“Our queen doesn’t want to see her people?” Rithi’s voice was dangerously low, her flame still a simmering white.

  “Irithys,” Lidia said calmly, “has spent the majority of her existence locked within a crystal ball. As you, perhaps, can understand better than anyone else on Midgard … to suddenly be free of captivity, to be alone in the world, is no easy thing. So I”—a glance at Bryce—“we are asking you to find her. To offer her companionship and guidance, yes, but also …”

  “To help us,” Bryce finished. “We need you three to advocate for Midgard—help her understand what we’re fighting for. And maybe convince her to help against the Asteri again. When the time’s right.”

  The sprites studied them for a long moment.

  Sasa said, “You would trust Lowers and slaves with this?”

  “We would trust no one else for so important a task,” Lidia said.

  There weren’t many Vanir on Midgard who would say it—and believe it. Bryce felt herself slide dangerously toward liking the Hind.

  But Rithi asked, “You can’t believe that some fire sprites would make a difference against the Asteri. Our ancestors didn’t during the battle with the Fallen … and that was against malakim.”

  “Lehabah made a difference against Micah,” Bryce said, throat unbearably tight. “One fire sprite took on an Archangel and handed his ass to him. Her presence bought me the time to kill him. To kill an Archangel.”

  The sprites’ eyes widened. “You killed Micah?” Rithi breathed.

  Lidia didn’t seem surprised—as the Hind, she’d probably heard about the whole thing right after it happened. “With Lehabah’s help,” Bryce said. “Because of Lehabah’s help.” She swallowed down the ache in her throat. “So yes—I believe that the fire sprites can and will make a difference against the Asteri.”

  The sisters looked at each other, as if they could mind-speak like Ruhn.

  Then Sasa met Bryce’s stare. And said without an ounce of fear, “We will find Irithys.” The sprites burned to a deep, true blue. “And fight with her against the Asteri when the time comes.”

  * * *

  “That went well,” Bryce said minutes later as she and Lidia walked down the hall, back toward their sleeping quarters. “I’m glad you had me talk to them.”

  The Hind said nothing, gaze fixed on the passage ahead.

  “You all right?” Bryce dared ask. The Hind had sat with them at dinner, but had been mostly quiet. And definitely hadn’t even looked once at Ruhn. Nor had her brother acknowledged Lidia’s presence.

  “Fine,” Lidia said, and Bryce knew it for the lie it was.

  They said nothing more for the rest of the way, stopping only when they reached the sleeping quarters. Hunt was waiting for Bryce in their room. But Bryce paused and said before Lidia could walk into her own cabin, “Thank you.”

  Lidia halted, turning her way. “For what?”

  “Saving my mate. My brother. My best friend’s mate. You know, three of the most important people in my life.” She offered a tentative smile.

  Lidia inclined her head, regal and graceful. “It was the least I could do.” She turned back to open her door.

  “Hey,” Bryce said. Lidia paused again. Bryce jerked her chin at Lidia, and the cabin beyond the Hind—where she’d be staying alone. “I know we don’t, uh, know each other or anything, but if you need someone to talk to … Someone who’s not Ruhn …” She shrugged. “I’m a door away.”

  Gods, that sounded stupid.

  But Lidia’s mouth quirked upward, something like surprise in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, and walked into her room, quietly shutting the door behind her.

  * * *

  All day, Hunt had been practically counting down the minutes until he could get Bryce alone in their room, then get her naked. But now that he was lying in the too-narrow bunk with her, lights out and the only sound their breathing … he didn’t know where to start.

  That fucked-up conversation between them earlier didn’t help. He’d told her his truth, and she didn’t want to hear it. Couldn’t accept it.

  But it was his fault—out of all of them, he should have known better than to lead them down this road again. He didn’t get how she couldn’t see that.

  “Can I be honest about something?” she said into the darkness. She didn’t wait for his answer before she said, “Aside from dangling the Autumn King’s notes in front of Morven, I don’t have a solid game plan for dealing with him. Or a solid backup plan should he not go for the notebooks.”

