“That was before. We tore this realm apart once, fighting over who got to move you all like pieces on a board. The Fates won that round. We ceded ground to keep the realm from collapsing entirely.” He spread his hands. “I cannot unmake the treaty between us and them—not even if I wanted to. To do so would likely destroy this world. I can only craft my own bargains around it.”
It wasn’t the answer I wanted.
But there was something in it I hadn’t heard the first time I stood before him all those years ago.
Limits.
“You’re saying,” I said slowly, “that you don’t control this. Not fully.”
A shadow of irritation crossed his face. “Careful.”
“No,” I said, stepping in until we were almost chest to chest. My shadows curled around my boots like loyal dogs. “You marked Aurelia. Branded her with your power. You locked my court up as leverage so you’d have a blade to point at her enemies. You made my life a weapon. And all this time, I thought you were the one holding the other end of that leash.” I searched his eyes. “But you’re not, are you? Not really. You’re tied up in this as tightly as I am.”
Lightning flashed faintly in his gaze.
“Watch your tone, mortal prince,” he murmured.
“Or what?” I asked, voice low. “You’ll kill me? Then you lose your blade entirely. Then you’d have to trust the Fates to save your daughter, and we both know how that ends.”
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.
Then Ire laughed.
It wasn’t a pleasant sound. But it wasn’t furious, either. More… grudging.
“There it is,” he said. “The defiance I remember. The stubborn determination I chose you for in the first place.”
Despite his laughter, there was a sharpness in his gaze now. A stillness to the air between us. And a power so great, it made my bones tremble. Like he wanted me to remember I stood before a Furiosity rather than a mortal.
I hadn’t forgotten, but for good measure, I wisely kept my mouth shut.
His gaze swept over me again, slower this time. “You’re right about one thing,” he said. “My brothers and I are more bound than I want to be. The accords limit how overtly we can meddle. I cannot storm Heliconia’s camp and drag her to Hel by her hair, tempting as that might be. I cannot snuff herlike a candle. I cannot walk into Autumn and rip the Harvest throne from under that pretty boy brother of yours.” His mouth curved even as his words jolted me with surprise. “And I cannot unmake the terms of your vow without unraveling the careful balance that keeps this realm from tearing itself apart.”
“Then why answer my summons tonight?” I asked, irritated and impatient with this useless meeting. “Why come at all?”
“Because,” he said simply, “you offered me your life for hers before you even knew her name. I was curious how you’d live with that.”
I met his gaze. “And?”
“You didn’t disappoint,” he said. “You seldom do. Which is why I’ll give you this much.” He leaned in slightly. “Heliconia seeks the magic that sleeps within your brother’s throne. And if she gets it, she will be more powerful than any mortal in Menryth.”
“The Harvest throne contains magic?”
He inclined his head.
“She drained Winter’s,” I realized. “The Ice Throne is where she’s been drinking from all these years. Where she recovered her strength after what she did to Summer.”
His gaze flicked to the trees, as if he could see through the mountains and into the north. “She stole power from the throne, yes. And from other places where the old magic pooled when we stepped back. That power was meant to hold the realm together in our absence. She uses it to crack the seams instead.”
“And Autumn is next,” I said.
“Callan is a convenient key,” Ire said.
My stomach turned. “That’s why he came to us in the north.”
“Even broken lines feel the pull of the current,” he said.
I stared past Ire, into the dark, seeing Grey Oak Keep in my mind. The Harvest Throne sitting silent—but not empty.
