Concentration was proving to be an issue for Lyre lately. And by “lately,” he meant the whole damn day. He’d resigned himself to the fact that, short of imminent death, the direction of his thoughts probably wasn’t going to change for a while.

His gaze flicked to Clio, walking ahead of him, and his attention fixed on her swaying hips.

Who would have thought his innocent little nymph could be that naughty? In the grand scheme of kinks and fetishes, tying a guy up and blindfolding him was pretty vanilla, but for Clio? He sure as hell hadn’t seen it coming. She just kept surprising him.

And now he couldn’t stop thinking about anything else—her body, her mouth, her taste, her scent, the sounds she’d made as he touched and kissed her. And he couldn’t stop thinking about all the things he wanted to do to her next.

Bloody hell. He needed a good long dunk in ice water.

If she had any idea how dangerous a line she was walking, maybe she wouldn’t be tormenting him like this. At some point, when they had some privacy from Sabir, he needed to find a delicate way to explain why she should never do something like that again. His self-control was good—most of the time—but it wouldn’t last long if she deliberately riled him up. He was lucky his exhausted body had quit on him before they found out how good his restraint really was.

Sighing, he forced his thoughts out of that arena. He had enough to worry about without pondering the dangers of taking Clio to bed. Luckily, he had many distractions—mainly, the fact that he was traveling through the Overworld. The idea was taking some getting used to, and despite their extra fun day yesterday, it still hadn’t sunk in.

This morning, they had started early, with Sabir rushing them through breakfast while a heavy morning fog pooled in the gullies. Then it had been back onto the nonexistent trail through the rocky foothills. Lyre’s legs had ached for the first hour as his muscles warmed up, but the early morning air had been cool and fresh. Without the desert’s killer heat, it wasn’t that bad.

The suns had burned off the mist by midmorning, revealing the summits rising on their left as they trekked parallel to the range. The mountains were a different shape than he was used to seeing—not the stabbing black peaks like those that surrounded Asphodel, but rolling mountains that sprawled lazily across the land, banded in orange, tan, and blue rock. Forests climbed some of the slopes in dense blankets of green and blue leaves.

Lots of blue in this world. Blue plants, blue rocks, blue hunks of crystal everywhere. It was kind of weird.

As the suns heated the earth, raising the temperature higher and higher, Sabir had led them farther north into the mountains. By the time the heat had grown unbearable again, they’d entered the cool shadows of a forest, where the rustle of leaves and the songs of wildlife had replaced the quiet of the foothills.

He hadn’t seen any creatures, but he’d heard them—trills and chirps, buzzing and croaks, skittering claws on bark, and branches creaking as unseen beasts bounded through the canopy. Every few miles, a louder crash would erupt in the distance as something large trotted away, its feet thudding against the ground. Once, the thunder of large feathered wings had brought them to a halt, but they hadn’t seen the source through the foliage.

They’d wound through the forested valleys for the entire afternoon. Game trails meandered drunkenly among huge, old-growth trees with gnarled trunks covered in soft, leafy vines. Sabir would follow the trails for a few hundred yards then push into the undergrowth again. Several times, he’d warned Clio and Lyre to avoid a certain plant—a tree with blue orbs hanging from its branches, a bush with orange-spotted leaves, a vine with tiny cobalt flowers.

Now, their guide was leading them up an uncomfortably steep ravine, and Lyre’s legs were aching again. The suns hung low in the west, lighting the clouds in a spectacular canvas of red and orange. Shadows draped the ground.

Lyre’s eyes narrowed as he watched Sabir climb over a boulder, then extend his hand to pull Clio up after him.

When their guide had returned last night, only minutes after Clio and Lyre had found themselves too exhausted to misbehave, Sabir hadn’t seemed to suspect that anything was out of the ordinary. And that made Lyre suspicious. Lyre had been able to smell Clio’s arousal, and his own scent had probably given him away. Unless Sabir had a stunted sense of smell, he should have guessed what he’d just missed.

So either Sabir had the senses of a human, which seemed unlikely, or he’d pretended not to notice—and done a hell of a good job considering his interest in Clio. A daemon interested in a female didn’t just pretend not to notice another male making a move. That sort of polite bullshit was for humans. Daemons were a lot more direct—and more aggressive.

