While Tharion might not be privy to his queen’s most intimate plans, he could only assume she wanted the boy for the same reason Pippa Spetsos did: to use him as a weapon. One that could be used to get the queens of the Black, White, and Red Courts to yield. With the boy in her thrall, she could potentially use him to siphon their powers, to turn all that elemental energy against them and expand her influence.
But if they knew of Emile as well, then did they already scheme, thinking to take the Blue Court? And if the Queen of the Red Court wished to overthrow his queen, to use Emile’s gifts to drain her of power … would he fight it?
Years ago, he would have said Hel yes.
But now …
Tharion lifted his face toward the surface. That distant, beckoning ribbon of light.
He found her studying him again. As if she could hear every thought in his mind. The sobek at her left cracked open an eye, revealing a slitted pupil amid green-marbled citrine.
His queen asked, “Are things so wonderful Above that you resent your time Beneath?”
Tharion kept his face neutral, kept swishing his fins with an idle grace. “Can’t both realms be wonderful?”
The second sobek opened an eye as well. Would they be opening their jaws next?
They ate anything and everything. Fresh meat, trash, and, perhaps most important, the bodies of the shameful dead. Having one’s black boat overturned on its way to the Bone Quarter was the deepest sort of humiliation and judgment: a soul deemed unworthy of entering the holy resting place, its corpse given over to the river beasts to devour.
But Tharion kept his hands clasped behind him, kept his chest exposed, ready to be shredded apart. Let her see his utter subservience to her power.
His queen only said, “Keep searching for the boy. Report as soon as you hear anything new.”
He bowed his head. “Of course.” He swished his fin, readying to swim off the moment she gave the dismissal.
But the River Queen said, “And Tharion?”
He couldn’t stop his swallow at the smooth, casual tone. “Yes, my queen?”
Her full lips curved into a smile. So much like the beasts at her feet. “Before you invite my daughter on a date Above again, I think you should witness firsthand the disrespect those Above show the citizens of the Beneath.”
The River Queen picked her punishments well. Tharion would give her that.
Swimming along the Old Square’s section of the quay an hour later, he kept his head down as he speared trash.
He was her Captain of Intelligence. How many of his people had already noticed him here or heard about this? He stabbed a discarded, half-decayed pizza box. It fell into three pieces before he could tuck it into the giant bag drifting behind him on the current.
The River Queen wanted Emile badly, Pippa Spetsos was leaving a trail of bodies in her hunt for the kid, and yet this was his queen’s priority for him?
Water splashed twenty feet above, and Tharion lifted his head to find an empty beer bottle filling—and then drifting down. Through the surface, he could just make out a blond female laughing at him.
She’d tried to fucking hit him with that bottle. Tharion rallied his magic, smiling to himself as a plume of water showered the female, earning a host of shrieks and growls from those around her.
Ten more bottles came flying down at him.
Tharion sighed, bubbles flowing from his lips. Captain Whatever, indeed.
The River Queen fancied herself a benevolent ruler who wanted the best for her people, yet she treated her subjects as harshly as any Asteri. Tharion wended between the mussel-crusted pillars of a dock, various crabs and bottom-scavengers watching him from the shadows.
Something had to change. In this world, in the hierarchies. Not only in the way Ophion wanted, but … this imbalance of power across all Houses.
Tharion pried a bike tire—for fuck’s sake—from between two rocks, muscles groaning. A giant blue crab scuttled over, waving its claws in reprimand. Mine! it seemed to shout. Tharion backed off, gesturing to the trash. Have at it, he conveyed with a wave of his hand, and with a powerful thrust of his tail, swam farther along the quay.
The glowing firstlights cast ripples on the surface. It was like swimming through gold.
Something had to change. For him, at least.
Ruhn laid the Starsword on his father’s desk as the Autumn King stalked through the study doors.
The top buttons of his father’s black shirt were undone, his ordinarily smooth red hair a bit out of place. Like someone had been running their hands through it. Ruhn shuddered.
His father eyed the sword. “What is so important that you interrupted my afternoon meeting?”
“Is that what you’re calling it these days?”
His father threw him an admonishing glance as he slid into his desk chair, surveying the bare Starsword. “You smell like trash.”
“Thanks. It’s a new cologne I’m trying out.” Considering the insanity of the last hour, it was a miracle he could even joke right then.
Agent Daybright had been in his mind, screaming at him to wake up. That was all he’d known before he’d started puking water and the gods knew what else—he certainly didn’t want to know—on the Aux training center floor.
Cormac had left by the time Ruhn mastered himself, apparently wanting to quickly search the area for any hint of Emile or Sofie. Bryce had still been in shock when Ruhn managed to ask what the fuck had happened.
But she’d told him enough—then kicked the Starsword toward him in the empty training hall and left. Which was when he’d rushed over here.
Flame sparked at his father’s fingers—the first warning of his impatience. So Ruhn asked, “What’s the lore behind this sword?”
His father arched a brow. “You’ve been its bearer for decades. Now you want to know its history?”
Ruhn shrugged. His head still pounded from the blow the Reapers had given him; his stomach churned like he’d been drinking all night. “Does it have any special powers? Weird gifts?”
The Autumn King swept a cold look over Ruhn, from his waterlogged boots to his half-shaved head, the longer hair scraggly thanks to the sewer trip. “Something has happened.”
“Some Reapers tried to jump me, and the sword … reacted.”
A light way of putting it. Had Bryce stayed away from the sword all these years because she somehow sensed that in her hand, it would unleash horrors?
He didn’t want to know what his father would do with the truth. A sword that could kill the unkillable. How many rulers in Midgard would scheme and murder to attain it? Starting with his father and ending with the Asteri.
Maybe they’d get lucky and the information would be contained to the Reapers. But the Under-King …
His father stilled. “How did the sword react?”
“Shouldn’t a father ask if his son is all right? And why the Reapers attacked?”
“You appear unharmed. And I assume you did something to offend them.”
“Thanks for your vote of confidence.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“How did the sword react in the presence of the Reapers?”
“It glowed. They ran from it.” It was only a half-lie. “Any idea why?”
“They are already dead. Blades hold no threat to them.”