“Low.” Kellan’s voice snaps me out of the memory vortex.

For a breath, I’m split between past and present. Alone in the room where I learned to be afraid.

Then, my mind rights itself.

I’m thirty years old, back in the hallway staring at the painting of Stellaria’s Deathless, grateful that Kellan is here to call me back from the nightmares.

My hands are shaking. It’s plenty warm in the stairwell, but my chest feels frozen.

“You okay? You looked far away, and you were…” He gestures around me. “Really open for a minute.”

He means susceptible to manipulation.

“Everyone is open sometimes,” I snap.

He smiles sadly. “Not you.” He looks up at the painting. “Why did you want to see this thing?”

“Have you ever heard of the Deathless?”

He frowns at the painting and shakes his head. “Can’t say I have.”

“I heard a tale about them at a storytelling bar in Mountain Haven. They said that Stellaria created the Deathless to help her retrieve Asher from the cursed land Polm created. The first Deathless drank blood, but they also ate food; they were both of life and death, and it was through greed for more power and drinking from the waters of the well that they gained an unquenchable thirst that could only be sated with blood. Over time, they became something monstrous—the Drained.”

Kellan leans against the wall and crosses his arms. “And you think—what? That there’s some truth to the story?”

“I think that the Drained existed before the city,” I say. “That’s what our ancestors were running from when they discovered the well. That’s why they built these walls. What if the story is true and whatever corrupted them is the same thing that’s affecting Father and Able? If the Drained evolved from this to what they are now, maybe it’s why they’re evolving again.”

Kellan glances at the painting. “But this is just a story. I think we need more than a storyteller’s fictional story to know for sure. That’s why I want to go look at the well runoff.”

“I know it’s a leap, but in the absence of a better theory, it’s worth looking into,” I say.

Kellan stares at me for a long time, until I can’t help but fidget from his assessment. Finally, he pushes away from the wall and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I know you don’t like Henry, but do you think you could find some peace there? Away from all of this?”

“I won’t find peace until I’ve settled all my scores.”

He looks like he wants to say more, but by some Divine mercy he remembers that he’s actually quite good at keeping his mouth shut. Instead, he guides me back up the stairs, away from the haunting echoes of the past.

At the top of the stairwell, he gives me a quick hug and rushes off to get a team ready to investigate our new findings.

Gaven trails me back to my room. He pulls me to a stop at the bottom of the stairs to the second floor. The foggy morning is finally giving way to sunlight that casts his face a sickly, pale yellow.

I’m still agitated from the painting and the visit to the Cove. All I want is the plush reading chair in my room, a good book, and the winter peach tarts that our chef makes. The only thing standing between me and those things is Gaven.

He glances over my shoulder, down the hallway from which we came. “Something has been bothering me. When did you learn you could kiss Henry without killing him?” he asks.

I should have known this question was coming. How could I not be prepared for it? Gaven was there at the contract signing where Henry learned my magic. So now he’s wondering when my husband would have risked a kiss and if I let us walk into a dangerous situation without fully informing him.

I wrinkle my nose. “You’re suddenly very interested in my sex life, and it’s weird.”

“Harlow, don’t dodge the question. That was information you should have shared with me immediately. If I don’t know the full scope of what we’re dealing with⁠—”

“You can’t protect me,” I finish.

His gaze darts around the room. “You knew before the wedding, didn’t you?”

“I knew before we signed the contract.”

“Why would you—” I see the revelation dawn in his eyes. “You trust him for some reason.”

I trust him and I don’t. I knew there was something different about him when we met, just like I have always known in some place deep down that I am safe with him.

It’s impossible to know if it’s the months of sitting across the table from abusers in bars, or if it was my entire childhood hunkered down to survive the volatility of my father’s moods, but I knew on sight that while Henry was not safe to my family, he was to me.

Gaven presses a hand to my cheek. “This is dangerous, Low.”

The nickname startles me almost as much as the caress. Gaven has used it so rarely and not since I was much younger. He’s only ever touched me for training or assistance, never in affection.

“It’s not like you to be so easily duped.”

The accusation turns my stomach. My intuition has never led me astray, but the vigilance in my mind never fully rests. Now it’s ready to pull up every interaction and find cracks in the fragile trust that has grown between us.

I can’t just hold on to something delicate. I have to crush it in my fist until it’s nothing but ash. My mind will always find the fastest path to distrust.

If I’m wrong about Henry, I can’t consider what else I might be wrong about. I have only survived this long by listening to that inner knowing. I can’t fathom what I would do without it.

Gaven steps closer, lowering his voice. “I get this strange feeling around him⁠—”

“Ugh, Gaven, I have the feeling too,” I say. “It’s called revulsion. I promise it will pass if you breathe through your nose.”

Gaven frowns. “I’m not joking.”

“I’m not either.”

“Just be careful. I think he might⁠—”

“What are you two chatting about?” Henry asks, stepping around the corner and into the stairwell.

Gaven stills and turns a withering gaze on my husband.

I can’t tell from the look on his face if he heard us, but Henry and Gaven are trapped in some silent battle of wills. I need them to bury whatever this is or the sparring will never end.

I blow out an exaggerated sigh.

“Born to be a queen. Cursed to wrangle the egos of men.” I glare at my husband. “Don’t lurk. It’s rude.” I point to the two of them. “You two don’t have to be best friends, but you do have to make peace. You don’t trust each other? Fine. Don’t. But stop making it my problem.”

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43HARLOW

The ballroom is still being repaired after the rebel attack. Truthfully, I prefer the impersonal opulence and wide-open space of the ballroom to the intimacy of the smaller dining room at the front of the house. This space is full of memories of a lifetime of tense family meals.

A sunstone chandelier scatters sparkling light over the room, rendering the cream beeswax candles in the floral centerpieces redundant. My parents don’t put them out there to be wasteful. They do it to flaunt that the city has plenty of resources. It’s a silly show for the people of the high houses my parents deem important. These same people are acutely aware of the struggles we face since they help us solve all of the city’s shortcomings with magic.

A quartet of musicians plays lively string music on the far side of the room, but the upbeat wedding music feels discordant with the more subdued celebration.

I can tell by the morose look on my father’s face that he thinks this dinner is a waste. He’s sitting at the head of the table, brooding over Rafe not showing up to the event.

Dinner and dessert have been served and all the plates cleared away, but still the guests linger. I’m stuck here until they decide to stop prodding me for information.