So if Sabir had been practicing his acting skills last night, he must have a reason to avoid confrontation. Problem was, Lyre couldn’t guess what that reason was.

Ahead, the trees thinned and a rocky ridge jutted out from the forest. Lyre hastened his steps and caught up to Clio and Sabir as they clambered onto the rocks. Finally stopping, Sabir shaded his eyes with one hand as he looked toward the setting suns, then turned east.

“There it is,” he said, pointing. “Irida.”

Clio rose on her tiptoes as though the extra few inches would help her see better. “The Fallen Sisters! Lyre, come look!”

Lyre joined her and squinted at the horizon. Leaning closer, she pointed, aligning her arm with his line of sight as best she could, being ten inches shorter than him.

“The three slanted peaks, side by side, do you see?” she said eagerly, tracing them with her finger. “Those three mountains mark Irida’s western border.”

“Almost home,” he murmured with a smile.

She beamed at him. “How much farther, Sabir?”

The daemon glanced at the sky, then scanned the surrounding terrain. The barren ridge zigzagged in an easterly direction before sinking out of sight beneath the forest canopy. Valleys, thick with trees, surrounded their location, and on their left, the mountains rose tall. On their right, beyond a steep ravine, the stark foothills sprawled. Barely visible on the southern horizon was a glimmer of sand.

“We’ll reach the Iridian border late tomorrow,” Sabir answered. “A mile farther, the ridge levels out. We’ll camp there for the night.”

“Right on the ridge?” Lyre frowned. “Won’t we be exposed to the elements?”

Sabir shrugged and started forward. “There’s a sheltered spot we can use. We can’t go south because the ravine”—he gestured right—“is dangerously steep. And it’ll soon be too dark to continue forward.”

“What about this valley?” Lyre asked, tilting his head toward the forest on their left. “It doesn’t look steep.”

Sabir glanced at the valley. It sloped down from the ridge in a smooth, easy grade before leveling out. At the bottom, peeking through the trees, water glimmered amber and gold in the light of the setting suns.

“We don’t want to go into that valley,” Sabir said, quickening his pace. “We’re in ryujin territory. There’s a river down there.”

“We’re that close to ryujin waters?” Clio’s voice was high with alarm. “I thought we were keeping to the edge of their territory.”

Lyre twitched his shoulders. He didn’t like the sound of these ryujin daemons.

“Would you rather tempt your fate with Ra patrols?” Sabir asked irritably. “The ryujin don’t care if we come this way as long as we stay away from the water. I’ve walked this trail a hundred times and never had a problem.”

He extended his stride, drawing ahead. Behind him, the suns dipped, the lower of the two vanishing below the horizon. Lyre glanced into the valley, then hurried to fall into step with Clio.

“Is Sabir underestimating the ryujin?” he asked in a low voice.

She bit her lower lip, and he had to look away before he started thinking about her mouth. This close, her scent filled his nose, distracting him.

“I’m not sure. Irida shares a border with Kyo Kawa, and my people are extremely wary of the ryujin.” She grimaced. “They especially don’t tolerate nymphs inside their borders.”

“Why not?”

“There’s a story that mothers like to tell their daughters.” She pushed her ponytail off her shoulder. “A few centuries ago, the king of Irida was an ambitious man who wanted to expand our borders. Irida is hemmed in on one side by the uninhabitable Jewel Mountains, and on the other side it butts up against the Kyo Kawa and Ra borders. Expanding into griffin land wasn’t an option, so that left Kyo Kawa.”

She paused to climb over a boulder in their path, then continued. “Irida borders two other territories, but Kyo Kawa borders five kingdoms. The ryujin have spent thousands of years defending their land, but a couple hundred years ago, we nymphs had a cautiously cordial relationship with them. They permitted us to use certain trails through their territory, and a few individuals even engaged in trade.

“Well, this greedy nymph king figured the ryujin weren’t that terrifying after all, and he wondered if he could take some of their territory for himself. But the thing is, ryujin cities are hidden. No one knows where they live. But then the king heard about a nobleman’s daughter.”

“A daughter?” Lyre repeated bemusedly.

“This girl claimed she had fallen in love with a ryujin and he’d taken her to his city. The greedy king forced the girl to reveal the location of the city, and then he paid a mercenary army to attack the ryujin and wipe them out so he could claim that part of their territory.”

