“Right,” I said, nodding and trying to refocus. If I was that caught up in this trio of Shadowlands people, I wasn’t exactly sure how I was going to stay standing among all the foreign gods. I clutched Wylf’s arm for support as we walked through fruit trees and flowers into the centre of the dome.

I was glad I was holding onto him. Otherwise, there was a very good chance I could have toppled over at what I saw.

Stone sky gods, dozens of them, filled the space. As Maerwynne had pointed out, some were dancing in the centre with partners – I assumed their mortal mates – moving in intimate, intricate steps. Other gods, those who seemed to have come here alone, were scattered in small groups talking amongst each other. The diversity in their lineage came into shocking focus, each male looking different from every other, skin, hair, even general shape and number of limbs and eyes varying vastly. They all had star maps and wings, but even those varied. Some wings were leathery like Wylf’s, others feathered, or furred, or glittering with scales. One male even had clear, crystalline pink wings, like a candy-coloured dragonfly. The star maps came in all different colours, but I noticed that almost all of the males who stood alone had areas of their maps that had lost light.

Heads were beginning to turn towards us, no doubt noticing our arrival. A quick glance through the room confirmed something I’d already guessed – I was the only human. As the eyes of so many immortals settled on me, I found myself grateful for the mask Wylf had placed on my face. It made me feel just a little shielded from the gazes that seemed to want to dig inside me.

“Come, beloved,” Wylf said softly against my ear. “I want to make them all even more jealous of my beautiful mate.”

Before I could respond, he’d pulled me into the centre of the dome, into the crowd of whirling dancers.

“I don’t know how!” I stammered, panic rising at the thought of getting trampled among the much more skilled dancers.

“I do,” was all Wylf said. He grasped my hand in his, then looped a strong arm around my back, hitching me up until I stood atop his feet. I barely had a chance to grasp his shoulder with my other hand before he was off, spinning me through the room with a rhythmic grace that both shocked and delighted me. I knew Wylf was graceful, but it had always been the grace of a predator. A smooth, prowling control belying violence. I didn’t know it could be channelled into something so beautiful, so romantic as whirling me effortlessly to ethereal, shadowy music.

A smile split my face, and I started to laugh, overwhelmed by the giddy beauty of the moment. Of dancing with Wylfrael, the husband I never should have had, in a room that shouldn’t have been sunny but somehow was, anyway. I closed my eyes, completely trusting Wylf’s movements, soaking in the extraordinary feeling of moving without really moving while the sun caressed my skin.

My eyes opened when I felt Wylfrael kissing me. He never missed a beat – his feet moving endlessly, carrying me through the dance, even while his mouth worked over mine. Sighing into the kiss, I opened to him, loving the way his hands tightened on me in response.

I could have stayed here in Wylfrael’s arms all night. I had a feeling Wylfrael could have, too. He seemed in no hurry to stop dancing or kissing to talk to the other gods, which was the whole reason we had come here in the first place. But I decided I didn’t care. I’d dance and kiss and feel the sun on my skin for as long as I could.

It wasn’t nearly long enough, it turned out. A strange, dark voice cut through the music and chatter, silk and shadow, stealing the warmth from my skin even though the sun still shone.

“Well, well, well, Wylfrael. You’ve found your bride, I see.”

Wylf immediately broke away from the kiss, his face tightening. He stopped dancing, too, and put me down at the edge of the dancing crowd in order to turn and greet whoever had just spoken to us.

As soon as I set eyes on him, I knew who he was.

Sceadulyr.

He had to be. Though he wasn’t any taller than Wylfrael, hovering in that seven-foot range, he exuded authority and control that no other god here could mimic. Though he did not say so, the lift of his chin, the knowing glint of his dark eyes, told me without words that we were entirely in his domain. I remembered what Wylfrael had told me, and held fast to his arm.

“Greetings, Sceadulyr,” Wylf said blandly. “Yes, I have married. This is my mate, Torrance.”

“Torrance,” Sceadulyr said, as if tasting the sound. I shivered and moved in closer to Wylfrael. “And where do you hail from, Torrance? Who are your people?”

I looked at Wylf for guidance, but he didn’t seem to be telling me to stay quiet with his expression. Maerwynne already knew I was human, anyway, so it wasn’t like it was a secret.

“I’m... I’m human.”

“Human! Ah, one of the new star travellers,” Sceadulyr replied. His words seemed cordial on the surface, but his tone didn’t truly feel that way. He grinned, but there was no mirth in it. It was all malice, all edge, all sharp teeth. It was strange – in some ways, Sceadulyr was more human-looking than Wylfrael. His skin was similar to the Shadowlands people’s, but was paler, more white than grey, with no glowing star map to speak of anywhere to make him look so immediately alien. Instead, small grey dots and lines, like bits of ash, dusted his skin where stars should have glowed. Apart from the unnerving nature of his smile, his mouth, nose, eyes, ears, and brows were mostly human in shape, though his eyes were all black, with silver, cat-like pupils. His hair was as long as Wylf’s, reaching nearly to his waist, but was pure black. So black it swallowed light. Despite the sunlight that gleamed on the dark silk of his shirt and trousers and illuminated his pale skin, his hair did not shine, did not reflect anything back. Neither did his wings, and it was only with an intense amount of squinting that I could make out the dimmed outline of black feathers on them, like a raven’s, but darker than any raven could ever hope to be.

“Um, yes,” I confirmed, feeling flustered. For some reason, it unnerved me that Sceadulyr knew anything about me or my people. Humans really are so stupid, spreading across the universe like this with no idea who we’re really dealing with...

“I have a gift for you, human.”

I looked down, frowning. In Sceadulyr’s hands was a fruit like the ones that hung from some of the trees in this dome. It was perfectly round and shiny, so deep red in colour it was almost black.

Every instinct told me not to take it. Stories of gardens and apples and underworlds and pomegranates spun through my head, whirling like the dancers, warning me.

But I didn’t want to do something wrong. I didn’t know the customs and didn’t want to offend the host and master here.

I let go of Wylfrael’s arm.

In an instant, the fruit was gone. Wylf was gone. Everyone was gone. Sceadulyr’s hands were on mine, viciously cold as he tugged me to him. He forced me into movement, leading me with restrained aggression through the steps of the dance I’d just done with Wylf. But where my husband had lifted me, supporting me, Sceadulyr pushed and pulled me until I was stumbling and dizzy.

“Tell me about your machines,” he hissed against my ear. “Tell me how you travel.”

“I... I don’t know. I’m not an engineer. I can’t give you any information about the ships.” I gasped. “Where’s Wylfrael?”

Panic made my heart pound. I twisted my head in Sceadulyr’s arms but couldn’t make anything out. Everything was shadow but him and me.

“Humans,” Sceadulyr said, venom dripping from his voice, spinning me until I thought I might collapse. “What is it about you humans? First Skalla, now Wylfrael.”

“Skalla?” I choked out, trying to keep up with Sceadulyr’s words while also doing everything in my power not to lose my footing, not to let him have total control of my body. “Skalla has a human mate?”