  Hunt put aside thoughts of their earlier fight and said, “Oh, I know. You didn’t have nearly as much insufferable swagger about this as you usually do when you have a genius secret plan.”

  She whacked his shoulder. “I mean it. Aside from the Autumn King’s notes, my only other bargaining chip with him is my breeding potential. And since you and I are married …”

  “Are you asking for a divorce?”

  She chuckled. “No. I’m saying that I’ve got no worth to these shitheads. Since my uterus is … spoken for.”

  “Mmm. Sexy.” He nipped at her ear. “I missed you.” They could get into the nitty-gritty of their argument later. Tomorrow. Never.

  He trailed a hand down her hip, her thigh. His cock stirred at the softness of her, the sweet smell of lilac and nutmeg.

  “As much as I want to bang your brains out, Athalar,” she said, and Hunt laughed into her hair, “can we just … hold each other tonight?”

  “Always,” he said, heart aching. He tucked her in tighter, so fucking grateful for her scent in his nose, the lushness of her body against his. He didn’t deserve it. “I love you.”

  She pressed even closer, arm wrapping around his waist. “I love you, too,” she whispered back. “Team Caves, all the way.”

  He huffed a laugh. “Let’s get T-shirts.”

  “Don’t tempt me. If Avallen wasn’t a backwater island with no interweb, I would have already ordered them to arrive at Morven’s castle.”

  He grinned, that weight in his chest lifting for a precious moment. “There’s really no interweb?”

  “Nope. The mists block all. Legend has it that even the Asteri can’t pierce them.” She made a silly little eerie woooooo noise and wriggled her fingers. Then she paused, as if considering, before adding, “Vesperus mentioned things called thin places—wreathed in mist. The Prison in the Fae world was one. And it seems too coincidental that the ancient Starborn Fae also established a stronghold in a place wreathed by mist that keeps out enemies.”

  Hunt’s brows rose. “How can the mists possibly keep a wall up against the Asteri?”

  “The better question is why would the Asteri leave Avallen alone for so long if it is capable of keeping them out.”

  Hunt pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I suspect you’ll find out the answers in the most dramatic way possible.”

  She snuggled closer to him, and he held her tighter. “You know me well, Athalar.”

  * * *

  Ithan didn’t dare point the Godslayer Rifle at the Astronomer. But he remained poised to do so as Jesiba said, “What is this about?”

  The crowd—draki, vamps, daemonaki, and many others he couldn’t name—was silent as death. They had all come to witness this retribution. Ithan’s mouth dried out.

  The Astronomer’s slate-gray eyes blazed with hatred. “The wolf stole something of mine.”

  Jesiba shrugged. “The matter of the sprites and the dragon has been settled between us.”

  “Do not toy with me, Jesiba,” the Astronomer snapped. “We both know he took more than those firelings.”

  Ithan stepped up. His hands grew sweaty against the sleek wood and metal of the rifle. “A tank is no place for a wolf.” Or anyone, he thought. “And besides, she wasn’t yours to begin with. She had no slave mark.”

  “Her father sold her to me. It was an unofficial passing of ownership.”

  “She was a child, and you had no right—”

  Ithan had killed her. He had no right to speak of her like he wasn’t as bad as this man before him—

  “You are a thief, wolf, and I demand payment! I demand her returned to me!”

  Words were suddenly impossible. Ithan couldn’t speak.

  But a lovely, lilting female voice said from behind the crowd, “The Fendyr heir shall never again be yours, Astronomer.”

  The crowd hissed, and parted to reveal Queen Hypaxia Enador walking into the chamber, robes floating behind her on a phantom wind.

  From the corner of his eye, Ithan caught Jesiba’s smirk. “Hypaxia,” the sorceress said. “Just the necromancer I was looking for.”

  45

  That Jesiba was able to clear the crowd without so much as a word was testament to her grip on this place, this House.

  Ithan found himself torn between looking at Hypaxia and the Astronomer—and avoiding both of their gazes.

