Pulling her legs closer to her chest, Clio buried her face in her knees. She wanted to cry but she didn’t have the energy. She was supposed to be keeping watch but she just didn’t care anymore. She had nothing left.

Leaning against the stained brick wall beside her, Lyre was in an almost identical position—knees drawn up, arms folded on top, head pillowed on his arms. Asleep, or close to it. She’d told him she would keep watch. If he’d known she was too tired, he would have tried to stay awake.

He needed rest more than she did. Whatever state she might be in, it was nothing compared to the sick emptiness that had haunted his eyes since they’d escaped his father. He looked like his soul had been ripped out of him.

She scarcely remembered their desperate leap through the ley line or the exhausting trek into the city afterward. They hadn’t dared to linger, not even to heal their wounds. With the “signal traps” Lyceus and Madrigal had set around the Brinford ley lines, they’d had to run for it and hope the incubi pair were too busy butchering Bastian’s soldiers to follow immediately.

She and Lyre still weren’t safe. There were ways, mundane and magical, to track a daemon’s movements and she had no idea which ones Lyceus might know or employ. They shouldn’t have stopped at all, but they’d gotten lost in the unfamiliar industrial district. Too weary to keep going, they’d hidden away in an abandoned factory.

Forcing her head up, she propped her chin on her arms and squinted to bring her asper into focus. Not even a glimmer of magic. She relaxed her vision again, saving the last dregs of her strength.

Maybe they should have gone back to the Overworld. She wasn’t sure why Lyre had jumped them to a different Brinford ley line. Maybe he hadn’t had time to think and he still perceived the Overworld as too dangerous.

Or maybe he’d known exactly what he was doing. Returning to Aldrendahar meant heading back into the storm, and who knew what the situation in the city was like. The safer option would have been returning to Irida, but that was just too much to face.

A shudder rolled through her body and she gasped back the sob climbing up her throat. She had to keep her composure. Jaw clenched, she scrutinized the dim interior of the factory, full of rusting machinery and conveyor belts, distracting herself with questions about what had been manufactured here and why it had been abandoned. Patches of sunlight moved slowly across the floor as the minutes turned to hours, and her eyelids grew heavier and heavier …

She jerked upright with a silent gasp. The factory interior was pitch black, the machinery no more than hulking shadows. Where had the sun gone? Had she fallen asleep?

Scarcely breathing, she blinked her asper into focus and scanned the cavernous room, straining her senses. The only magic in sight was Lyre’s glowing aura. He lifted his head, scouring the building just like her. Her skin prickled, chilly unease sliding along her nerves.

A soft skittering sound, then large golden eyes appeared above a conveyor belt. Trilling quietly, the small dragonet hopped onto the conveyor, her dark body almost invisible.

Light bloomed—a tiny spot glowing above a gloved hand.

Face covered in a wrap, decked in weapons, Ash stood beside his dragonet. Clio’s breath escaped her lungs in a rush, and she sagged forward, chin thumping on her knees. Even a small dose of adrenaline had left her weak.

The draconian glided around the conveyor and sank into a crouch in front of her and Lyre. He studied her from head to toe, then gave Lyre the same thorough appraisal. When they’d last parted, Bastian had been escaping with the KLOC while two incubi closed in on the Ra embassy. She cringed, waiting for his inevitable barrage of angry questions.

Ash pulled his wrap off his face, leaving it to hang around his neck. “How bad is it?”

The question was quiet, no anger in his voice. Not quite sympathetic, but there was understanding in those dark eyes—the empathy of someone who’d been at rock bottom and knew what it felt like.

“Bad,” Lyre whispered, his voice so hoarse it was almost unrecognizable.

“Bastian?” Ash prompted when neither of them said anything more.

Clio swallowed painfully. “He’s dead.”

“And the KLOC?”

Another long pause.

“Lyceus has it.” Lyre’s gaze shuttered, that hollow look intensifying. “He may or may not know how to use it. I don’t … I don’t remember what I told him.”

Clio’s heart constricted and she wanted to wrap him in her arms until the life returned to his amber eyes.

Ash’s stare flicked between them. “What else?”

She steeled herself to speak the words, as though it wouldn’t become real until she said it. “Bastian attacked Aldrendahar, in Ra territory. He … the King of Irida was there, and …”

“The Iridian king is dead too,” Lyre finished for her.

Ash absorbed that information in silence. It probably didn’t matter to him. He only cared about keeping the shadow weave away from Hades.

“Well,” the draconian finally said. “The second worst daemon possible now has the KLOC. But Samael doesn’t have it, so there’s that.”

Lyre snorted without amusement. “If that’s your idea of good news, it’s pretty weak.”

