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Well, not someone new, exactly.

Surprise had Kit’s eyebrows shooting up her forehead, but she managed to keep her voice level when she said, “Raefe?”

His blond hair was shorter than when she’d last seen him, the ends uneven. His rust-colored wings were folded tight against his back, and Kit nearly did a double take when she noticed the light gauzy bandage wrapped around one of them. He limped slightly as he strode into the room, and she was immediately irritated with herself for her curiosity.

Granted, she was no stranger to seeing the fae wounded. If not by Elyria’s own hand the first time she’d met him and Sephone at King’s Keep, then by Cedric’s when he laid into the bastard before the group had departed to Dawnspire. Still, there was something different about it this time. Raefe looked . . . tired. Weary. Older, somehow.

Frankly, he looked like he’d seen some shit.

“It’s been a while, Duchess.”

“Noctis take me. Princess, this. Duchess, that.” Kit threw her hands into the air. “Is being this annoying something Tartanis actively requires, or am I just lucky?”

“Is that really the question you want to ask right now?” Sephone said.

“No,” Kit said sullenly, folding her arms over her chest. “So, what, he’s your source? How does he know about Ellie?”

“You might ask me directly,” he muttered. “Since I’m the one who helped Cedric get her out. Helped her escape.”

Kit blinked at him. “Say again?”

“Paid for it dearly too.” Raefe scratched at his torn ear. “But I suppose I had amends to make.”

“I still don’t understand.”

Sephone rose from her seat with a sigh. “As I told you before, after Dawnspire Raefe went back to the Lost City to keep an eye on things. Ended up being pretty useful that he was there, given that Cedric showed up out of the blue a few nights ago, ready to go on the warpath to find Elle.”

“He blazed our way through the wards that had kept the castle off-limits to me prior,” continued Raefe. “We fought our way through a healthy number of sanguinagi, then fought off the dark sorcerer himself. With a little extra help in the end from the Revenant’s shadowbeast.” Raefe shuddered, and Kit’s mouth gaped open.

“Sid was there?”

Raefe nodded. “And all blessings to Lunara she was, because your friend was in bad shape. I’m not sure Cedric would have been able to get her out of there alone.”

Kit swallowed. “But he did—they did.” She cocked her head, eyes darting to Raefe’s injuries. “And it was . . . thanks to you?”

Sephone clapped Raefe on the shoulder, and he winced. “In part,” she said proudly.

Raefe bit his lip. “I stayed behind precisely long enough to make sure they could get a solid head start, that was all.”

“So modest.” Sephone clucked her tongue, and though Raefe tried to shrug off her hold, Kit could see the sliver of pride beaming from him.

Feels good to do the right thing for once, doesn’t it? she wanted to say. But she didn’t think that would be particularly helpful at present, so instead she asked, “How did you get out?”

“A lot of fire, a bit of luck. And the ability to fly was pretty necessary, as it turned out. Hurt like a son of a bitch with the way a few of the sanguinagi bastards clipped me, but I was able to get back here within a couple of days and report on what happened to Master Tartanis.”

“Ahh, right, of course. Had to run back to tell Daddy. He must be thrilled to know that his daughter is, at the very least, not being held prisoner anymore. Then again, perhaps he is less happy over the fact that he had little to do with her emancipation and thus has nothing to lord over her now.”

Sephone gestured to the open doorway behind Raefe—to the hallway that stretched beyond it. “And that’s precisely why he’d like to talk to you.”

The connecting corridor was surprisingly long. It was also very quiet. Kit’s, Sephone’s, and Raefe’s footsteps were muffled by thick carpet. Spurts of soft chatter could be heard as they passed a few other rooms, but the trio only came to a stop once they’d reached the end of the hallway. A large man with short-cropped hair and a scar bisecting one eyebrow stood in front of the final door. He nodded at Sephone and Raefe, then opened the door without a word, the ruby bead hanging from his ear glinting in the light.

The room they stepped into was part office, part salon. A large window looked out over the canal, light glinting off the water and pooling in the glass decanters on a sideboard. Maps of Arcanis—Nyrundelle, the Midlands, Havensreach—covered one wall, marked with neat pins in red and gold and black. Two armchairs flanked a low table set with an elegant-looking tea service.

And in one of those chairs sat Master Tartanis, who rose as they entered.

Kit hated that her first response was a reluctant acknowledgment that he looked just like Elyria. Or, rather, she supposed Elyria looked like him.

They had the same wide-set cheekbones, the same naturally wry set to their lips. And though his long, straight hair was a blue so dark it looked black, though his face was lined with the evidence of his years in this world, his eyes . . .