rooms. He was surprised to find his father there instead of in the throne room. He was even more surprised to discover that Azazil had turned his cold but elegantly appointed sitting room into a dark dungeon of torture. Blinking against the low candlelight, The Red King gave a low bow to his father as he turned from towering over the human who looked so small next to the seven foot Sultan. In his large hand he gripped a blooded blade. Blood smeared his bare torso and dripped onto the silk of his tailored suit trousers. His long white hair had been tightly roped back into a braid so that it would not get in his way. By his side sat a towering instrument that looked a bit like a bird bath. Sniffing the air, The Red King knew it was hot tar. He only had to look at the small human strapped to a St. Andrews cross to know that it was hot tar. It had burned into the man ’ s flesh, playing connect the dots with knife cuts and an assortment of abrasions. His face was pale and his eyelashes fluttered against the crest of his cheeks. He ’ d passed out from the pain. From the torture. The Red King wondered dispassionately what crime the human had committed.
    “He killed a lesser Jinn,” Azazil answered, his booming voice echoing around the transformed room. It was bare, the