Flynn leaned back in his chair. “You got a better guess about where she might be?”
Ithan restrained the urge to punch the Fae lord in the throat. Flynn was angry and hurting and scared, Ithan reminded himself. “Bryce doesn’t give up on the people she loves. If she went somewhere, it’s gotta be important.”
“Doesn’t matter where she went,” Flynn said. “All I know is we have to get Ruhn out before it’s too late.”
Ithan glanced at the second level again, that sunball captain part of his mind calculating, thinking it through …
Dec gripped Flynn’s shoulder, squeezing tight. “Look, the mer ship isn’t a bad idea, but we need to think long-term. Need to consider our families, too.”
“My parents and sister can go to Hel for all I care,” Flynn said.
“Well, I want my family to be safe,” Declan snapped. “If we’re going to rescue Ruhn and Athalar, we need to make sure no one else gets caught in the cross fire.”
Dec looked to Ithan, and Ithan shrugged. He had no one left to warn. Would anyone even miss him if he were gone? His duty was to protect the wolf at the stall across the way. Out of some stupid hope that she might … He had no idea. Challenge and defeat Sabine? Correct the dangerous path Sabine was leading the wolves down? Fill the void that Danika had left?
Sigrid was a loose cannon. An Alpha, yes, but she had no training. Her impulses were all over the place, too unpredictable. With time, she might learn the necessary skills, but time wasn’t their ally these days.
So Ithan said, “You want to save Ruhn and Athalar? That mer ship is the only way we can cross the ocean unnoticed. Maybe the mer on it will have some idea how to break them out. They might even help us if we’re lucky.” He pointed to the second level. “Tharion’s our way in.”
“Seems convenient,” Flynn said at last, “given that you were insisting we needed to spring him loose from here.”
“Two birds, one stone.”
“Tharion can’t leave,” Marc mused, “but nothing’s stopping him from talking to us. Maybe he can provide contact information.”
“Only one way to find out,” Ithan said.
Flynn sighed, which Ithan took as acceptance. “Someone’s gotta tell her to go home.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder toward Sigrid.
“And be her escort,” Dec added.
“Not it,” Flynn and Ithan said at the same moment.
Declan whipped his head to Marc and said, “Not it,” before the leopard could grasp what was going on.
Marc rubbed his temples. “Remind me how it is that the three of you are considered some of the most feared warriors in this city?”
Dec just kissed his cheek.
Marc sighed. “If I have to bring Siggy home, then Holstrom has to be the one to tell her.”
Ithan opened his mouth, but … fine. With a mocking smile to the males, he walked over to retrieve the Alpha. And spare the opal dealer from her endless questions.
How do you know it bestows luck or love or joy? What do the colors have to do with anything? What proof do you have that these work?
He couldn’t tell if it was curiosity, pent up from years in that tank, or sheer Alphaness, needing to question everyone and everything. Needing order in the world.
Ithan put a hand on Sigrid’s elbow to alert her of his presence, but again she flinched. Ithan backed away a step, hands up as the opal dealer watched warily. “Sorry.”
She didn’t like being touched. She’d only let him touch her to wash her hair that first night, when she’d had no idea how to do it.
Ithan motioned her to walk back toward the males, and she fell into step beside him, a healthy distance away. Most wolves needed touch—craved it. Had the instinct been robbed from her by those years in the tank?
It made it hard to be annoyed with her when he thought about it like that.
“How do you get used to it?” Sigrid asked over the hiss of cooking meat and bartering shoppers. Behind her, the sprites were still hovering by the array of opals, exclaiming over the stones. How the three sprites had adapted so quickly to this strange, open world was beyond him. They’d been trapped by the Astronomer, too, locked in his rings.
Ithan asked, “Used to what?”
Sigrid peered at her hands, her thin body beneath the sweats. Passing shoppers noted her—him—and gave them a wide berth. “Feeling like you’re stranded in a rotting corpse.”
He blinked. “I, ah …” He couldn’t imagine himself in her shoes, suddenly a body of flesh and blood and bone after the weightless years in the isolation tank. “You just need time.”