The queen seemed to note the details of his house as she was escorted to the sectional. His disgusting, beer-soaked house. Solas, a half-smoked mirthroot blunt sat in the ashtray on the coffee table a mere foot from Hypaxia.

  Ruhn said to Ithan, Get that fucking mirthroot out of here.

  Ithan lunged for it.

  Not right now! When she’s not looking.

  Ithan caught himself with that sunball player’s grace and relaxed against the cushions as Hypaxia sat, nestled between Flynn and Declan. If Ithan had to pick one word to describe the queen’s expression, it would have been baffled. Utterly baffled.

  Ruhn rubbed his neck, approaching the couch. “So, ah. Good to see you.”

  Hypaxia smiled in that wise, knowing way. Fucking Hel, she was lovely. But her voice darkened as she said, “I’d like to have a word with you. Alone.”

  Ithan rose, subtly swiping the mirthroot from the table. “Room’s yours. We’ll be upstairs.”

  Flynn opened his mouth, presumably to say something mortifying, but Ithan grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him up, shoving the mirthroot into the lord’s hands. The sprites fell into line behind them as Declan joined the fray, and then they were all gone, Ariadne stalking up the stairs after them. Ruhn had no doubt they’d try to eavesdrop.

  He took a seat on the stained, reeking couch, reining in his cringe as Hypaxia adjusted the folds of her blue robes. “So … how are you?”

  Hypaxia angled her head. She didn’t wear her crown of cloudberries, but every line of her radiated grace and calm and care. She was about fifty years younger than he was, yet he felt like a whelp in front of her. Had she known her fiancé lived in a place like this, had a lifestyle like this?

  “I wanted to ask you for a favor.” Ruhn stilled. She went on, “I’ve come to Lunathion for the mating celebration in a few weeks. I’ll be staying at the witches’ embassy, but …” She twisted her hands, the first sign of doubt he’d ever seen from her. “I was wondering if you might spare me an escort.”

  “Why? I mean, sure, yes, but … everything okay?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Ruhn asked, “What about your coven?” They should protect their queen at any cost.

  Her long lashes bobbed. “They were my mother’s coven. It was one of her last wishes that I inherit them, rather than select my own.”

  “So you don’t like them?”

  “I don’t trust them.”

  Ruhn considered. “You want me to give you an escort to protect you from your own coven?”

  Her mouth tightened. “You think I’m mad.”

  “I thought witches lived and died for their loyalty.”

  “The loyalty of these witches began and ended with my mother. She raised me in isolation—from the world, but also from them. My tutors were … unconventional.”

  It was the most they’d ever spoken to each other. Ruhn asked, “In what way?”

  “They were dead.”

  A chill went down his spine. “Right. Necromancer stuff, huh?”

  “Enadors can raise the dead, yes. My mother summoned three ancient, wise spirits to teach me. One for battle and physical training, one for mathematics and sciences, and the other for history, reading, and languages. She oversaw my magical training herself—especially the healing.”

  “And this freaked her coven out?”

  “It estranged us. My only companions while growing up were the dead. When my mother passed, I found myself surrounded by strangers. And they found themselves with a queen whose unorthodox education unnerved them. Whose gifts of necromancy unnerved them further.”

  “But you’re the last Enador. Who would they replace you with?”

  “My sister.”

  Ruhn blinked. “The Hind?”

  “Lidia has no witch gifts, so she would be a figurehead. She’d wear the crown, but my mother’s general, Morganthia, would rule.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “Lidia was born first. She is the spitting image of my mother.” Hypaxia’s father must have passed along the genes for her darker coloring, then. “Even while I was growing up, I sometimes heard whispers from my mother’s coven wondering if … perhaps Lidia should not have been given away.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re more comfortable with a half-shifter than a half-necromancer. They fear the influence of the House of Flame and Shadow, though I have sworn no vows to any but Earth and Blood. But Lidia is Earth and Blood, through and through. Exactly as they are. They loved my mother, I have no doubt, but they have different plans for the future than she did. That became apparent by the end.”

  “What sort of plans?”

