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.
“What happened?” Ithan demanded.
Jesiba had warned him before setting off through the halls to keep quiet, and he’d obeyed, even while they’d stopped in the dark dining hall for the former witch-queen to get some food. Apparently, she hadn’t eaten in days—that alone had banked his rising impatience. But now, safely behind the locked doors to Jesiba’s office, they’d get answers.
“It’s as I said,” Hypaxia replied, voice a bit flat as she laid the tray of food on the table. “My mother’s former general, Morganthia, had her forces surround my fortress. They gave me their terms: yield the cloudberry crown or die. I offered the crown, but they somehow heard die.”
“Can they do that?” Ithan demanded. “Just … kick you out?”
“Yes,” Jesiba said, claiming her leather desk chair. “The witch-dynasties were founded in fairness, in the right to remove an unfit ruler. It was meant to protect the people, but Morganthia has used it to her advantage.”
Hypaxia sank into one of the chairs before Jesiba’s desk and rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. It was the most normal-looking gesture Ithan had ever seen the queen make. “Morganthia’s first act as queen was to order my execution. Her second was to undo my mother’s animation spell for my tutors.” She added at Ithan’s raised brows, “They are—were—ghosts.”
How it was possible, he had no idea, but he still said, “I’m sorry.”
She nodded her thanks, voice weighted with grief. “The spell was bound to the crown. And once that crown was hers …” She looked up at Jesiba, her face full of pleading.
“You mourn for three people long dead,” Jesiba said coolly, and Ithan hated her for it. “Mourn for your people instead, now beholden to an unhinged queen and her coven.”
Hypaxia straightened. “You sound as if you think I should have fought her.”
“You should have,” Jesiba shot back, dark fire flashing in her eyes. A seed of Apollion’s power—transformed into something new. “Did you even try to hold on to your crown before conceding?”
“I would have died.”
“And retained your honor. Your mother would have been proud.”
“A bloodless coup was a better alternative to fighting, to bringing in innocents to die in my name—”
“Once she gets her reign underway, Morganthia will spill far more blood than what might have been shed for you.” Jesiba closed her eyes and shook her head with pure disgust.
“I did not come here for your judgment, Jesiba,” Hypaxia hissed, wilder than Ithan had ever witnessed her.
“As I am second in command of this House, you now answer to me.”
Ithan reined in the shock that reared through him. Jesiba was second in command of the House of Flame and Shadow?
And she thought Hypaxia was the best necromancer for Ithan? When she had all those others at her disposal?
“And,” Jesiba went on to Hypaxia, heedless of Ithan’s surprise, “as someone who spent centuries with the witches, I have insights worthy of your attention.”
Hypaxia snapped, “You abandoned our people.”
“So did you.”
Fraught, miserable silence filled the room. Hypaxia took one bite—just one—of her ham-and-cheese sandwich.
Hypaxia didn’t know, Ithan realized, what Jesiba was, deep down. She still thought her a witch defector. “Look,” he said, “I know you guys have some baggage to sort out, but … I do have a pressing matter.”
The former witch-queen turned to him, and her eyes softened. She took another bite of her sandwich, and said after she’d swallowed, “Jesiba apprised me of the situation when she called. I must admit, I was surprised by my sister’s involvement. But I am sorry for what happened.”
He bowed his head, shame washing through him.
Hypaxia went on, finishing off the sandwich in a few more bites, “But necromancy is no easy thing, Ithan.”
“I remember,” he said.
Her lips thinned. Yeah, she remembered every minute of their little encounter with the Under-King, too. But Hypaxia said, eyes bright with determination, “I will try to help you.”
The breath nearly went out of him.
Hypaxia added, “I’ll begin tomorrow. Today I have obligations. Oaths to swear.”
Oaths to the Under-King, who’d been impressed enough by her skill at the Autumn Equinox that he’d told her he’d welcome her here. Even Morganthia Dragas would hesitate before tangling with the Under-King.
“I don’t have much time,” Ithan said.
“These oaths cannot wait,” Jesiba said. She pointed to the door of her office, an order to Hypaxia. “They must be sworn at the Black Dock before sunup, girl. You had your last meal. Now go.”
Hypaxia didn’t hesitate. She left, robes flowing behind her, and shut the door.
“Fool,” Jesiba said, slumping in her chair. “Innocent, idealistic fool.”
Ithan stayed still, wondering if she’d forgotten he was there.
