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It’s who she’s bringing with her.

Chapter 20

Nyssa

A fugitive spy, a ruinous prince, and a steadfast guard walk into a pleasure house.

It’s like a crude joke.

I steal a quick glance at my companions. Each of us has adopted our own version of a disguise for the evening. Maxim seems surprisingly at ease, far removed from the rigid formality of his guard uniform, while Kallias looks like an ordinary noble who thinks a bit too highly of himself. He’s wearing a hooded wrap, drawn low to shade his features. I would have been more reassured if his presence were a little less regal but, well, beggars can’t be choosers.

I’m wrapped in a copper dress that drapes from one shoulder and falls in clean, liquid folds, the fabric gathered softly at my waist before spilling to the floor. The neckline is simple, the lines elegant, and the back crosses with a slender tie that leaves a sweep of skin exposed.

After almost an entire month in plain linen, the color feels like the first day after wet season when the humidity finally shifts from the air. I refuse to think too hard about which woman had left it in the back of Kallias’s closet.

I take a deep breath and try to push down my nerves as we step deeper into the Muse. The hall oozes decadence. The sweet smoke curling in the air, the teasing notes of music, and the flickering red light from the sconces—it’s all a lure, pulling you in before you realize it.

It’s busier than I’ve ever seen it before. Patrons flock to the bar stretched along the right wall, while others crowd the floor around the stage in the center, where a familiar sapphire-haired performer tempts them with her melody.

Kallias leans toward me. “What was it you called this place?”

“The Muse,” I whisper as we slip farther into the crowd. “Try not to lose your sense of superiority.”

The prince mutters under his breath, too low for me to hear. But Maxim meets my gaze, amusement reflecting back at me, before he gives me a slight nod. He drifts toward a far corner and leans casually against the wall. His watchful eyes stay locked on us but occasionally sweep over our surroundings.

That was the plan we devised: He would watch over us while I stay alert, keeping an eye out for Myna.

Guilt nips at my resolve. I’m dragging her into this—into these schemes and risks and the consequences that cling to them. But since we were sent on our first mission, it’s become clear that something within the order has soured. There’s venom in those stone halls, seeping into the mortar, eating at the foundation, and I have a suspicion that Malis is the source. I also suspect Myna knows it too, since three times now she has gone out of her way to help Aella or myself, even when it goes against the order.

I’ve already searched the council chambers within the palace, only to find ledger after ledger of taxes and dull kingdom minutiae. Lord Malis’s office was nothing but a desk and dust. Exactly as I suspected. Which means Myna’s help is likely our only hope.

I push deeper into the crowd, Kallias close behind me. We weave through patrons and performers as the music dips to a slow, thrumming rhythm. It’s only once we’re in the thick of it, surrounded by strangers, that I turn back to face him.

And…I can’t tear my eyes away.

Kallias stands amid it all as if he’s immune to the chaos around him. Or perhaps it could consume him entirely, and he wouldn’t deign to care. He raises a hand, lazily tousling his dark hair, and his hood slips back with the cavalier motion. The flickering red light catches on the smudged kohl rimming his eyes, giving him a sharp, almost feral look as he scans the space.

But what truly fascinates me isn’t the way he looks, or the facade he presents to others. It’s the pain I sometimes catch buried beneath it, a flicker of something frayed and unhealed.

And, gods, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Not because it’s lovely, but because it’s real. Real in a way nothing in the Aviary ever was.

He notices me staring at him.

“Shouldn’t you be focusing on your plan?” he taunts.

“I am,” I say, guiding his hand to my hip. His touch radiates warmth, and my thoughts drift back to the effortless display of his theïkós earlier—the way he summoned flame with a casual flick of his wrist. It’s almost impossible to fathom that fire courses beneath his skin, even as his heat seeps into me from this simple touch. “Now, dance for me, Prince.”

I sway enough to blend us into the room’s movement. I scan the space for anyone who looks out of place—someone standing too still, eyes lingering too long. It’s unlikely I’ll spot Myna in this sea of people, not unless she wants to be seen. She’s too good at disappearing, melting into the flow of a crowd like a shadow, only surfacing when it suits her.

Kallias tugs me forward, and I stumble into the solid warmth of his chest. My gaze jerks back to him, but this close, I’m forced to look up. My eyes don’t make it far, catching on the curve of his lips and snagging there, helpless, as the smoky scent of burnt citrus wraps around me. He drags his tongue across his lower lip, and a wave of heat surges through me, setting my body alight.

Notos, Zephyrus—gods. What is wrong with me?

This is Kallias. Aella’s brother and the embodiment of self-indulgence and arrogance. I should not be—

“I hope you’re not planning on kissing me again, Poison,” he says with a gleam in his eyes.