  The Astronomer waited until the crowd had left before saying to the witch-queen, “If you know where the wolf is and withhold that information, then the law says you are—”

  “No law applies here,” Hypaxia cut in, “as the Fendyr heir was not a legal slave. Just as you said.” Gods, Ithan wished he had one fraction of her steadiness, that serene intelligence. Hypaxia went on, “So there was nothing for Ithan Holstrom to steal. He merely allowed a free civitas to make a choice about whether to remain in that wretched tank … or to leave.”

  And then he’d killed her.

  Jesiba was giving him a warning look, as if to say, Do not fucking breathe a word about that. Ithan returned her a look, as if to say, Do you think I’m that dumb?

  She glanced pointedly at his CCU SUNBALL T-shirt.

  He rolled his eyes and turned to the witch-queen facing off against the Astronomer.

  “That wolf cost me untold sums of gold. The loss of one mystic—”

  “I’ll pay it,” Ithan said hoarsely. His parents had made some wise investments before their deaths. He had more money than he knew what to do with.

  “I require ten million gold marks.”

  Ithan burst out coughing. He was well off, but—

  “Paid,” Jesiba said coolly.

  Ithan whirled to her, but the sorceress was smiling blandly at the Astronomer. “Add it to my monthly tab.”

  The Astronomer glared at her, then at Ithan, and finally at Hypaxia, who looked at him with icy disdain. But he only spat on the ground and stalked out, long stringy hair flowing behind him.

  In the silence, Jesiba faced Hypaxia and said, “I called you days ago and told you to come immediately. Is your broom not working?”

  Ithan whirled on Jesiba. “This is the necromancer you had in mind?”

  Honestly, he didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it himself. He’d just worked with her, for fuck’s sake, when they’d tried to conjure Connor at the Autumn Equinox. Maybe because it hadn’t worked and the Under-King had arrived instead, he’d written her off, but—

  “Hypaxia’s father was the finest necromancer I’ve ever known,” Jesiba said, crossing her arms. “She has his gift. If there’s anyone to trust with your task, Holstrom, it’s her.”

  Hypaxia’s brows lifted in faint surprise—as if the praise was unusual. But she said to Jesiba, “We should talk in your office.”

  “Why?”

  Hypaxia seemed to debate whether to answer, but finally said, “You want to know what delayed me these days? What I feared this fall has come to pass. Morganthia Dragas and her coven have staged a coup in the name of what they consider the preservation of witchkind’s old ways. I am Queen of the Valbaran Witches no longer.” She touched her breast, where her usual golden pin of Cthona was broken in two. “To escape their executioners, I have sworn fealty to the House of Flame and Shadow.”

  * * *

  Lidia had let Renki decide on the place for this early-morning meeting. Somewhere neutral, somewhere private, somewhere “chill,” as the mer male had described it.

  Lidia wished she had some chill herself as she sat on the couch in the quiet student rec area—Director Kagani had closed it to everyone else for an hour—and looked at her sons. They sat on the opposite couch, which was stained and sagging, befitting a student lounge.

  Davit had been called away for work late last night, so only Renki had come. The male now sat at the beverage counter on the opposite end of the room. Giving them space. An illusion of privacy.

  She wished he’d sat with them.

  There was a good chance Morven wouldn’t let them leave Avallen alive. She’d needed to see her boys before she left, just one more time, but that didn’t mean this was comfortable.

  Ace leaned back against the cushions, arms crossed, staring at the TV blasting sunball highlights above the foosball table. But Brann surveyed her frankly, gaze bright with his keen intellect and fighting nature. A warrior indeed. He said without preamble, “Why did you want to meet us so early?”

  Lidia subtly wiped her sweaty palms on the legs of her tactical bodysuit. She knew both boys marked the motion. “I thought I might make myself available to you, in case you had any questions about me. My past.”

  She’d faced down horrors without flinching, and yet this—this had her heart thundering.

  Brann’s mouth twisted to the side as he thought about it. Without taking his eyes off the TV, Actaeon said, “It’s because she’s leaving.”