  “A closer bond with the Asteri. Even at the cost of our relative autonomy.”

  “Ah.” That was a potential minefield. Especially considering the shit that he was doing for Ophion. Or had been doing for them—he had no idea where they stood now, after Ydra.

  Hypaxia went on, “Your kindness is why I’ve come here. I know you to be a male of bravery and dedication. While I’m in this city for the Governors’ celebration, especially with Lidia in town, I fear my mother’s coven might make a move. They presented a unified front with me at the Summit, but the last few months have been strained.”

  “And since we’re technically engaged, it won’t be seen as a declaration of your distrust if I send one of my people to look after you. It’ll be deemed some protective male bullshit.”

  Her lips twitched. “Yes. Something like that.”

  “All right. No problem.”

  She swallowed, bowing her head. “Thank you.”

  He dared to touch her hand, her skin velvety smooth. “We’ll take care of this. Don’t worry.”

  She patted his hand in a Thanks, friend sort of way.

  Ruhn cleared his throat, glancing at the ceiling—the distinctive, worrisome thumping coming from it. “Since you were raised by ghosts, I’m hoping you won’t mind having a bit of an unorthodox guard.”

  Her brows rose.

  Ruhn smiled. “How do you feel about sunball players?”

  No one bothered them, but plenty of people stared as Tharion and Hunt meandered through the ornate water garden along the river in Moonwood, a hundred rainbows glimmering in the mists around them. Tharion loved this part of the city—though the Old Square’s grit still called to him.

  “So what’s up?” Tharion said as Athalar paused beneath a towering elm, its leaves shimmering in the spray from a massive fountain of Ogenas lounging in an oyster shell.

  The angel pulled his phone from a hidden pocket in his battle-suit. “I had a meeting with the Governor.” His fingers flew over the phone, presumably summoning whatever the information was. He handed it to Tharion. “She had me go over some of the latest demon reports from Nena. I wanted to pass them along to the Blue Court.”

  Tharion took the phone and scrolled through the photos. “Anything interesting?”

  “That one. The tail—just out of the shot here.” Hunt pointed to the picture, face stony. “It’s a deathstalker.”

  Even the burbling fountain beyond them seemed to quiet at the name.

  “What’s that?”

  “Lethal assassins bred by the Prince of the Pit. He keeps them as pets.” Athalar’s wings rustled. Had a shadow passed over the sun? “I’ve only dealt with them once. I’ve got a scar down my back from it.”

  If the encounter had left Athalar scarred … Cthona spare them all. “One was in Nena?”

  “Three days ago.”

  “Shit. Where did it go?”

  “No idea. Report says there’s been no breach of Nena’s borders. Tell your people to be alert. Warn your queen, too.”

  “I will.” Tharion glanced sidelong at the angel. Noticed that they weren’t near cameras or other people. “Any further updates?” Tharion asked carefully.

  “Maybe,” Hunt said.

  “I thought so,” Tharion said. The warning about the demons seemed true—but also a convenient cover.

  “I know where Emile is,” Athalar said quietly.

  Tharion nearly stumbled a step. “Where?”

  “Can’t say. But he’s safe.” Athalar remained grave despite the beauty of Moonwood around them. “Call off your search. Spin some bullshit to your queen. But you’re done hunting for that kid.”

  Tharion surveyed the angel, the mist beading on the gray wings. “And you think it’s wise to tell me that you know where he is?”

  Hunt bared his teeth in a feral smile. “You going to torture it out of me, Ketos?”

  “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  Lightning licked across Hunt’s forehead as he motioned to the fountains, the water all around. “Not the best place for a lightning fight.”

  Tharion began to pace. “The River Queen won’t give up. She wants that kid.”

  “It’s a dead end. And a gigantic waste of your time.” Tharion arched a brow. Hunt said, voice low, “Emile Renast has no powers. His sister staged things to make it seem that way, hoping that arrogant Vanir like us would find the kid important enough to look after.”

  Something glimmered in Athalar’s face that Tharion couldn’t place. Pain. Sorrow. Shame?

  “And I’m supposed to take your word for it,” Tharion said.

