“Watch yourself,” I say. “I don’t play games, and you’re wearing my patience thin. Any blade forged from Turpori steel is mine by right.”

Understanding clicks in her expression. “I see.”

How much does she know? What else is she hiding behind those walls?

I press against her mental barriers, searching for cracks. Places I can slip through and take what I want.

“Get out of my head, Blade.” Her voice is soft, but her mind rises to meet me, repelling my intrusion with a hard slap. “Before I make you regret it.”

I blink. “How are you doing that?”

You shouldn’t be able to do that. No one can do that.

Breaking into minds is what I do.

“Your mind feels wrong.” She meets my stare without flinching. A lesser creature would have crumbled by now. “It doesn’t play nice with mine. What happened to it?”

An itch starts up beneath my skin. Her scent fills my head, the inescapable musk of human. It blankets my tongue until I’m choking on it, until my gorge rises and my fingers twitch with the need to dig into flesh and tear—

“The knives,” I say sharply.

The itching is spreading. And I have the sudden, horrifying certainty that she sees me. Down to the rotted core, the empty space where my heart should be, all the filthy memories I keep locked away.

And she does not look away.

“Come with me,” she says, cool and clipped.

I fall into step a precisely calculated distance behind her, close enough to intervene should she stumble, far enough to avoid even the suggestion of considerate hovering. As we walk, I analyze variables—the positioning of guards (inadequate), potential ambush points (numerous), structural weaknesses (laughable). And Theodora. The newly crowned empress and the sole surviving Anchor, leaving two realms vulnerable to anyone who might want to see the veil collapse and a new war sparked.

It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

The armory, when we reach it, is at least marginally better defended. Iron-reinforced doors, competent locks, some attempt at organization.

Theodora leads me to a cabinet in the corner. “I moved them in there.”

I trail my fingertips over the wood. My shadows shimmer down my arm, seeking the hidden tumblers like the teeth of a key. The lock crumbles, and the doors groan open.

The knives rest on a bed of black velvet, singing with the resonance of my power. The metal knows me, remembers when my hands and energy shaped it, and it croons a welcome as I lift them free.

“You need to hear something,” I tell her as I push the blades into the belt along my ribs. “You won’t like it.”

She sighs. “Gods, what now?”

“Get pregnant. Immediately.”

A startled laugh escapes her. “Excuse me?”

“The Shroud needs your bloodline to continue. Right now, your body is the most valuable thing in two realms, and tonight proved how vulnerable you are. Any halfway competent assassin could slit your throat and bring down the veil.”

Her shoulders stiffen as understanding sinks in: this woman is chained to Hellevig and unable to leave without the veil collapsing. This city is now her prison.

“Are you offering to fuck a baby into me, Blade?” The words are steady. Inflectionless. “How selfless.”

There’s the bitch I met at Aldgate.

I curl my lip in disgust. “Don’t flatter yourself, Empress.”

Just the thought makes me want to heave up knives.

I turn to leave, but at the door, I look back at her standing in a pool of moonlight. “Try not to die. It’s annoying enough dealing with you alive.”

*   *   *

I knock on Evander’s chamber door. Rustling fabric and a muffled curse filter through the barrier, followed by the telltale creak of a mattress. Of course. My brother’s proclivities are as predictable as they are tedious.

“Yeah?” Evander calls, voice rough with sleep and other things I’d rather not dwell on.

The smell of sex hits me when I enter. Evander remains chained to the bed where I left him, and the princess is nestled under the blankets at his side. They’re covered in each other’s scents—that unique aroma of Chosen like an imprint beneath their skin.

She stirs as I approach, violet eyes fluttering open. I study the rosy flush of her cheeks, the way her flesh has knitted back together without even a scar to show for all her suffering. The perks of fucking a healer, I suppose.

Evander watches me with a smirk. “You’re looking almost dapper, Bas. Who did you have to disembowel to manage that at this hour?”

What a useless question. As if I’d ever allow my appearance to become so dissolute.

I level him with a flat stare. “Your attempts at humor remain as pathetic as your self-control.”

“Jealous? Don’t worry. I’m sure we could find someone willing to hate-fuck even your cold ass if you asked real sweet.”

“When I want to act like a mindless animal, I’ll seek your expert advice.”

I withdraw a velvet-wrapped bundle from my coat and toss it at the girl.

She unknots the bindings to find her five knives. “You got them back.”

“Your sister was cooperative. Even useful despite the corpses.”

A sharp inhale. “Corpses? Is Theo—”

“She’s fine. No thanks to the idiot guards she surrounds herself with.”

“And you made sure she stayed that way.” Her smile is lovely enough that I almost understand Evander’s obsession. Almost. If I ignored literally everything else. “It was kind of you.”

Ah. She thinks she’s stumbled on tenderness beneath the ice, some sentimental insanity that forced my hand tonight. How precious.

“Tell me something. Do you know what used to be the rarest thing in existence?” I ask her. She regards me mutely, startled at the non sequitur. “Shadowmeld orebium, colloquially known as Turpori steel. It’s impossible to replicate because I’m the only being capable of conjuring and manipulating it. At least until humans got hold of my power and abused it in ways I’m still dealing with. Do you know what’s now the most coveted commodity?”

Silence. Her brows dig together in confusion.

“Devaliants,” I say impatiently. “More specifically, viable Anchors. And now that you’ve murdered your uncle and become functionally worthless, your sister is our only safeguard against the Shroud’s collapse. Keeping her breathing isn’t kindness. It’s necessity.”

Let her chew on that. She bound her soul to a god and left two realms teetering on a knife’s edge. The least she can do is choke on the consequences.

I leave the room and shut the door behind me.

Alexios leans against the far wall in the corridor, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes cut to my brother’s door, then back to me. “Getting soft, Blade?”

His attention intensifies, his mind shoving against mine. I allow it for a span of three slow heartbeats. Four. Then I slam my mental ramparts closed.

He just smiles.

“The girl wanted a room tonight, so I chained Evander up,” I reply. Time to shift his focus elsewhere. “I was in Hellevig earlier, assessing our remaining Anchor’s security. The empress had some uninvited guests.”

Alexios’ expression sharpens. “Kidnapping or wet work?”

“Unclear. I was more concerned with removing a collar from her neck before her windpipe collapsed.” I dig the broken remains out of my coat and pass them over. “Recognize those symbols?”

He turns the pieces over in his hands. “No. This is your metal?”

I nod. “But I can’t verify when the collar was made or how many of my feathers are still in circulation. I had one like that put on me in the Bloody Court to keep me contained. This one is likely to compel obedience or conceal the empress’ death from you through the Claim.”

A muscle tics in his jaw. His eyes slip closed, and I feel the swell of his power again—a searing, seeking wildfire roaring through the aether.