  Too smart for his own good. Lidia looked at him, though Ace wouldn’t acknowledge her, and said, “Yes. Today.”

  Brann glanced between them. “Where?”

  Ace answered before she could. “She’s not going to tell you. Don’t bother asking. She doesn’t know what the word honesty means.”

  Lidia clenched her jaw. “I wish I could tell you. But our mission relies on secrecy.”

  Ace slid his eyes to her then. “And us kids will go blabbing your location to everyone, right?”

  Gods help her. “I wish I could tell you,” she repeated.

  Brann asked, voice thick, “Are you coming back?”

  Lidia said frankly, “I hope so.”

  Actaeon returned to the TV. “You’ve managed to slither out of every scrape so far. I don’t see why this would be any different.”

  The words hit like a blow to some soft, unguarded part of her.

  Brann gave his twin a warning glare. “Come on, Ace.” Clearly, they’d had some sort of conversation beforehand. About how they’d behave.

  And clearly, Ace hated her.

  Fine. She could live with that. He was safe, and loved. For that, she could endure his resentment.

  “We’re at war,” Lidia told them. “And it’s about to get uglier. I cannot tell you where I am going, but I can tell you I may not come back. Every time I venture out, especially now that my enemies know the truth about me, there is a good chance I will not return.”

  Ace snapped, “Are we supposed to feel bad and cry for our mommy?”

  It took all her will not to break down. Mustering that coolness she’d perfected over the years, she said, “You claimed I didn’t know what honesty was a moment ago. Well, I’m giving it to you. If you interpret this as manipulation, I cannot help that. But I wanted to see you—both of you—before I left today. To say goodbye.”

  Brann again glanced between them. Then said, “I guess my biggest question is why. Why you left us here.”

  “I didn’t have a choice,” she said plainly, keenly aware of Renki across the room. “It was either leave you here, safe and with people who would love you, or risk bringing you into a world that would have offered the opposite. I … I’ve thought about you every single day since.”

  This was veering into territory she wanted to avoid. She hadn’t planned on approaching it during this visit. Maybe ever. And she knew that if she stayed for one more moment, she’d likely say more than was wise, things she wasn’t ready to say aloud—things the boys might not be ready to hear.

  Instead, with slightly trembling fingers, she pulled her ruby ring from her finger and laid it on the table between them. “I want you to have this.” She fought past the tightness in her throat. “It’s an heirloom of my father’s household. He’s not anyone worth remembering, but that ruby …” She couldn’t bear to see what expression might be on their faces. “It’s very valuable. You can sell it to pay for university, housing … when you’re old enough, I mean. If you ever leave this ship. Not that you should.” She was rambling. She swallowed, and at last looked at them. Ace’s face was blank, but Brann was staring with wide eyes at the obscenely huge ruby. “Or if you want to keep it,” she said quietly, “that’s fine, too.”

  She wished she had something else to leave them, some other piece of her that wasn’t connected to the monster who’d sired her, but this was all she possessed.

  Task complete, Lidia stood, and Renki glanced her way. She nodded to him.

  She faced her sons—fierce and strong and capable, no thanks to her. “I know it won’t matter to you,” she said, staring at Ace as he again pointedly watched the TV, “but I’m so very proud of how you turned out. Of the males you are, and are still becoming. I look at you both and know that … that I made the right choice.” She smiled softly at Brann.

  Brann’s eyes gleamed. “Thanks for that. For giving us our parents.” He motioned to Renki. Lidia bowed her head. “Good luck out there,” Brann said. “Wherever you’re going.”

  She put a hand on her heart.

  Brann jabbed Ace with an elbow. Ace slid his golden eyes back to her and said, “Bye.”

  Lidia kept her hand on her heart, tapping it once, and turned away.

  She left, not knowing where she was going, only that she had to keep moving or else she’d find some place to crumple up and die.

  She walked through the gleaming halls of the ship. Walked and walked and walked, and did not let herself look back.

  * * *

  Ithan only waited until the door to Jesiba’s office shut before he whirled on Hypaxia.