  “Yeah, you are.”

  Tharion knew that tone. The merciless voice of the Umbra Mortis.

  “I can think of only one person who’d make you this intense,” Tharion drawled, unable to resist. “Legs knows where the kid is, too, huh?” He laughed to himself. “Did she arrange this? I should have seen that coming.” He chuckled again, shaking his head. “What’s to stop me from going to ask her some questions?”

  “Hard to ask Bryce any questions when you don’t have a head attached to your body,” Hunt said, violence glittering in his eyes.

  Tharion held up his hands. “Threat received.” But his mind spun with all he’d learned. “Let’s say I do trust you. Emile really has no powers?”

  “Not even a drop. He might be descended from a thunderbird, but Sofie was the only one with the gifts.”

  “Fuck.” The River Queen would be livid, even if she’d been the one who’d ordered him to spend weeks on a wild goose chase. Hel, she’d be pissed that he hadn’t figured out the truth sooner. “And the intel?”

  “Kid knows nothing.” Hunt seemed to consider, then added, “He confirmed that Danika and Sofie had contact. But nothing else.”

  Tharion dragged his hands through his still-wet hair. “Fuck,” he said again, pacing a step.

  Athalar tucked in his wings. “How badly is she going to punish you for this?”

  Tharion swallowed. “I’m going to have to spin it carefully.”

  “Even though none of it is your fault?”

  “She’ll deem it a failure. Rational thinking is second to her need to feel like she’s won.”

  “I really am sorry.” The angel tilted his head to the side. “Any chance she’ll fire you and let that be that?”

  Tharion let out a humorless laugh. “I wish. But …” He paused, an idea sparking. He glanced up and down the sun-baked concrete quay. “Who says she has to know today?”

  A corner of Athalar’s mouth kicked up. “As far as I know, you and I met up to swap status reports.”

  Tharion began walking toward the city proper, the hustle and bustle that set his blood thrumming. Athalar fell into step beside him. “It could take days to learn that Emile isn’t worth our time. Weeks.”

  The angel winked. “Months, if you do it right.”

  Tharion grinned, a thrill shooting through his bones as they entered Moonwood’s tree-lined streets. It was a dangerous game, but … he’d play it. Milk every second of freedom he could from this. Stay Above as often as he liked, so long as he checked in Below every now and then. “Got any ideas where I can crash?”

  53

  Ithan didn’t think of himself as an eavesdropper. But sometimes he couldn’t help it if his keen wolf’s hearing picked up stuff being said, even a floor below.

  This time, it had been some big, big stuff.

  Ithan used all his training, all those years of practice and games, to keep from pacing as Ruhn went on and on about the witch-queen needing an escort in the city. Yes, fine, he’d do it, he’d guard her back, but—

  “You may speak, Ithan Holstrom,” the stunningly beautiful witch said, cutting off Ruhn, who blinked at them. Ithan hadn’t realized he’d broadcast his impatience so clearly.

  Flynn and Declan had remained upstairs with the sprites and Ariadne, booing when Ruhn had asked only Ithan to come downstairs.

  Ithan cleared his throat. “You can talk to the dead, right? You’re … a necromancer? I’m sorry—I couldn’t help but overhear.” He offered Ruhn an apologetic look, too. But at Hypaxia’s cautious nod, he pressed on, “If I agree to guard you, would you …” Ithan shook his head. “Would you try to make contact with my brother, Connor?”

  For a long moment, Hypaxia only stared at him. Her dark eyes beheld everything. Too much. “I can feel the disturbance in your heart, Ithan. You don’t wish to speak to him merely from longing and loss.”

  “No. I mean, yeah, I miss him like crazy, but …” He paused. Could they tell her everything Bryce had learned?

  Ruhn spared him the effort of deciding and said, “Do you know what happens to the dead after they’ve been in the Bone Quarter for a while?”

  Her face paled. “You learned of the secondlight.”

  “Yeah,” Ruhn said, lip ring glinting. “Ithan is pretty worried about what happened to his brother and the Pack of Devils, especially after they helped my sister. If you’ve got any ability to learn what’s happened to Connor Holstrom, or to warn him, even if it’s to no avail … we’d appreciate it. But Ithan will gladly escort you either way you choose.”