“From what I can tell, Lyceus has been keeping information about your ‘secret spell’ to himself. No reason to assume he’ll change tactics now.” Ash rose to his feet. “Our target has shifted, but the goal is still the same. And Lyceus will be easier to find.”

“You can’t be serious,” Lyre protested. “Going up against Lyceus to get the KLOC? You have no idea what that means.”

“It’s that or wait until Samael finds out about it.” Ash held out his hand to Lyre. “Suck it up, incubus.”

Lyre’s jaw flexed. He grabbed Ash’s hand and the draconian pulled him up, then steadied him when he swayed. Their eyes met and Ash’s blazed with a look Clio remembered well—a steely challenge, daring her to give in, to give up.

“He may have won,” Ash said, “but you haven’t lost. Not until you stop fighting.”

Clio looked away, pretending she hadn’t heard the quiet but fierce words not meant for her ears. After a long silence, Lyre stepped toward her. She looked up to see his hand extended, his other arm pressed against his ribs. Dried blood stained his clothes and skin, but she’d removed the arrow from his forearm and healed the injury after arriving at the factory. He’d done his best to patch up her arrow wound as well.

“Let’s go, Clio,” he murmured.

She took his hand, her fingers curling tightly around his, but she pushed up from the floor before he could pull her. Wobbling on exhausted legs, she looked between him and the draconian. Ash’s eyes unyielding, Lyre’s exhausted but not quite as haunted as before.

Lyceus, one of two daemons they’d been desperate to keep the KLOC away from, now had the weapon. She had no idea how they would reclaim the shadow weave from the head of Chrysalis and patriarch of the deadliest weaver family in the Underworld.

But they were going to try anyway.

* * *

“Powerful men are predictable,” Ash said, all business as he shut the door of his bachelor suite. The space was too barren for him to live there, and Clio suspected it was a hideout more than an actual home.

Lyre moved stiffly to the wooden chair and sat, one arm wrapped around his side. She collapsed onto the mattress, her legs aching and her shoulder burning. Leaping off Ash, Zwi hopped on top of the kitchen cabinets and folded her wings, surveying the room.

“They follow patterns and routines,” Ash continued as he pulled off his heaviest sword and strode to a stack of boxes in the corner. “Bastian was difficult to track because he was well outside his regular patterns, but Lyceus doesn’t want to draw attention to himself.”

He unearthed a handful of clothes and tossed them to Lyre. The draconian paused for a moment, frowning at Clio, then turned an even deeper frown on his stash of supplies. After a moment, he pulled out a black t-shirt and flipped it toward her.

She picked it up. Clean, but about five times her size. It was probably a loose fit on the muscular draconian.

“All I’ve got. I’ll bring something back for you.” He headed into the kitchen—three whole steps over the tiny floor space. “Once we figure out where Lyceus is and what routine he’s following, we can plan our next move.”

As Ash pulled a few cans and boxed food from the barren cupboards, Lyre shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Ash, I don’t think you’re getting this. Lyceus is the single deadliest daemon in the three realms. There is literally no one more skilled or powerful in magic than him.”

“No one is invincible. Everyone has weaknesses.” The draconian flipped an old knife into his hand and jammed the blade into the top of a can. “I’m an assassin, incubus. I know a lot of ways to kill someone without cutting them open.”

“If you’re thinking of poisoning him or something …” Lyre frowned. “That’ll be difficult to pull off.”

“I’ll worry about that part. What I need from you is insight.”

“Insight?”

“Into Lyceus,” Ash clarified impatiently. He pulled out the hot plate and dropped the cans on top of it. “When hunting, you don’t wander around the woods at random. You study the trails and go where your prey is likely to appear. The more you can tell me about his behavior, the more time it’ll save me.”

“I don’t know his routines. I barely know him at all.”

“Anything is better than nothing. The faster we move, the better our chances of catching him off guard.” The draconian dumped two boxes into a pot and poured an arbitrary amount of water into it. “If we take too long, he might start experimenting with the KLOC.”

Lyre nodded with a distracted air as Ash braced the pot over the sink then flicked his fingers, lighting an ebony fire under it. In the sink. Clio stared.

“Uh …” Lyre nodded toward the pot. “Isn’t that bad for the sink?”

Ash gave the incubus an expressionless stare that clearly said, “As if I care.”

Lyre cleared his throat. “Okay, what do you want to know about Lyceus?”

“Where is he most likely to go?”

“He’s either still here, searching for me, or he’s gone back to Chrysalis.”

Leaning against the wall, Clio shivered at the memory of Chrysalis’s sterile white corridors, harsh and bright to hide the darkness the building housed.

