“Does it make a difference?” He’d had no choice but to tell her everything—it was the only way to explain why he’d returned without Pippa Spetsos in tow. Or at least answers regarding Emile Renast’s whereabouts.
“Do sisters not share everything?” She dragged a finger along the jagged edge of an oyster and it opened, revealing the pearl within. “They mock me, with these ships. They suggest I am not trustworthy.”
“No one said anything like that.” He clenched his jaw. “I don’t think they’ve told anyone else.”
“Yet this Commander Sendes saw fit to inform you.”
“Only of the vague details, and only because we stumbled onto her ship.”
“They rescued you. They could have let you drown and kept their secrets, yet they saved you.” His blood chilled. She would have let them drown. “I want you to find out everything you can about these ships.”
“I don’t think that will be easy,” Tharion cautioned.
“Who is to say my sister won’t use them against me?”
She rules the oceans. I doubt she wants one stupid river. But Tharion said, “That didn’t seem to be on anyone’s mind.”
“Perhaps not now, but I wouldn’t put it past her.”
He refrained from telling her she was being paranoid. Instead, he tried his best weapon: diverting her attention. “Shall I continue hunting for Emile Renast?”
The River Queen eyed him. “Why wouldn’t you?”
He tried to hide his relief that she’d pivoted with him, even though he knew she’d return to the subject of the Ocean Queen’s ships soon enough. “Even with the ammo and mech-suit prototype destroyed, Pippa Spetsos just became a lot more powerful—her position in Ophion has changed. Capturing her, interrogating her … We do that, and we risk having Ophion deem us enemies.”
“I do not care what Ophion deems us. But very well.” She motioned to the surface. “Go Above. Find another way to collect the boy.”
“As you will it,” he said, bowing in the current.
She flicked a hand in dismissal. “I shall make your excuses to my daughter.”
“Give her my love.”
She didn’t answer, and Tharion made a beeline to the surface and open world above.
He’d finished tugging on the clothes he’d left in a nook of the quay near Moonwood’s River Gate when wings rustled on the walkway above him. He peered over the stone rim to find Athalar standing with crossed arms.
“We need to talk,” said the Umbra Mortis.
Ruhn stared at the witch-queen. At his bride.
Hypaxia Enador was as beautiful as he remembered: luxurious, dark hair falling in soft curls down to her slim waist; brown skin that glowed as if moonlight ran beneath it; large, dark eyes that noticed too much. Her mouth, full and inviting, parted in a lovely smile as she stepped into the foyer.
The witch touched a knot in the wood on her broom. It was a stunning piece of art: every inch of its handle carved with intricate designs of clouds and flowers and stars, each twig in the base carved as well and bound together with golden thread.
But with the touch on that knot, the broom vanished.
No, it shrank. Into a golden brooch of Cthona, the earth goddess ripe with child. Hypaxia pinned the brooch onto the shoulder of her gauzy blue robes and said, “A convenient bit of witch-magic. I found that carrying a broom around the city is … cumbersome. And attracts the notice of many. Especially a broom such as mine.”
“That is … really fucking cool,” Ruhn admitted.
She began to answer, but her eyes slid to the dragon sitting at the foot of the stairs, and she stopped. She blinked once before turning to Ruhn. “A friend?”
“Yeah,” Ruhn lied, and then Flynn and Declan and Ithan were there, sprites in tow, gawking at the queen.
Ithan cleared his throat, likely at the stunning beauty of the witch.
Ruhn hadn’t been much better when he’d first seen her. Yet she’d hardly given him the time of day at the Summit. Even if she’d helped out majorly during the shit that had gone down in this city. Had been willing to fly here to help save its citizens—and Bryce.
Ruhn straightened, remembering himself. That he was a prince, and owed her the respect due to her rank. He bowed deeply. “Welcome, Your Majesty.”
Flynn smirked, and Ruhn threw him a warning glare as he rose. “Allow me to introduce my … companions. Tristan Flynn, Lord Hawthorne.” Flynn sketched an irreverent bow—a mockery of the one Ruhn had made. “Declan Emmet, super-genius.” Dec grinned, bowing with more gravitas. They’d both been at the Summit when Ruhn had formally met Hypaxia—as a queen, and not the medwitch he’d believed her to be—but had never officially been presented to her. “Ithan Holstrom … wolf,” Ruhn continued. Ithan gave him a look as if to say, Really, asshole? But Ruhn moved on to the sprites, the dragon. “And, uh, our guests.”