“Would you like it?”

I jolt and glance at Ramanu. They nod to the bracelet I’ve been fondling. I shake my head and set it back down. “I don’t have money.”

“Eve.”

The censor in their tone irritates me. I glare. “I realize that you offered to take me shopping, and if you were one of my clients, I’d allow you to pay through the nose for whatever I want, but you’re not.”

They sigh. “Neither is Azazel, currently, but we’re shopping with his funds.” Ramanu nudges me with their shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want to stick it to him, just a little?”

My pride wants to ignore the offer, but that would only deny me the pretty things in this place—and the chance to make Azazel hurt, even a little. Though I suspect I’d have to buy out every shop in the city for him to feel the pinch. I pick up the bracelet again. It’s an intricate creation with a rainbow of gemstones. Bright and shiny and loud. I love it. “Fine. I suppose I could find a few things.”

“That’s the spirit.”

We walk for hours, visiting shops and chatting easily. I expect to have to carry bags, but Ramanu arranges for my purchases to be delivered directly to the castle. It frees me up to watch the city’s citizens. Again and again, I’m struck by how familiar this all is despite how strange the people appear to me. But they’re just people, aren’t they? Citizens of this city going about their business by shopping, eating, socializing, working.

Despite myself, I can’t help seeing why Azazel would want to protect this. If Ramanu isn’t overstating the direness of the situation before he took over, this wasn’t how people acted before. They’ve benefited from Azazel’s rule.

We’re nibbling on some kind of street food that’s a bit like a kebob with vegetables I don’t recognize when Ramanu straightens. “Damn. Duty calls.”

I know better than to ask if I can keep wandering. I’m not ready to go back to my richly appointed cell yet, but what does that matter? I sigh and take the last bite of my food, then follow Ramanu to a garbage bin to toss the stick into. “Can we do this again sometime?”

They turn their face to me. Not for the first time, I’m struck by the suspicion that they see me just fine despite not having eyes in the traditional manner. “You know, you could ask Azazel to take you. It would get him out of the castle, which would do him some good.”

“I am not interested in what would be good for Azazel,” I say primly.

“He’s not a bad man.” Ramanu guides us through the thickening foot traffic with ease. “Not in the way you think. He’d kill, burn, and maim to protect his people and his humans, but he doesn’t abuse his power. He’s sharing power for the good of the realm. For all its peoples—not just the bargainers. That’s got some folks’ backs up, but it won’t stop his pursuit of the greater good.”

“Folks like Brosh?”

Ramanu almost misses a step. They’ve been so graceful to date, it’s like a record scratch. “I would prefer you don’t say that name outside the castle.”

“Is he like some kind of boogeyman? Speak his name three times and he appears?”

“No. Nothing so dramatic. But he has an irritating number of supporters in the city and beyond. There’s no reason to draw attention to ourselves.” Their tone is breezy, but contains a new tension that makes me think there’s more going on than what they’re saying.

The castle looms large in front of us. It truly is like something out of a fairy tale. I don’t know what kind of rock it’s made of, but the rock almost a cross between granite and opal, strong and gorgeous, gleaming with a dazzling rainbow of colors in the late-afternoon sun. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s home,” Ramanu says simply.

We’re almost within the shadow of the castle when they stop so abruptly, my shoulder wrenches from our still-interlocked arms. “Ow.”

“Get behind me.” They don’t wait for me to comply. With a smooth move, they free themself and shove me behind them. Ramanu is taller than me by about half a foot. And they’re built significantly leaner than Azazel, so I have no problem seeing around their shoulder to where two massive bargainers stand blocking our way.

The largest of them has wings, and I catch myself wondering if this was the same person I saw flying on my first day here. Surely not. That would be too large of a coincidence. They’re even larger than Azazel—apparently the metric I judge everyone by these days—and wear only a kilt around their thick waist.

The other is closer to Ramanu’s size, lean like a blade, with curving ram’s horns that bracket their long straight dark hair. They grin, revealing too-sharp teeth. “Hand her over or this gets messy.”

Ramanu laughs, loud and pretty. “I think not.”

“We have no issue with you, Ramanu,” the larger one says. “Stand aside.”

There’s a faint shtck sound like a blade being drawn. My heart leaps into my throat when I realize what it is. Ramanu’s claws. They were petite and black, but now they’re curved and look vicious enough to disembowel someone.

Any hope I had of this being all posturing and bullshit disappears. Ramanu may be dramatic, but they’ve shown no signs of being unnecessarily violent. They wouldn’t issue this unspoken threat if they didn’t mean it.

As if sensing my growing fear, they turn their head enough to speak to me over their shoulder. “Don’t run. They’ll have a third waiting to snatch you if you do. Stay close.”

I don’t know if they mean to reassure me, but I am very much not reassured. “You can’t take three of them on,” I hiss. “We have to run.”

“I have no intention of taking three of them on,” they murmur. “I’m stalling.”

“Stall—” The word dies in my throat as the double doors to the castle slam open with a violence that seems to shake the entire square we stand in. People hadn’t seemed to register the growing possibility of a fight before, but they scatter now, rushing away from us or taking refuge in the stores on either side. In seconds, the square is empty but for the two—three—attackers, Ramanu, and I.

A huge form fills the doorway, and I let out a sound of pure relief at the familiar sight of wide shoulders and horns as he steps into the fading light.

Azazel is here.

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CHAPTER 8

Itake in the scene with a single sweep. Three strangers. Ramanu doing their best to shield Eve. It won’t work. There are too many, and Ramanu isn’t trained as a bodyguard. I catch their eye and nod. The moment I got their signal—a little magical panic button that all my people carry when out in the world—I rushed here. I’m only glad I’m not too late.

Time to even the odds.

I barrel into the pair closest to me. The bigger one with wings dodges my swipe, but I catch the other in the throat and close my fingers around their neck. It would take nothing at all to change my grip, to rip out their fucking throat for daring to threaten what’s mine. Only the knowledge that we need whatever information they have on Brosh stays my hand.

That . . . and the desire for Eve not to view me as more of a monster than she already does.

Instead, I toss them through the doors and into the castle. “Dungeon!”

The doors slams shut for a brief moment. When they open again, only the empty hallway remains. Good. Now for the other two.

The one behind Ramanu and Eve rushes them, pulling a blade from their robes. Fear lodges itself in my chest. “Knife!” I roar.

“I see,” Ramanu snaps. They grab Eve’s arm and send her barreling behind them as they move to meet the attacker. I don’t have cause to see them fight often, but gods, they’re vicious and brutal. They break the bargainer’s wrist, snatch the knife, and plunge it into their enemy’s stomach. Then they twist it for good measure.