Flynn flipped her off, but Bryce turned toward the door—only to find three sprites in her face. “You should speak to our queen about Lehabah’s bravery,” Sasa said. “Irithys is not a descendant of Ranthia, but she would like to hear your tale.”

  “I’m pretty busy,” Bryce said quickly. “Gotta go to work.”

  But Malana said to her sister, “She’d need to find Irithys first.” She explained to Bryce, “Last we heard, before we went into the rings all those years ago, she had been sold to one of the Asteri. But perhaps they’d let you speak to her.”

  “Why would I need to speak to her?” Bryce asked as she kept heading for the door, aware of Ariadne’s keen gaze.

  “Because princesses need allies,” Rithi said, and Bryce halted.

  Bryce sighed. “I’m going to need a really big drink after work,” she said, and walked out the door, her phone already at her ear.

  “What?” Jesiba said by way of answering.

  “The Astronomer. You know him?” Bryce had zero idea what the old male was, but … he seemed like he’d be in the House of Flame and Shadow.

  There was silence from the sorceress before she said, “Why?”

  “Looking for some strings to pull.”

  Jesiba laughed quietly. “You’re the one who stole his rings?”

  Maybe they had some sorcerer message-board support group. “Let’s say a friend did.”

  “And now you want—what? My money to pay for them?”

  “I want you to convince him to accept the money my friends will pay for them.”

  “One of those rings is priceless.”

  “Yeah, the dragon. Ariadne.”

  “Is that what she calls herself?” A low laugh. “Fascinating.”

  “You know her?”

  “Of her.”

  Bryce crossed a busy intersection, keeping her head down as a passing tourist gawked too long in her direction. At least no dreadwolves prowled the streets. “So? Can you help or not?”

  Jesiba grunted. “I’ll make a call. No promises.”

  “What are you going to say?”

  “That he owes me a favor.” Dark promise glittered in the words. “And now you do, too.”

  “Get in line,” Bryce said, and hung up.

  By the time Bryce reached her little office in the archives, relieved she hadn’t needed to pull her princess rank again, she was ready to bask in the AC and kick back in her chair. Ready to maybe send a message to Hunt to feel out whether he was still pissed. But all plans vanished at the sight of the envelope on her desk.

  It contained an analysis of dragon fire, dating back five thousand years. It was in a language Bryce didn’t know, but a translation had been included. Jesiba had scribbled Good luck at the top.

  Well, now she knew why the Astronomer kept Ariadne in a ring. Not for light—but for protection.

  Among its many uses, the ancient scholar had written, dragon fire is one of the few substances proven to harm the Princes of Hel. It can burn even the Prince of the Pit’s dark hide.

  Yeah, Ariadne was valuable. And if Apollion was readying his armies … Bryce had no intention of letting the dragon return to the Astronomer’s clutches.

  51

  Hunt knew he’d been a fool to think this would end once they found Emile. Once the kid was safe. Bryce clearly had no intention of dropping this. Not with Danika somehow involved.

  But he tucked all that aside. He had other shit to take care of right now.

  He had to meet with Celestina first. Make an appearance, maintain the facade that all was well. Ensure that the Hind hadn’t told the Archangel anything. His meeting with Isaiah wasn’t for an hour—plenty of time.

  Plenty of time to also stew over Bryce, and how well she’d played all of them. How she’d helped Emile, but she’d hidden her plans from him. Plans that had cost lives. And yeah, Bryce could take care of herself, but … He’d thought they were a team.

  Again: he knew he’d been a fool.

  Hunt soothed his wild blood, and only when he was certain his lightning wasn’t about to erupt did he knock on the Governor’s door.

  Celestina smiled in greeting—a good sign. No hint of Ephraim or the others. Good as well. Her smile widened as Hunt stepped closer. “Congratulations,” she said warmly.

  Hunt angled his head. “On what?”

  She gestured to him. “I take it from your scent that you and Bryce are mated.”

  He hadn’t realized the sex would be broadcast like that. Apparently, the bond between them had gone to that biological level. “I, ah. Yeah. Since the overnight at her parents’ house.”