  Ithan tried not to appear too grateful. He’d spent years thinking Ruhn was a dick, mostly thanks to Bryce and Danika constantly dissing him, but … this guy had let him into his house, trusted him with his secrets, and now seemed intent on helping him. He wondered if the Fae knew how lucky they were.

  Hypaxia nodded sagely. “There is a ritual I could perform … It’d need to be on the Autumnal Equinox, though.”

  “When the veil between realms is thinnest,” Ruhn said.

  “Yes.” Hypaxia smiled sadly at Ithan. “I’m sorry for your loss. And that you’ve learned the truth.”

  “How do you know the truth?” Ithan asked.

  “The dead have little reason to lie.”

  Ice skittered down Ithan’s spine. “I see.” The chandelier rattled above.

  Ruhn rubbed at his face, the tattoos on his arm shifting with the movement. He lowered his hand and looked at the witch-queen. His fiancée. Lucky male.

  “You cool with a dragon joining you?” the prince asked Hypaxia.

  “That dragon?” Hypaxia peered at the ceiling.

  “A lawyer friend of mine says I need a royal, official reason to commandeer someone else’s slave. A very important, powerful slave. Protecting my fiancée is about as important as it gets.”

  Hypaxia’s lips curled, though doubt kindled in her dark eyes. That made two of them. She asked Ithan, “How do you feel about it?”

  Ithan gave her a half smile, flattered that she’d even asked. “If you can contact my brother on the equinox, then it doesn’t really matter what I feel.”

  “Of course it does,” she said, and sounded like she meant it.

  A few weeks until the equinox. And then he could see Connor again. Even if it was just one last time.

  Even if it was only to deliver a warning that might do him no good.

  Bryce might have avoided going home for as long as possible. Might have stayed at the archives right until closing and been one of the last people exiting the building as night fell. She’d made it down the sweeping marble steps, breathing in the dry, warm night air, when she saw him.

  Hunt leaned against a car across the narrow street, wings folded elegantly. People hurrying home from work gave him a wide berth. Some outright crossed the street to avoid him.

  He’d worn his hat. That fucking sunball hat she couldn’t resist.

  “Quinlan.” He pushed off the car and approached her where she’d halted at the foot of the stairs.

  She lifted her chin. “Athalar.”

  He huffed a soft laugh. “So that’s how it’s gonna go, huh?”

  “What do you want?” They’d had little fights over the months, but nothing this important.

  He waved a hand to the building looming behind her. “I need to use the archives to look something up. I didn’t want to disturb you during working hours.”

  She jabbed a thumb at the building, now beautifully illuminated against the starry night. “You waited too long. The building is closed.”

  “I didn’t realize you’d hide inside until closing. Avoiding something, Quinlan?” He smiled savagely as she bristled. “But you’re good at sweet-talking people into doing your bidding. Getting us in will be a walk in the park, won’t it?”

  She didn’t bother to look pleasant, though she pivoted and began marching back up the steps, heels clacking on the stone. “What do you need?”

  He gestured to the cameras mounted on the massive pillars of the entrance. “I’ll explain inside.”

  “So you think Hel’s planning something?” Bryce asked two hours later when she found Hunt where she’d left him, the massive expanse of the archives quiet around them. There had been no need to sweet-talk her way in after all. She’d discovered another perk to working here: getting to use this place after hours. Alone. Not even a librarian to monitor them. They’d gotten past the security guards with barely a word. And her boss wouldn’t show up until night was fully overhead—not for at least another hour.

  Hunt had said he needed to peruse some newly translated Fae texts on ancient demons, so she’d gotten him set up at a table in the atrium and then gone back to her office on the other side of the floor.

  “The demons in the reports Celestina gave me are bad news,” Hunt said. He was working at the desk, sunball hat bright in the moonlight streaming through the glass ceiling. “Some of the worst of the Pit. All rare. All lethal. The last time I saw so many clustered together was during the attack this spring.”