In the middle of rubbing his hand through his hair, Lyre lifted his head. “Unless …”

Clio looked at him sharply.

“Unless Lyceus doesn’t want to take the KLOC into Asphodel,” Lyre muttered, his eyes losing focus. “If he plans to keep it secret, he might have taken it to the Ivory Tower.”

“The what?” Clio asked blankly.

Lyre looked at Ash, even more grim. “In Kokytos.”

Clio huffed, annoyed at his vagueness. “Where?”

“Koh-kigh-tus,” Lyre repeated more slowly. “It’s a city in the Underworld. A city-state, actually, independent from the surrounding territories.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” she suggested cautiously.

“Kokytos is composed entirely of the corrupt, illicit, criminal, crooked, and nefarious. The worst of the Underworld, all packed into one lawless haven.”

“I don’t mind it.” Ash poked a spoon into the steaming contents of the pot. “No one pretends to be anything else. It’s refreshing.”

“I suppose you’d fit right in, wouldn’t you?”

“Why would Lyceus go there?” Clio asked Lyre.

“The family keeps our repository of knowledge in a location independent of Hades.” He drummed his fingers on his knee. “In Kokytos, the best protection in the Underworld is up for sale, if your budget is big enough. The Ivory Tower is part of a sort of fortress in the middle of the city where the richest, nastiest daemons have set up their refuges. Crime lords, gang leaders, war criminals …”

“And some infamous mercenaries,” Ash added as he dispelled his sink fire with a wave. He dished a soupy mixture into two bowls, and judging from the smell, it was supposed to be oatmeal. But when he poured beans on top and handed her a dish, she doubted her assessment. It didn’t look like oatmeal.

Ash passed the other portion to Lyre, then dug into whatever was left in the pot. Jumping onto his shoulder, Zwi investigated his meal.

Clio halfheartedly poked the mixture with her bent spoon.

“If you don’t like it,” Ash said around a mouthful, “starve.”

Lyre was already shoveling the food down so fast he probably couldn’t even taste it. Sighing, Clio scooped a spoonful into her mouth. It was hot. That was the only good thing about it.

Swallowing with effort, she reluctantly reloaded her spoon. “Next time, can I cook?”

Ash shrugged and kept eating.

While she slowly forced down the meal—disgusting as it tasted, it was hot and filling and her body needed it—Ash questioned Lyre about Lyceus’s habits in Chrysalis and the Rysalis setup in Kokytos. Finishing his portion with some help from Zwi, the draconian tossed the pot into the scorched sink and grabbed his huge sword. He swung it over his shoulder and buckled the baldric.

“Give me your lodestones,” he said to Lyre, extending his hand. “I’ll charge them while I’m out.”

Lyre paused with his spoon poised above his almost empty bowl. “How are you going to charge lodestones?”

“The same way I charge mine all the damn time. Shut up and hand them over.”

Setting his bowl on the floor, Lyre stripped off several bracelets and added them to his pouch of diamond lodestones. Ash pocketed it, then turned to Clio.

“And yours?”

“I, uh, don’t have any. I’ve never had the need for one before … all this.”

“You have a need for them now.” Ash returned to his stack of boxes, dug around, then held out three large shards of pink corundum. “Channel some magic through these.”

She took the stones with a frown.

“They won’t be easy to use, but it’s better than nothing,” Lyre added. “Lodestones take weeks to properly attune.”

Blowing her hair away from her face, she flooded magic through each stone, then handed them back. Ash slipped them into his pocket, indifferent about giving her three expensive lodestones, second in value only to diamonds.

“I’ll be gone for a while.” He headed for the door. “A day at least, two if I have to scout Kokytos as well as Asphodel. Be ready to go when I return.”

As he pulled the door open, Lyre straightened in his seat. “Ash.”

The draconian looked back.

“Thanks … for everything.”

Ash’s eyes darkened, his expression hard. “Don’t turn this arrangement into something it isn’t, incubus. If you don’t start being useful, I’ll kill you myself.”

The door snapped shut behind him and Clio shivered. Her appetite gone, she set her bowl on the empty chair beside the mattress.

“Maybe,” she mumbled hesitantly, “we should be more careful with Ash. Trusting him seems … risky.”

“Hmm?” Bowl in hand, Lyre eased off his chair and crossed to the sink. “If he was still seriously planning to kill me, he wouldn’t make threats. He’d just do it.”

She frowned worriedly as he rinsed his bowl out, then filled the empty pot with water to soak. He retrieved her bowl and rinsed it out too.

“Do you really think we can get the KLOC back from Lyceus?” she asked.