  Even if they’d just been at each other’s throats. And not in the good way.

  “So visiting her parents went well, then.”

  “I thought her mom would cut off my balls at one point, but get Ember talking about sunball, and she’ll become your best friend.” It was true, though he’d learned it months ago. Even if some part of him recoiled at having to answer Celestina’s question with a blatant lie.

  Celestina laughed merrily. There was no wariness or displeasure in it—no indication that she might know the truth. “Good. I’m happy for you. For both of you.”

  “Thank you,” Hunt said. He added, to cover his bases, “Ruhn and Prince Cormac joined us, though. It made things … slightly awkward.”

  “Because Cormac is technically Bryce’s fiancé?” Celestina asked wryly.

  Hunt snorted. “That, too, but mostly because Ember isn’t … a fan of the Fae. She asked Ruhn to come, since she hadn’t seen him in years, but it was still tense at times.”

  “I’ve heard of her history with the Autumn King. I’m sorry that it still haunts her.”

  “So am I,” Hunt said. “Anything happen here while I was gone?”

  “Only if you count overseeing party preparations for the equinox.”

  Hunt chuckled. “That fun, huh?”

  “Riveting,” Celestina said, then seemed to remember herself because she added, “Of course, it’s for a joyous occasion, so it’s not entirely a chore.”

  “Of course.”

  The sun through the windows behind her turned her white wings radiant. “Baxian might have something more interesting to report. He was barely here yesterday.”

  It took all of Hunt’s training to keep his own face neutral as he said, “I’ve got a meeting with Isaiah, but my next stop after that is to check in with him.”

  Everything between them was a lie. And one word from the Hind … Hunt suppressed the surge of his power as it crackled through him.

  Baxian might have claimed he was a rebel sympathizer, might have helped them enough to garner some trust, but … he’d be a fool to trust him entirely.

  “What’s wrong?” Celestina asked, brow furrowing with worry.

  Hunt shook his head. “Nothing.” He clasped his hands behind his back and asked casually, “Anything for me to do today?”

  Hunt emerged from the Archangel’s office five minutes later with a stack of preliminary reports on demon activity at the Northern Rift. She wanted his expertise in examining the types of demons caught, as well as an analysis on whether the breeds and frequency meant Hel was planning something.

  The answer was a definite yes, but he’d find some way to draw out the task to buy himself more time. To decide how much to tell her about Hel.

  Apollion had spoken true, about him and Bryce and their powers. And if the Prince of the Pit had been honest about that, what else had he been honest about? Some shit with Hel was stirring. Hunt’s gut twisted.

  But he still had one more thing to do before descending into all of that. He hunted down the Hind in ten minutes, finding her in the barracks bathroom, applying red lipliner, of all things. He’d never thought she might actually have to put on her makeup. Somehow, he pictured her permanently coiffed and painted.

  “Hunter,” she crooned without breaking her stare from the mirror. They were alone.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “You never did like Sandriel’s nickname for you.”

  “I had no interest in being part of her club.”

  The Hind kept drawing her lipliner with a steady hand. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  Hunt leaned against the bathroom door, blocking any exit. She slid a kohl-lined eye in his direction.

  “What are you going to do about what happened yesterday?” he asked.

  She opened a tube of lipstick and began filling in the precise outline she’d drawn. “If you’re referring to when I fucked Pollux in the showers, I’m afraid I’m not going to apologize to Naomi Boreas for leaving the stall door open. I did invite her to join, you know.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  She started on her top lip. “Then enlighten me.”

  Hunt stared at her. She’d seen him. Spoken to him, to all of them, while they’d been in the water. He’d gone ballistic, ready to slaughter her. Had needed his mate’s touch and body to calm down afterward.

  Hunt growled, “Is this some sort of cat-and-mouse game?”

  She set the golden lipstick tube on the counter and pivoted. Beautiful and cold as a statue of Luna. “You’re the hunter. You tell me.”

  This female had killed Sofie Renast. Drowned her. And had tortured so many others that the silver torque around her neck practically screamed the names of the dead.