But Jesiba raised her eyes to him. “She’s always been that way. Worse than Quinlan. Letting her heart lead her around like a dog on a leash. I blame her mother for keeping her locked away. No wonder Celestina swept her off her feet when—”
Ithan started. “Wait. Hypaxia and Celestina?” Jesiba nodded. Ithan angled his head to one side. “The Hind said that Celestina was the reason the Asteri knew Bryce was headed for the Eternal City. Hypaxia wouldn’t—”
“It’s over now,” Jesiba said shortly. “I have it on good authority that Hypaxia was … not pleased when she found out that Celestina had sold out your friends. But even that betrayal didn’t open Hypaxia’s eyes enough to see Morganthia’s move coming.”
“She saw it,” Ithan said. “She came here this spring, asking Ruhn for protection from Morganthia. I guarded her—”
“Protection,” Jesiba snapped. “Guarding. Not acting. She knew Morganthia was a threat and chose to wait for her to attack rather than strike her own blow against her. Rather than find allies, she played medwitch in the city, made love to that Archangel. Rather than gather power, she ran to a Fae Prince and a wolf to shield her.” She shook her head again. “Hecuba meant to protect her all these years by keeping her isolated from the corrupt covens. She hobbled her in the process.” Jesiba crossed her arms and stared at nothing, fury and disdain tightening her face.
Ithan dared ask, “Why did you defect from the witches?”
“I didn’t like the direction they were headed.”
“Was this when Hecuba was queen?”
“Long before that. The witches have been in decline for generations. A magical and moral rot.” She leaned her head against the back of her chair. “Naïve girl,” Jesiba murmured to herself.
“What sort of oaths does Hypaxia need to swear at the Black Dock before sunrise?”
“Old ones.”
“That’s not—”
“The mysteries of the House of Flame and Shadow are not for you to know.”
“Will Hypaxia … change?”
“No. Her oaths are nothing like those the Reapers swear. The establishment of allegiance is a legal process, but one that must be honored as the Under-King has decreed.”
The Under-King … whom Jesiba served as second in command. “I didn’t know you were so important here.”
“I’m flattered. And before you ask, no, Quinlan isn’t aware. People in this House don’t talk. But the City Heads know.”
“And the Astronomer … he knows.” She nodded. “What’s your deal with him? You said you have a monthly bill.” He blew out a breath. “Fuck, I can’t pay you all that money—”
“It’s a tax write-off for the House,” Jesiba said, waving a hand. “And I’m growing tired of all these questions from you. You’re asking things you have no right to know.”
“Then stop telling me so much.”
She smirked. “You’re not as boring as you seem.”
“I’m flattered,” he echoed.
Jesiba laughed quietly. And then said, “A few centuries after Apollion changed me, he heard whispers that I had … powers. Being a lazy wretch, he sent his brother Aidas to investigate. And presumably to kill me if I was indeed a threat.”
She spoke the names of the demon princes like they were people she knew well.
“But Aidas found that I posed no threat, and discovered that I still had the library and remained defiant to his brother’s demands to reveal its so-called power. In the strange way of things, Aidas and I became friends, of a sort. We still are. I suppose it’s because we’re so used to each other now. It’s been … a long time.”
“So what did he report to Apollion?”
“That I was to be respected, but left alone.”
“And did Apollion listen?”
A half shrug. “He sends Aidas to check in every once in a while.”
“What does this have to do with the Astronomer?”
“I’ve paid the Astronomer for years now to look for a way to undo Apollion’s grip on my soul.”
Disgust roiled through him. “So you pay him and he does your bidding?”
“I pay him,” she said blandly, “but he also stands to benefit from any discovery.”
“Why?”
“He wants to find the answer so he might use it to become young himself. He is human—or used to be, before so much foul magic tainted his soul. He fears death more than anything. He stands to gain a great deal should he succeed in his search. I suppose we’re two miserable creatures feeding off each other.” She cut Ithan a look. “He might seem frail, but he’s slippery. He’ll be seeking other ways to fuck you over.”
He nodded to where he’d replaced the Godslayer Rifle on the wall. “Would you have given me the order to kill him today?”
“No,” Jesiba said. “The rifle was just a threat. I still need him.”
“I think scientists call it a symbiotic relationship.”
“Well, it’s one I’ve been building toward long before he came into existence.”
