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I shrug.

Cadex shoves his hands in his pockets, massive shoulders curling inward. “We’re cursed.”

Damaris slaps Cadex on the back, and I understand how much they were previously holding back.

Cadex barely flinches. “Okay, fine. We aren’t cursed. Just battling between the Hel realm opening up from below—which is causing people to lose their minds—and the Jord collapsing our most used tunnels from above. Really nothing to look at here.”

“Sun burn me.”

“Yeah,” Cadex sighs. “It’s been brutal.”

I look around for a certain large underworld lord. “And Atlys? How is he holding up?”

Damaris and Cadex share a look.

I step forward. “You can tell me.”

“He, uh”—Cadex scratches his arm—“isn’t doing too well either. Not sleeping, overly contrite, even starting these incredibly annoying earthquakes.”

Damaris punches Cadex straight in the middle of his eight-pack abs.

“What aren’t you guys telling me?”

Damaris shakes out their hands. “Atlys seems to be reverting to his…old self.”

“And?”

Cadex lets out an unceremonious huff of air. “He’s crabby, detached, and cold as fuck to be around.” He pauses for a moment. “I don’t blame him, though. Things are worse than ever here. With every passing week, more civilians are moving north to the Surface to avoid this mysterious plague. The Jord is attacking, and even the Surface doesn’t seem as friendly right now given how tumultuous the treaty has gotten.”

“But folks from Terraguard are different from the Jord,” I argue.

“Yeah.” Damaris sighs. “That’s true. But all Surface-bound creatures lump us together. The Underworld. As if we have no differences.”

My stomach clenches at the realization that Damaris is right. I had believed for half a year that Atlys was responsible for the destruction of Goldenpine, when really it was Lord Rollo of the Jord.

I bite the inside of my cheeks until I taste copper. “Where is he?”

“Hel if I know,” Cadex responds.

Damaris rolls their eyes. “He is out making rounds with our outermost posts. He’ll be back later for dinner. Let me escort you to your rooms in the meantime.”

I follow the general through the corridors of the royal house past sitting rooms with roaring fireplaces, terraces that lead to gorgeous views of the bay, and opulent guest suites until we reach a set of side stairs that leads to the east wing where the royal suite is located. Some of the staff nod at the general as we pass, but what I find most peculiar is how they nod at me.

My shirt isn’t a military grade Watcher blue; I made sure to wear black to fit in down here, but their stares continue nonetheless.

Eventually, General Damaris drops me off at the massive doors to his—our—suite and mumbles something about needing to keep an eye on Cadex before charging off down a hallway, cape fluttering behind them.

The massive door squeaks slightly on its hinges as I enter the room. The fireplace is in the middle, logs popping slightly with the flame. The double doors to the balcony are wide open. A warm, salty breeze flutters the lightweight curtains. On the far side of the room, opposite the large bed and seating area, a wardrobe is propped open.

Upon further inspection, I find it’s all women’s clothing. My size. I smile to myself as I pull out a floor length black gown that appears to be filled with so many crystals it rivals the night sky.

Still, Atlys is nowhere to be seen, yet the shirts draped haphazardly on the end of his bed tells me he’s at least been here recently. Even the room is full of his scent. I breathe in the salty floral scent mixed with leather and smoke.

A smashing noise reverberates from the hallway.

“Get back here, you crazy rat!” a woman yells.

Steps shuffle and what sounds like a plate crashes before a fuzzy black and white figure charges straight through the door toward me.