Page 91

I can see Morana driving this thing—or more accurately, having someone drive her around in this.

We emerge onto a new street in waning, bruised daylight, and Tiernan navigates to what I believe is the main road leading out of Silvergate’s district. I squint at him, wondering how he knows where to go until I remember the earpiece. His team will have researched every path and route in the town, and someone is probably performing the function of a GPS in his ear while he drives us away from the wealthy part of town.

The city’s architecture shifts in real time as the leopard takes us further into Ravenhold. Buildings lose their decorative filigree and gain a kind of hunched, predatory closeness as the gilded district looms in our rearview. The glass and stone here are older, scored by centuries of rain and neglect, with the occasional iron spike jutting from a corner like its own set of fangs. Streetlights go from silver posts with elaborate crowns to black iron poles, each lamp burning a low, sullen blue even though it’s barely past midday.

As we get deeper into the Commons and closer to the necropolis, daylight seems to give up. In the side mirror, I clock the black SUV behind us, its running lights dull and almost invisible. I don’t think we’ll need them more than we did at Silvergate, but I could be wrong. Just because some kids from this part of town were excited about our prince’s presence, doesn’t mean everyone will be. They may see him as complicit as their own royals, and without cameras, it might get riskier than he and my witchling assume.

I’m prepared either way, but I hope the townspeople here are kind and eager, rather than assholes.

Rev breaks the silence in the vehicle, his voice casual as he says, “Tier, do you really think we need all this muscle with us? You saw what our girl did back there. She could fight anyone off with that shit.”

“I’d prefer no one has to fight, Rev,” Tiernan says. “Having a full security detail will suggest people behave without anyone needing to break half the building in frustration. But… you’re right, it was hot and really fucking impressive.”

Fiadh doesn’t say a word, but I hear the slight friction of her thumb rubbing circles into her palm. I twist my upper body just enough to catch her eye in the back. She stares at me, her eyes full of anger and concern simultaneously. The incident at Silvergate has her worried for our prince, especially since we’re not even half-way through this damn tour. Also, she knows that the videos showing her busting the glass out of the place will circulate and get back to the idiot royals. She didn’t promise not to use her magic, but they’ll get more peeks at what she can do before she’s ready. That won’t help us stay on the right side of declaring war, either.

I blink as the basilisk cracks his neck loudly. The pop is loud enough to make Fidget flinch in the witchling’s hair. The tiny bat watches the buildings out the window, but seems unimpressed by the view. Khol pets the little guy with his finger, grinning as he says, “Midnight tries too hard. Their rich people are more extra than the Harvest ones; their town is bigger yet less welcoming, and even the shopping isn’t as good. Well, in the fancy part, I suppose.”

“You’re gonna hate Reaping,” Revelin replies in a wry tone. “They’re not… fancy… in the same way as Midnight, but the whole Faerie meets The Nightmare Before Christmas vibe is going to annoy the shit out of you.”

“That feels as if it’s going to irritate me as well,” I say, and Khol gives me a double thumbs-up in the mirror. “No wonder the only courts my kind have a record of dealing with are these two. They reflect the culture many of the covens, new and old, so desperately aspire to be seen as part of.”

Tier arches a brow. “Coming from the sex club-owning vampire that’s rich.”

Rolling my eyes, I sigh. “Yes, I lived for many centuries in a… Anne Rice-style… coven. But that’s not the only vampire you’ll find across the globe. Depending on where they are located, the amount of refinement and remaining humanity the members have will vary greatly. Much like shifters, Fae, or even humans, vampires are not a monolith, my friend.”

“My uncle always said there were some in the boonies that are like slavering zombies,” Khol says as he taps a rhythm on his knee. “He wanted to figure out how to get an army like that who wouldn’t question shit, but Khal and I showed him a couple of zombie movies to dispel the notion that mindless killers would end up being less useful than he thought.”

The witchling blinks and looks at the snakelet curiously. “What the fuck did he want with a slavering horde of killers? It doesn’t fit with the whole gang thing you guys run. Plus, they couldn’t sell drugs, and that’s… his main thing, right?”

“It is,” Khol says with a shrug. “But he seemed to think he could use them as assassins or some shit. Like I said, it was short-lived and luckily, my bro and I talked him out of it because he couldn’t really control them.”

An oddly specific acquisition to want for a man who has an entire gang at his disposal.

“Khol, why couldn’t he just send you or the legion of dealers he has on the payroll?” I ask as my brow furrows. “Why would he want feral vampires from the sticks, rather than hire trained assassins?”

The basilisk shrugs. “We didn’t ask, blood bag. I mean, it’s definitely not the weirdest thing he’s suggested over the years. Uncle K is a ruthless bastard and probably samples far too much of his own product to be safe. Khal and I have learned to redirect his wacky shit into more productive ideas over the years.”

The car eats distance as I think about that, and soon the street narrows further, the sky barely a slit between the buildings. We have to be in the necropolis now—the street names are inlaid into the cobbles in black brass, and every lamppost is topped by a ring of barbed wire. The flames inside them burn green, as they light the road with a sickly cast. Perhaps these Fae also have their brand of theater; it’s just aimed at being seen as terrifying, rather than rich and pureblooded.

Drawing a deep breath, I continue thinking about the information the basilisk just gave us as Tiernan slows our speed. In the lull at a crosswalk, I look down at the console only to see a small envelope in the cupholder. It has the Daybreak crest on the wax seal, and it wasn’t there when we left the school. I glance at the leopard, who sighs heavily, then at the others. Revelin looks irritated, and my witchling has her jaw set tightly again.

Hell if I’m going to let the prince’s court make this day worse by sitting on this shit.

I pick up the envelope, breaking the seal as I flick open the card. It has four short sentences written inside. There’s no signature, but the handwriting is neat and precise.

Don’t trust the city council. Don’t trust the mayor.

They will be watching you here. Be cautious.

Revelin looks relieved, but the others seem skeptical. I put the card back in the envelope and open the glove compartment to tuck it away. I only wait a moment before I say, “That feels as if it arrived late, no?”

“Maybe,” Fi says as she frowns. “Or maybe it’s a warning about the assholes disregarding my statement about our trip to this part of town. They’re not following us that I’ve noticed, but that doesn’t mean shit.”

We turn onto a side street, and the second black SUV falls in closer, just behind our bumper. Up ahead, the necropolis proper comes into view. There’s a smattering of iron gates and low mausoleums and glass-roofed crypts that crowd together. I think I see warding glyphs and at least three kinds of magical locks on various buildings as we pass by. This part of town takes privacy seriously, it seems, though that may be more about keeping teenagers and kids from being frisky than avoiding a crime wave.

Tier brakes to a stop in a small plaza and puts the car in park. Once he scans the surrounding area briefly, he turns in his seat to look directly at our mate. “I don’t know who sent that damn thing, but they’re right. Those fuckers were purposefully torturing you and Revelin, regardless of his station and firm, but polite rebuttals. They’ve been empowered to do so, and think someone more powerful will protect them should Oliver protest his son’s treatment officially.”

“If that’s true, they will try to screw everything up again,” I finish grimly. “I don’t know who or how this missive came, but we may have to keep its message top of mind, witchling. Our enemies may not be the underworld in this court, but the one percent.”