I choked on a laugh.

One side of his lips curled. “Plus, if I feed, we’ll never make it to the Thyia Plains.”

I nodded. “You’re right.

“Always.”

I laughed, but I didn’t feel it as my stomach churned with the guilt that flared to life the moment I felt relief at Ash’s refusal to feed.

We planned to leave for the Thyia Plains after sharing a quick meal.

But that didn’t happen.

Attes arrived in the Shadowlands instead.

Concern grew as we neared the main hall, and it didn’t help the churning in my stomach since I’d finished eating. There was no way Attes had finished with the Primals already. As Ash and I saw Rhain and Saion, he squeezed my hand. Just that small gesture calmed some of the worry.

“He’s in the throne room,” Rhain announced.

Ash sighed as we turned left. “What is he doing in there?”

“I have no idea,” Saion said. “But he’s not alone. Thierran is with him.”

Ash stopped abruptly, his head cutting toward the gods. “What the fuck?”

Saion laughed. “That was pretty much my response.”

“Who is Thierran?” I asked.

A faint grin appeared on Ash’s lips. “A walking nightmare, in both the literal and physical senses. He’s an oneirou.”

I wasn’t expecting that to be the answer. At all.

“Thierran has a lot of sway over the remaining oneirou, even though they tend to stay out of Court politics,” Ash quickly explained. “Which is normally a good thing. But it also begs the question of why he is here with Attes.”

“Maybe Attes came upon him when he went to Lotho,” I suggested. “I assume he can be trusted?”

“Trusted in the general sense? Absolutely fucking not,” Ash said as we began walking again. “But when it comes to Kolis? Thierran’s never been a loyalist.”

I wasn’t exactly reassured by that, but I didn’t think Attes would bring the god here if he believed he was dangerous.

We walked through the open double doors between two pillars and entered the throne room.

Thousands of candles jutted from the smooth, black walls of the vast, circular chamber, and hundreds more hovered above the main floor, scattered throughout despite the sunlight pouring in from the open ceiling.

My gaze immediately landed on the oneirou. Hair as dark as the shadowstone around us lay against his chin, shielding his face. He stood to the left of the center aisle, between the rows of benches, and was almost as tall as Ash. What held my attention was the sword strapped to his back, the daggers sheathed to his upper arms, and the hilt of another blade I saw tucked into the shaft of his boot.

Good gods, this god carried a small arsenal on him—one Bele would be impressed by.

He looked up then, turning his head slightly toward us, and my back straightened. The man appeared to be in his twenties—there wasn’t a single crease or line in his skin, which was a color somewhere between sun-kissed and olive. His features looked like they’d been carved from some fine stone by a master sculptor. Every feature was perfectly symmetrical—the angular cheekbones and jaw, the blade-straight nose, and the dark, arched brows matching his sculpted lips and framing the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen. They tapered upward at the outer corners and tipped down toward the bridge of his nose at the inner. The irises were a shade of bluish-purple so deep and dark it bordered on amethyst, and he looked like he’d come very close to losing both eyes.

Two eerily straight lines had been gouged into his skin, starting at the center of his forehead and slicing through his eyebrows just before the arch, then running down his cheeks to end at the corners of his lips.

I could feel it happening—what I’d done when I looked into Vikter’s eyes. I was trying—albeit failing—not to do it whenever I pleased. My senses stretched out. In the back of my mind, I knew I shouldn’t be doing what I was—it was a huge invasion of privacy. But my curiosity got the better of me. Focusing on him, I tried to read him as I had with the viktor and…

Saw and felt nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

But I had the distinct impression that if I pushed, I could discover what I wanted to know.

One side of those almost-too-perfect lips curved up, creating a dimple that partly disappeared into a scar. I suddenly had the distinct impression that this stranger would like to see me try.

There was a challenge in his blue-purple eyes and he wore a grin bordering on a smirk.

He bowed gracefully at the waist and folded a black-gloved hand over his heart. “Meyaah Liessa.” He spoke in a velvety voice I was sure had led many down a path of very bad, yet fun, decisions.

I acknowledged his greeting with a nod as Attes looked over his shoulder.

“I’m trying to think of the last time I stood in this space and saw sunlight reflected off the thrones.” Attes stood in the center aisle, his back to us. “It was so long ago I can’t remember.”

My gaze followed Attes’s to the hauntingly beautiful thrones carved from blocks of shadowstone, their backs stretching into wings that touched at the tips.

“It’s been a little over two decades since the sun rose here,” Ash replied as Saion and Rhain closed the doors to the space.

“Yeah,” Attes replied. “But it has to be at least two centuries since I entered the throne room.”

Ash’s attention shifted to the god. “Thierran.”

The oneirou bowed again. “Asher.”

My attention sharpened at his response, but Ash merely gave a dry laugh. I relaxed—a little.

Attes turned to us then. Shadowstone armor covered his chest. That wasn’t the only thing different about him. His eye was no longer swollen, proving what Lailah had claimed about him purposely not healing it. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m back so soon and why I brought…a friend with me.”

“Yes,” I said. “But where’s Lailah?”

“I believe she returned to your training fields to take out her anger on some poor, unknowing soldier,” Attes replied. “Apparently, spending even a short amount of time with me incites such a need.”

“That it does,” Ash replied dryly, still focused on the oneirou. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“As am I to be here.” Thierran shrugged. “But when I heard—”

“Heard?” Attes interrupted, his eyes narrowing.

Thierran flashed him a downright devilish grin. “When I figured out what Attes and Lailah were up to, I invited myself along.”

“And why would you do that?” Ash asked.

“Besides wanting to see the Queen in person?” His bright, bejeweled gaze drifted to me. “I have to admit,” he said, and I arched a brow at the purr in his tone, “one look, and I can safely say that serving you will be far more…pleasing.”

“Careful,” Ash warned softly.

Thierran chuckled, but the sound lacked humor. “I’m always careful.”

“And if I remember correctly, you’ve always been an opportunist, too,” Ash replied. “One who wields a sword when it benefits him.”

“That hasn’t changed,” Thierran acknowledged, standing unsettlingly still. With his black attire and hair, he looked like he was seeping into the shadowstone all around him. “Removing Kolis from the throne does benefit me.”

“True,” Ash said after a moment. “I imagine you will be lingering in Lethe, then?”

“Unless I want to face an untimely death, I will. Some of us aren’t so privileged as to have a Fate at our beck and call,” he said, clearly referencing Penellaphe—and, by extension, Holland.

“Fine,” Ash said after a moment. “You’re more than welcome.”

“Thank you.” Thierran inclined his head.

“But,” Ash continued, and I tensed, recognizing that too-low, too-level tone, “if you try any of your shit, I will do worse to you than Kolis could even imagine.”