Pulling back enough to rest my forehead against hers, I say, “I am free now. This won’t be the last time you see me, and I’ll see him soon.”
I pretend I don’t see her wiping away a tear while I pull Frankie close. “Anatha, this is Frankie, my mate.”
My mother takes her hands from mine, holding them in her own. “Frankie,” she coos. “Let me get a good look at you.” She steps back so she’s only an arm’s length away. “My, you are beautiful.” She turns to me. “She’s beautiful,” she repeats, like I don’t already know.
“I know,” I say, a smile pulling at my mouth.
“I’m Anatha.” She pulls Frankie into a tight embrace, and I pretend not to hear as she whispers, “Thank you for saving my son.”
Frankie shakes her head almost immediately. “He’s been there for me more times than I can count.” Her voice is soft, but her eyes flick away, not taking the compliment. I hate that she carries so much guilt. If only she could see herself the way I do.
I grab the basket of clothing and we follow my mother to the house. The deep scorch mark above the doorway is still there from the night Ronin dared me to see how high I could throw a fireball. The door is made from animal hide, darkened by years of ash and smoke. I don’t know why I’m surprised it hasn’t changed. Twenty years isn’t long, but it felt endless where I was.
A sweet, delicious scent hits me when I step inside, bringing me back to my younger days. Melitamelics are cooling on a slab of volcanic stone. Next to them are a few pouches, ingredients spilling out where my mother was working.
I set the basket of linens next to clay water pots and reach for one of the treats. “Are these for me?”
My mother slaps my hand. “Hands off! These are for the Firsthaul Festival.”
I hover my fingers over the tray anyway just to make her huff. “Since when do we have a festival for hauling things?”
She swats me again, muttering, “Since Macen started bringing home half the Mortal Realm’s goods. The traders returned this morning.”
Frankie leans in, her eyes bright. “What happens at the festival?”
My mother smiles. “Once the ledgers are settled, we open the stalls, drink too much, and thank Erebus we have something worth trading.”
Frankie covers a yawn with the back of her hand. “Sounds…fun.”
I grin at her halfhearted attempt to rally. She looks exhausted, shadows smudged beneath her eyes. Tracing takes more out of her than she’ll ever admit. “It’s probably a good idea to rest.” I run my knuckles over her cheek. “But you’re welcome to come with me to meet with the council, if you’d like.”
“Tempting.” She yawns again. “But if I try to sit through a meeting, I’ll embarrass you by drooling on the table. I’ll take a nap instead.”
Macen plants both palms on the table. “Garrick said things are getting worse at Bloodridge.” Ronin already told me the demon is acting as the overlord there, trying to bring a semblance of order. “Since Aradon’s death, the old captains have been clawing at each other for power. Raids, brawls, whole camps torching each other’s supplies.”
Quenric speaks up, voice even. “The violence itself isn’t new. Whatisnew are the disturbances. After the portal tore open, the body of water closest to it turned black and murky, and a moldy substance is spreading over the land. A few of our scouts swear they feel the ground pulse every time the portal surges.”
One of the commanders speaks up. “Do we think the bodies we’ve found are related to the portal?"
The mood turns darker, heavier. “Not unless the portal has fangs.” He drags a hand along the edge of the table, his eyes settling on Ronin and me. “Our scouts found bodies outside the village—six demons torn apart, bite marks everywhere.”
Ronin straightens, cursing under his breath. “Could it be a scavenger, or one of the beasts that live around these parts?”
Macen shakes his head. “No. It wasn’t done by some mindless beast. The bodies all had the same pattern of bite marks—neck, inner arms, thighs.”
Dante! It has to be. “Cronus said Dante’s not only turning humans into shifters, but he’s trying to turn demons as well. Maybe the bodies were his attempt.”
Macen shrugs. “Maybe, but why would he leave them for us to find?”
Ronin flips a blade, catching it without looking while he glances at Macen. “It’s Dante, he’s all about the theatrics. It's probably his way of making sure we don’t get too comfortable in his absence.”
One of the other commanders speaks up. “The horde’s getting restless. What do we tell them?”
Macen lets a moment of silence stretch, choosing his words carefully before he speaks. “Nothing, not yet. We know Dante’s visions are sporadic, but we need to treat this as if he knows everything. If we tell thehorde and they panic, he’ll know we’re on to him. I’ll up the security around the wall in the meantime.”
Ronin leans back, spinning the blade once more then sheathing it. His gaze flicks to Macen with a hint of something no one else would pick up, but I do. “Sounds like a good plan to me,” he says, flashing him a quick grin. “I wouldn’t mind taking the night watch again.”
I catch the glance and almost smirk.Subtle, Ronin. Real subtle.
