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Cerridwen, the more impertinent and wilder of the two, stretched her night-dark arms over her head, tendrils of shadow pouring off her. The twins occupied a strange space between—between full form and mist, between living and . . . whatever it was that wraiths did. When he’d found them centuries ago, they were making a living running messages for a petty crime lord in one of the backwater towns beyond the Illyrian Steppes. Training them had been almost disturbingly easy. Even now, they barely spoke of their life before he’d taken them under his wing. Literally, he supposed.

He knew better than to ask—the Mother knew he never wanted to talk about his own past. Certainly not when someone pried.

“It seems like you had a late night,” Cerridwen observed, earning a sharp look from Nuala.

There was no hiding anything from them. Especially since they’d taken to spending time with Elain, helping her bake. He’d found it charming at first, but now . . . it gave them too much access, too much information about his own business. They certainly knew what was happening—the twins were too clever not to have noticed and understood Elain’s reaction any time he’d come up in conversation amongst them.

“If you heard about it,” Azriel reprimanded, “then I don’t need to explain what happened.” Cerridwen’s amusement faded.

One of his shadows stirred, then went still again.

Nuala, shier but more merciless, simply said, “We already have our things packed for Montesere and Rask.” From the shadows behind her, a dark pack appeared, weapons glinting from the top. She shouldered it, then tossed a matching one to her sister.

They weren’t his assassins—he usually reserved that sort of killing for his own hands, to stain his own soul. Or used one of the select living nightmares serving under him. But as his most trusted and politically savvy spies, they did occasionally have to get themselves out of scrapes. Or get an answer out of an enemy quickly.

“Good,” he said, studying the wall of windows, the city now blooming into its full morning chaos. “Stay hidden at all costs. Report back daily if you can. Any whiff of a Made item, I want to know about it immediately. Any hint of Koschei or a black, hexagonal box, don’t wait to tell me. He might be hiding the secret to his immortality there.”

The twins nodded and vanished, leaving only a wisp of night behind them.

With no one for company but his thoughts and the shadows slumbering at his feet, Az closed his eyes. Somehow, sleep found him at last.

He doubted that true contentment would find him as easily. And wondered if he’d ever really care enough to wonder why.

Nesta

The music splashed and flowed around Nesta like a cascading river, filling the music hall to the brim with glorious noise.

In recent weeks, bathing in that sound had been a relief and a joy, one of the rare times she’d felt either since Bryce Quinlan had arrived. But after yesterday, that feeling of being completely submerged in something . . .

She had nearly drowned yesterday. Had come within a heartbeat of it.

Only Rhys knew, and then the two of them had sat at the family dinner table last night and pretended like nothing had happened. Without Cassian there to mark her every breath, no one had noticed her half-lost in thought, running over every mistake she’d made and every word said between her and Rhys in his study.

You can winnow? the High Lord had asked, seeming torn between gaping and fuming.

I’m trying to, she’d corrected. The two of them had been sopping wet, both breathing heavily. How’d you know where I was?

I heard you screaming find me, find me, find me—or was that for someone else? Rhys had wiped the water from his eyes.

So much had swarmed her that she’d needed a moment to answer. I didn’t realize I was sending any thoughts out. I—It didn’t even occur to me to do that.

You planned to just drop to the bottom of the ocean and wait for us to realize you’d drowned?

I panicked, she’d snapped. I didn’t expect to wind up—there.

Why the hell were you trying to get to the Prison?

She’d shaken her head. She didn’t want to answer.

Rhys’s eyes had dimmed with lethal warning. No more secrets, Nesta.

It’s not a secret, she’d retorted, finally mustering enough strength into her legs to stand. Water sluiced down her pants, into her boots, squelching with each of the two steps she took back from him. I just . . . She’d made herself hold his gaze. Meet the dominance in it with her own. Plenty of awful things wind up there. I thought perhaps this Made object might also be hidden there. I knew it wasn’t likely, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to look. Especially if Made things seem to be waking up.

There was more she wanted to know, but that wasn’t Rhys’s business.

Rhys angled his head to one side, water dripping off his night-black hair. Why. It was a command, not a question.

She held his stare again. She didn’t answer to him. Not now, not ever. Rhys’s lips curled back from his teeth in a silent snarl.