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Araxis swore under his breath. “No, but he promised to be back in the morning.”

“Didn’t you say Vann was working on the tent, lad?” Mag asked Thaddeus, the barest note of suspicion seeping into his tone.

“Well, aye, I did, but I didn’t actually see them. I just assumed they were both rifling around and working on the inside of it, based on the sound,” Thaddeus answered. “It didn’t cross my mind that it might only be one of them. Why does it matter? I can’t blame him for wanting to take a moment. It was rough for a while there.”

Before any of them were able to respond, the Wolflord, Andreus, came barreling into the tent and bowed. “Your Highnesses, excuse me. This just arrived for you, Thaddeus.” He handed over a slip of parchment, waiting for Thad to read it.

“Ach, Sisters save me,” he groaned, shoving it into an inner pocket and standing. “I’ve been called to the Keep for a ‘report and reassignment,’ according to Da. A rogue band of dreadbeasts got confused or some shite, and are heading for the Northern Glens where we hid the livestock. Fuck.”

A muscle ticked in Mag’s jaw. “What does that have to do with you? You’ve got a task here, already.”

“According to him, I’m the only one available who knows the way through the traps we set in the hills. Everyone else is at the chasm border, apparently.” Thad huffed, gaze drifting. “Sometimes, I wish I could go back to that night in the Montrealm when Frida and Aldiat were mated. Just playing our drinking games without a care in the world, waking up on a warm beach still half drunk and smiling. Better days, aye? Ah, well.” He smiled and shook his head. “Sleep sweet, cousins. Hopefully the world will be right again the next time I see you.”

As soon as he followed Andreus out, Magnus spun. “I swear that’s him.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Amun murmured.

“Same.” Brand sagged, even as he hiked Luna closer. “Because if that isn’t Thad...”

“Then we’ll never be able to tell, one way or another, and we’re fucked,” Mag finished. “But I refuse to believe it’s that hopeless. I think we’ll know when it’s him, now it’s on our mind and we’ve narrowed it down. Fern will know it.”

“Narrowed it down, indeed.” Amun took the seat Thad vacated and sighed. “Vann suddenly leaving doesn’t help, but still—our list of possibilities seems to be at least one shorter.”

Araxis shook his head, staring at the ground. “I just really don’t fucking like our remaining options.”

Brand didn’t want to think about it anymore. The shapeshifting imposter was a problem for another day. Right now, there was something else he needed to do.

Endellion grinned at her panicked captor, happier than she’d ever been to see him in her dank prison—even though he was swinging a fist at her.

The back of his hand cracked across her cheek, knocking a molar loose for the thousandth time. She spat it out, hot blood trickling down her chin. “That’s going to take ages to grow back.”

He grabbed her jaw, fingers digging through her flesh into the raw wound. “I don’t give a flying fuck. Answer me—how did she do it?”

Endellion giggled. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember which she or it you’re talking about.”

The joke was on him because yes, she did. Which only made the next part funnier.

“The only reason I’m not beating you senseless is because I actually believe that, you mad creature.” His anger was like a vibration, shaking around and into her. “How did Lunara actually manage to heal one of Okthana’s fucking pets? Knocking Jettus out of Brand was one thing, but to destroy his power…” There was real fear in his violet, beseeching eyes. “How?”

“Ah, yes.” She sighed, feigning a frown around his grip. “That must have deeply wounded his pride. Tell me, how is daddy Night handling it?”

“Leave my father out of this, Endellion.”

Should she…? Oh, why not. It would be worth it.

“Why? You never have.” He squeezed harder and she hissed. “Fine, fine. We can ignore the ejaculation that made you and pretend it isn’t the reason we’re all here. Let’s talk about those injuries instead. Have you had them looked at? Taken the proper precautions? The consequences of your curse could be dire, after all. Some might even say deadly, under the right circumstances.”

One hoped, anyway.

“I think you mean the wrong circumstances,” he growled.

“Do I?” She really didn’t. “I can’t remember.”

Endellion was flirting with a grey area, prickles of pain dancing on her fingers and toes in warning. But leading him along to the exact right conclusion of this little gathering was paramount. His next few moves were possibly the most important in all the game—especially if the Demon Nyriadne was to see the rest of her life through.

Poor creature.

Luckily, Endellion was excellent at pretending she felt none of her agony. A skill honed over ages of enduring his visits. Besides, it was always a delight when he had no idea he was being manipulated. That was the problem with being single-minded—one rarely paid attention to what was really going on around them.