“I’m asking you whether you’ve heard anything about Ophion, or a commander named Pippa Spetsos.” He needed to know if and when Pippa and her Lightfall unit would make a move, even without that mech-suit prototype. If he could save innocent lives in this city, he would.
“Of course I have. Everyone’s heard of Ophion.”
Tharion ground his teeth. “You know what they’re up to?”
She took a long drag from her cigarette. “Information isn’t free.”
“How much?”
“The dragon’s good for business.” Her snake eyes didn’t move from his. “Fight last night brought in a lot of money. I worked out a deal with her: she’ll get a portion of profits from her wins, and it can go toward buying her freedom.”
“You don’t own her.” No matter that he wanted to hand her over to his queen like …
Fuck, like a slave.
“No, I don’t. That’s why I’ll need you to spin whatever bullshit your friends and their lawyer gave to the Astronomer. Something about royal commandeering?” The Viper Queen admired her immaculate nails. “Tell everyone her fighting here is a matter of imperial security.”
“No one will believe that.” And fuck, he needed that dragon. He needed her as an exit strategy out of this Emile situation. And any fallout for leaving the queen’s daughter.
“People believe anything when presented correctly.”
Tharion sighed at the mirrored ceiling. The dragon had at least agreed to be here, to fight toward her freedom, but …
The Viper Queen said, as if somehow reading or guessing his thoughts, “Even in that humanoid form, she can turn you into ashes if you try to bring her to the Blue Court.” Tharion glowered, but said nothing. She went on, “You and your little gaggle of friends have been awfully active lately. I might have let Quinlan talk me into a bargain for the kid, but I have no plans to let this dragon slip out of my hands.” A sharp smile. “You fools should have kept a tighter leash on her.”
Tharion gave her a sharp smile of his own. “It’s not my call whether she can stay here or not.”
“Get your royal friends and their legal team to spin their bullshit and we’ll be good, mer.”
Fuck. He was really going to walk out of here empty-handed, wasn’t he. His mind raced as he tried to think up some other prize to bring back to his queen, something to save his hide …
He’d figure it out later. When he wasn’t in front of a notoriously lethal Vanir.
He sighed and said, “If the dragon agrees, then whatever. We’ll spin our bullshit.”
“She already has.” Another sly smile.
“So tell me what Spetsos is up to.” If he could appear competent in his job as Captain of Intelligence, maybe the information about a rebel threat would keep his queen’s wrath at bay.
The Viper Queen pulled out her phone, checking the digital clock. “Call your friends and find out.”
“What?”
But the Viper Queen had already turned back to the hall, to the dragon and Flynn at its other end.
Tharion dialed Hypaxia. Hunt. Then Bryce. Ithan. Ruhn. No one answered.
He didn’t dare put it into a message, but … He dialed Hunt again. “Pick the fuck up,” he murmured. “Pick the fuck up.”
For a moment, he flashed back to another day, when he’d tried and tried to call his sister only to get her audiomail, so he’d called his parents, asking if they’d spoken to her, if they knew where she was—
Tharion reached Flynn, who was sitting on the couch, engaging in a silent staring contest with Ariadne. He couldn’t keep the edge from his voice as he said, “Call Ruhn. See if he’ll pick up for you.”
“What’s wrong?” Flynn was instantly on his feet.
“Not sure,” Tharion said, heading for the door. He swallowed down those awful memories and his rising dread. “Any idea where they were today?”
The Viper Queen said behind them, sinking onto the couch again, “Good luck.”
Tharion and Flynn paused at the doorway. The Fae lord pointed to the dragon. “We’re not done here.”
Ariadne only watched the TV again, ignoring him.
Flynn snarled. “I’m coming back for you.”
Tharion tucked away the knowledge of what he’d done, what he’d bargained for this measly tip-off about Ophion and Spetsos. He’d tell Flynn later.
Ariadne’s stare turned to Flynn as the vault door swung open again. Black turned to red. “Spare your high-handedness for someone who wants it, lordling.”
Tharion stepped into the hall, phone again at his ear. Bryce didn’t answer.
But Flynn looked back at the dragon lounging in the Viper Queen’s nest. “We’ll see about that, sweetheart,” the Fae lord growled, and followed Tharion out.
Bryce had been to Urd’s Temple in Moonwood all of one time since moving to Crescent City years ago. She and Juniper had drunkenly taken a cab over here one night during college to make an offering to the goddess of fate to make sure their destinies were epic.
Literally, that was what she’d said.
Benevolent and Farseeing Urd, please make our destinies as epic as possible.
Well, she’d gotten it, Bryce thought as she strode up the steps of the gray marble temple. So had June, though … Sorrow and guilt and longing swarmed her at the thought of her friend.
The quiet street was empty of cars. Like the Under-King had cleared everything out.
Or maybe that was due to the other menacing presence they’d dodged near the intersection of Central and Laurel on their walk over here from the training center: Pollux and Mordoc. Two monsters abroad in the city, a unit of the Hind’s dreadwolves trailing behind them.
Searching for something. Or someone.
Hunt made sure no one was on the street behind the temple as Bryce, Ruhn, and Hypaxia entered. The Under-King had been very specific—only those four people were permitted to come. Ithan and Cormac hadn’t been happy to stay behind.
Beyond the temple’s courtyard—not a priestess in sight—the open doors to the inner sanctum beckoned, shadows and smoke within.
Bryce checked that the rifle across her back was in place, the handgun ready at her hip. Ruhn, on her left, carried the Starsword. She’d argued that it was impolite to arrive at a meeting bearing a weapon designed to kill Reapers, but the others overruled her. Ruhn would stay within arm’s reach at all times, in case she needed to draw the blade. Lightning crackled around Hunt as they stepped into the gloom.
Not trusting how long it could last—or whether she could even contain it within herself—she hadn’t asked him to transfer a charge to her. If it was needed, he could power her up in seconds.
A pyre smoked atop a black stone altar in the center of the temple. A stone throne on a dais loomed at the rear of the space. No statues ever adorned Urd’s Temple—no depiction of the goddess had ever been made. Fate took too many forms to capture in one figure.
But someone was sitting on the throne.
“Punctual,” the Under-King intoned, his bony fingers clicking on the stone arm of the throne. “I appreciate that.”
“You desecrate that throne,” Ruhn warned. “Get your rotting carcass off it.”