Lyre stared into the sink. “I don’t know. If it was just me, no. But with you and Ash … maybe.”

“I won’t be much use.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m not a warrior like you or Ash.”

Shutting off the tap, he crossed to the mattress and crouched, putting their faces on the same level. The ruby at the end of the braid hanging alongside his face glittered, and the family mark on his cheekbone looked even darker than usual against his pale complexion. With so little magic left, his true face wasn’t quite as hypnotizing as usual—but still breathtakingly stunning.

“Clio, without you, we wouldn’t have a chance.”

Her breath caught.

“I could probably get through Chrysalis but if we have to break into the Ivory Tower? Ash and I wouldn’t make it ten steps without you to spot the traps and get through the wards. Ash and I will worry about the fighting stuff. You do what you do best.” A tired smile curved his lips and he brushed his fingers across her cheek. “How can you say you’re not much use when I’d be dead twenty times over if not for you?”

Tears stung her eyes. “I couldn’t save my father, though.”

His thumb stroked her cheek. “There was nothing you could have done, Clio. He made his choice.”

The anguish she’d buried deep down was pushing through the stubborn walls she’d erected around it. What would happen to Irida? She tried not to think about it, but she couldn’t stop the thoughts from popping into her head—the royal council’s reaction, the city in mourning, the uncertainty and fear that would spread through the kingdom.

And hardest to stop were thoughts of Petrina, alone in the palace, her father and brother dead. Her entire family, gone in a single night.

With a shuddering breath, Clio focused on the amber eyes in front of her. Sliding one hand into Lyre’s hair, she pulled his mouth to hers. His kiss was soft, gentle, and too soon he pulled back.

She tightened her hand in his hair, stopping his retreat. “Lyre, make me forget.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Make me forget everything, just for a little while?” She pulled his face down again until their lips were touching. “I don’t want to think about anything but you.”

He hesitated, then his mouth closed over hers. This time, his kiss was slow and deep and consuming. She held his head in place, never wanting the kiss to end. His hands slid gently over her, avoiding her sore shoulder.

Still kissing her, he guided her back onto the mattress. Heat gathered deep inside her, warming the chill that had clung to her limbs since the drenching desert storm. Her fingers trailed down his neck and across his collarbones, his skin smooth and warm.

Her breath caught with a sudden realization, and she opened her eyes. He raised his head, eyes darkened to bronze, his hot stare questioning.

“What is it?” he asked, a hint of mesmerizing harmonics leaking into his voice.

She touched his cheekbone where the family mark stood out against his skin, then traced one ear to its point. His real face. His real body, with no glamour disguising him.

She pulled his mouth back to hers, renewed desire igniting through her. She wanted to touch and kiss and discover him all over again.

Sensing the change in her, he growled softly, a hungry sound. Pushing her back into the mattress, he slid his hands over her and found the fabric belt of her outfit. As he pulled it apart, she tugged at his shirt, unable to figure out the ties on the unfamiliar style.

He sat up and stripped it off in one move. Pressing both hands to his chest, she stroked hard muscle. Dried blood streaked his skin, but she didn’t care. Judging by the fire in his eyes, he didn’t care either that she was smudged with dirt and blood. He lowered himself down, pulled her mouth back to his, and did exactly as she’d asked—and more.

She forgot about everything but him. She thought of nothing but him. She felt nothing but him. His touch, his kiss, his heat, his body, his strength. His fire consumed her, burning deeper and deeper until there was no room inside her for sorrow or fear.

They eventually found their way to the shower, where he distracted her all over again beneath the pounding water, heated by a spell he’d added to the showerhead. Clean, satiated, and so relaxed she could barely stand, she stayed under the water to soak a little longer.

After another luxurious ten minutes in the cramped shower, she dried off with a threadbare towel and pulled on the oversized shirt Ash had left her. It fell halfway down her thighs.

When she drifted out of the bathroom, planning to join Lyre in bed for a long nap in his arms, she instead found him sitting on the floor, facing the kitchen chair. Perched on the seat was the vial of glowing quicksilver—the mirror spell she had helped him create.

Lyre stared at it, his eyes strangely out of focus. Slowly, he raised his hand, tracing an unfathomable shape in the air as his lips moved soundlessly. Her stomach dropped, apprehension diving through her, but she had no idea why.

“Lyre?” she murmured.

He blinked, his gaze snapping to her, but almost immediately, his stare returned to the vial. He put one finger on the cork.

“I figured it out,” he whispered. “I know how to make it work.”

She said nothing, wondering why his words failed to trigger the expected rush of exhilaration or triumph. Instead, an even icier wave of dread spiraled through her core.