  When Hunt said nothing, the Hind inspected herself in the mirror, tucking a stray tendril of hair into her elegant chignon. She then stalked toward him—to the door. He stepped away silently. The Hind said as she exited, “Perhaps you’ll stop prattling on about nonsense once you see what the Harpy did by the Angels’ Gate. It’s rather extraordinary.”

  Ten minutes later, Hunt learned what she meant.

  The crystal Gate in the heart of the CBD was muted in the midmorning light, but no one was looking at it anyway. The gathered crowd was snapping pictures and murmuring about the two figures lying facedown on the ground beneath it.

  It had been a long while since Hunt had seen anyone blood-eagled.

  The corpses wore black stealth clothes—or shreds of them. Rebels. That was the Ophion crest on their red armbands, and the sinking sun of the Lightfall squadron above it.

  Across the Gate’s square, someone vomited, then sprinted away, crying softly.

  The Harpy had started down their backs. Taken her knives and sawed through the ribs, cleaving each bone from the spine. And then she’d reached through the incisions and yanked their lungs through them.

  Leaving a pair of bloody wings draped over their backs.

  Hunt knew the victims would have still been alive. Screaming.

  Ephraim had brought this into his city. This was what the Hind, the Asteri would unleash upon him and Bryce. It wouldn’t be crucifixion. It’d be something far more creative.

  Had the Harpy left the blood eagles as a message for Ophion, or for all of Valbara?

  Celestina had allowed this to happen here. Allowed the Harpy to do this and then display the bodies. Hadn’t even mentioned it in their meeting. Because she agreed with these methods, or because she had no choice?

  Hunt swallowed against the dryness in his mouth. But others had noticed him now. The Umbra Mortis, they murmured. Like he’d helped the Harpy create this atrocity.

  Hunt swallowed his answer. We might be triarii, but I will never be like that monster.

  They wouldn’t have believed him.

  It had been a weird fucking day, but Ruhn heaved a sigh of relief when Athalar called. All clear, the angel had said, and it had eased Ruhn’s exhaustion and dread, if only by a fraction. He hadn’t told Athalar about the sprites and the dragon. He’d let Bryce tell her mate those details. He wondered if she’d even told him yet about the mystics.

  Ruhn toyed with his lip ring as he returned to the living room, where Flynn was flirting with the sprites while Dec asked them questions about their lives in the rings. The dragon sat on the stairs, and Ruhn ignored her, even if it went against every primal instinct to do so. Ithan lifted his brows as Ruhn entered.

  “We’re good,” Ruhn told the males, who all muttered prayers of thanks to the gods. He faced the dragon, bracing himself, but was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

  Brows lowering, hand drifting to the gun tucked into his back waistband, Ruhn strode to the front door. A lovely, familiar female scent hit him a moment before he registered who stood there, broom in hand.

  Queen Hypaxia Enador smiled faintly. “Hello, Prince. I’d hoped to find you here.”

  52

  Tharion finished his report to the River Queen, his fin holding him steady in the current of the river depths. She lounged among a bed of river oysters, long fingers trailing over the ridges and bumps.

  “So my sister has a fleet of ships that elude the Asteri’s Omega-boats.” The waters around them swirled, and Tharion fought to keep in place, tail swishing hard.

  “Only six.”

  “Six, each one the size of the Comitium.” Her eyes flashed in the dim depths.

  “Does it make a difference?” He’d had no choice but to tell her everything—it was the only way to explain why he’d returned without Pippa Spetsos in tow. Or at least answers regarding Emile Renast’s whereabouts.

  “Do sisters not share everything?” She dragged a finger along the jagged edge of an oyster and it opened, revealing the pearl within. “They mock me, with these ships. They suggest I am not trustworthy.”

  “No one said anything like that.” He clenched his jaw. “I don’t think they’ve told anyone else.”

  “Yet this Commander Sendes saw fit to inform you.”

  “Only of the vague details, and only because we stumbled onto her ship.”

  “They rescued you. They could have let you drown and kept their secrets, yet they saved you.” His blood chilled. She would have let them drown. “I want you to find out everything you can about these ships.”

  “I don’t think that will be easy,” Tharion cautioned.