“So you’ve been using this creep and his hold on innocents—”
“You didn’t seem to have any qualms about using him when you went for information about your brother.”
The Astronomer must have told her about that visit. Ithan pressed on. “Can you … elaborate?” At her flat look, he added, “Please? Why did you even use the Astronomer in the first place?”
“I thought it was the cats who had a problem with curiosity.”
“Blame it on the part of me that chose to be a history major in college.”
Her lips curled upward, but she sighed at the ceiling and said, “In my own research over the millennia, I learned that dragon fire is one of the few things that can make a Prince of Hel balk.”
“You meant to use it against Apollion?” Ithan couldn’t help but gape at her sheer audacity.
She studied her manicured nails. “I thought it might be a good … negotiating tool.”
Ithan let out an impressed laugh. “Wow. So what happened?”
“Rumor spread in the city that the Astronomer had possession of a dragon. I sought him out and offered to buy Ariadne on the spot.” She crossed her arms again. “The bastard wouldn’t sell her, not for anything in the world. But I realized that day that I might have another opportunity on my hands: I could use his mystics to hunt in Hel for answers on how to free me, and have the mystics guarded by Ariadne while they did so.”
“But you said you wanted to wait to … not be young until the books were safe.”
“Yes. But when that time comes, I want the solution in hand.”
“Why?”
“So I don’t talk myself out of it.” He felt, more than saw, the weight of all those years bowing her shoulders. “You’re not like most wolves I’ve known.”
“Is that an insult or a compliment?” He honestly couldn’t tell.
She uncrossed her arms and drummed her fingers on the desk. “There’s a lot you don’t know, Ithan Holstrom, about the truth. Too much for me to delve into here and now.” Her fingers halted, and her gaze simmered with ancient pain and anger. “But it was the wolf packs who reached Parthos first. Who started the slaughter and burnings. It was the wolf packs, led by Asteri-bred bloodhounds, who hunted down my sisters. I’ve never forgotten that.”
Ithan’s stomach churned at the shameful history of his people, but he asked, “Bred?”
A wry smile. “The gift already existed amongst the wolves, but the Asteri encouraged it. Bred it into certain lines. They still do.”
“Like Danika.”
Jesiba’s fingers resumed their drumming. “The Fendyrs have been a … carefully cultivated line for the Asteri.”
“How so?”
She fixed her blazing eyes on him. This female had lived through all of Midgard’s Asteri history. He could hardly wrap his mind around it. “Didn’t you ever wonder why the Fendyrs are so dominant? Generation after generation?”
“Genetics.”
“Yes, genetics bred by the Asteri. Sabine and Mordoc were ordered to breed.”
“But Sabine took the title from her brother—”
“At whose urging? She’s an angry, small-minded female. Her brother was smarter, but clearly no male of worth, if he sold his daughter to the Astronomer. He was likely deemed unfit by the Asteri, who coaxed Sabine into challenging him. And when Sabine’s dominance won out, they made sure Mordoc was sent to produce a line of more … competent Fendyrs.”
“Well, Micah fucked that up for them.”
“And who do you think pulled Micah’s strings?”
Ithan was glad he was sitting. “You think the Asteri had Micah kill Danika? After all that trouble to breed her into existence?” Never mind that Connor and the Pack of Devils had been destroyed as a result of that scheming—
“I think Danika was reckless and willful, and the Asteri knew they could never control her as they could Sabine. I think they realized that with Danika, they’d produced a wolf so powerful she rivaled the ones I faced in the First Wars. True wolves. And she was not on their side. She had to be eliminated.”
Ithan sagged in his seat, but then a thought struck him. “The Under-King told Hypaxia and me that Connor … that the Under-King had been given a command not to touch my brother. Why?”
Jesiba’s face was unreadable. “I don’t know. In all likelihood, it’s because he was an asset in life, and remains so in death.”
“To who?”
“The Asteri. They know what Connor means to Quinlan, to you—that makes his soul very, very valuable.”
Ithan reeled. “I’m nobody.”
Jesiba gave him a disdainful look, but her phone rang before she could answer him. She picked up after one trill.
She listened silently until she said in a clipped tone, “Fine.” The sorceress hung up and fixed Ithan with a stare. “You’re wanted downstairs at the morgue.”
“You guys have a private morgue here?”
She rolled her eyes. “Hypaxia finished her vows in record time—she’s waiting down there for you. With Sigrid’s corpse.”