  “Who is to say my sister won’t use them against me?”

  She rules the oceans. I doubt she wants one stupid river. But Tharion said, “That didn’t seem to be on anyone’s mind.”

  “Perhaps not now, but I wouldn’t put it past her.”

  He refrained from telling her she was being paranoid. Instead, he tried his best weapon: diverting her attention. “Shall I continue hunting for Emile Renast?”

  The River Queen eyed him. “Why wouldn’t you?”

  He tried to hide his relief that she’d pivoted with him, even though he knew she’d return to the subject of the Ocean Queen’s ships soon enough. “Even with the ammo and mech-suit prototype destroyed, Pippa Spetsos just became a lot more powerful—her position in Ophion has changed. Capturing her, interrogating her … We do that, and we risk having Ophion deem us enemies.”

  “I do not care what Ophion deems us. But very well.” She motioned to the surface. “Go Above. Find another way to collect the boy.”

  “As you will it,” he said, bowing in the current.

  She flicked a hand in dismissal. “I shall make your excuses to my daughter.”

  “Give her my love.”

  She didn’t answer, and Tharion made a beeline to the surface and open world above.

  He’d finished tugging on the clothes he’d left in a nook of the quay near Moonwood’s River Gate when wings rustled on the walkway above him. He peered over the stone rim to find Athalar standing with crossed arms.

  “We need to talk,” said the Umbra Mortis.

  Ruhn stared at the witch-queen. At his bride.

  Hypaxia Enador was as beautiful as he remembered: luxurious, dark hair falling in soft curls down to her slim waist; brown skin that glowed as if moonlight ran beneath it; large, dark eyes that noticed too much. Her mouth, full and inviting, parted in a lovely smile as she stepped into the foyer.

  The witch touched a knot in the wood on her broom. It was a stunning piece of art: every inch of its handle carved with intricate designs of clouds and flowers and stars, each twig in the base carved as well and bound together with golden thread.

  But with the touch on that knot, the broom vanished.

  No, it shrank. Into a golden brooch of Cthona, the earth goddess ripe with child. Hypaxia pinned the brooch onto the shoulder of her gauzy blue robes and said, “A convenient bit of witch-magic. I found that carrying a broom around the city is … cumbersome. And attracts the notice of many. Especially a broom such as mine.”

  “That is … really fucking cool,” Ruhn admitted.

  She began to answer, but her eyes slid to the dragon sitting at the foot of the stairs, and she stopped. She blinked once before turning to Ruhn. “A friend?”

  “Yeah,” Ruhn lied, and then Flynn and Declan and Ithan were there, sprites in tow, gawking at the queen.

  Ithan cleared his throat, likely at the stunning beauty of the witch.

  Ruhn hadn’t been much better when he’d first seen her. Yet she’d hardly given him the time of day at the Summit. Even if she’d helped out majorly during the shit that had gone down in this city. Had been willing to fly here to help save its citizens—and Bryce.

  Ruhn straightened, remembering himself. That he was a prince, and owed her the respect due to her rank. He bowed deeply. “Welcome, Your Majesty.”

  Flynn smirked, and Ruhn threw him a warning glare as he rose. “Allow me to introduce my … companions. Tristan Flynn, Lord Hawthorne.” Flynn sketched an irreverent bow—a mockery of the one Ruhn had made. “Declan Emmet, super-genius.” Dec grinned, bowing with more gravitas. They’d both been at the Summit when Ruhn had formally met Hypaxia—as a queen, and not the medwitch he’d believed her to be—but had never officially been presented to her. “Ithan Holstrom … wolf,” Ruhn continued. Ithan gave him a look as if to say, Really, asshole? But Ruhn moved on to the sprites, the dragon. “And, uh, our guests.”

  Hypaxia gave the dragon another wary glance. Flynn stepped forward, slinging an arm around Hypaxia’s shoulders. “Welcome. Let’s talk about all those times Ruhn tried to talk to you at the Summit and you ignored him.”

  Declan chuckled, taking up a position at Hypaxia’s other side. She furrowed her brow, as if the two males spoke another language entirely.