Clio’s expression grew grimmer. “According to the story, the ryujin retaliated by slaughtering the invaders, forbidding all contact with other castes, and closing their borders for good.”

Lyre winced. “What about the girl and her ryujin lover?”

“The girl died of grief and guilt. No one knows what happened to her lover.” Clio shook her head. “My mother told me the story when I was younger—a much longer and more dramatic tale of love and tragedy. I’m sure she embellished the details, but that’s the gist of it. I’m not certain how much is true, but they say that’s why nymphs can never go into ryujin land.”

“Hmm. I have to say, it’s not a very patriotic story. I feel more sympathetic toward the ryujin.”

“Yes, I always felt that way too. I asked my mother, and she said the story’s message isn’t about patriotism, or morality, or greedy kings and tragic wars.”

“What’s the moral of the story, then?”

“That people do stupid things when they’re in love. The stupid ryujin showed the girl where he lived, and the stupid girl told her family about it to prove he loved her. That was my mother’s interpretation, anyway.”

Lyre snorted. “Aren’t mothers supposed to encourage their daughters to find strapping young men to fall in love with and marry?”

“My mother taught me to not fall in love because I might turn into a complete dunce,” she replied dryly. “But that lesson probably stems from her experience with—”

She abruptly broke off. He glanced at her, surprised to see her lips pressed together so tightly they’d paled. Seeing his questioning look, she flashed him a smile that he didn’t buy at all.

“What lessons did your mother teach you?” she asked.

“None,” he answered. “I never met my mother.”

She stumbled and he caught her elbow. Straightening, she gave him an incredulous look that softened into sympathy. “I’m sorry. Did she pass away?”

He shrugged. “No idea.”

Her lips quirked in a frown as she struggled with what to ask. “Don’t you have a younger brother? Is he your half-brother, then?”

“Two younger brothers—Dulcet and Viol—but, again, I have no idea. I don’t know who their mothers are.” He arched an eyebrow at her befuddled look. “There are no succubi in Asphodel. Incubi and succubi don’t get along, remember?”

“But then how do you … how did your father …”

He sighed, wishing he could go back in time and not introduce this topic. She didn’t need to know the ugly truth about incubi and succubi’s reproductive strategies. “Let’s just say that being a single parent is the universal preference for incubi and succubi both.”

Her frown deepened and he changed the topic. “Are there any other Overworld castes we need to worry about besides ryujin?”

She gave him a hard look, not fooled by his evasion. As the ridge broadened to a less precarious width, she linked her arm through his. The once-shallow valley beside the ridge had grown so steep that it resembled a cliff, and a mix of loose gravel and sparse shrubs clung to the precarious slope down to the wide river. The water was closer now, but the slope was far too steep to climb.

“Well,” Clio mused, “ryujin are powerful, though no one is sure how powerful. Enough to protect their territory. But they keep to themselves, so when Overworlders talk about the dangerous daemons of our world, the ryujin don’t normally come up.”

“Who does come up?”

“Ra griffins.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “The Valkyrs. And the jinns.”

He’d heard of all three, but he didn’t know much beyond the names. “That’s it?”

“Around here, yes.” Her eyes widened in emphasis. “Three is difficult enough. Griffins win by numbers alone. They have the largest territory and control a large portion of the continent either directly or through trade deals and other arrangements. The Valkyrs hold most of the western coast, and they’re always clashing with the Ras over trade ports and territory lines.” She smiled wryly. “The ryujin share a piece of their western border with the Valkyrs too. They really can’t catch a break.”

“Lucky them.” He took a swig from his waterskin, lamenting that it was nearly empty. “What about the jinns? Is that a caste or a ruling family?”

“A caste. Jinns don’t have a single ruling family but are broken into many smaller clans. They don’t have a territory either. They’re nomadic, traveling back and forth across the continents for their entire lives.”

He considered that revelation. “Small, nomadic clans would make them much weaker than a unified nation like the griffins.”

“Politically, yes, but no one messes with jinns. No one wants to tick them off.”

“Oh?”

“You know how everyone in the Underworld gets that nervous look whenever draconians come up in conversation?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s how Overworlders talk about jinns. They’re really dangerous.” She lowered her voice as though a jinn might be eavesdropping on her every word. “They’re the assassins of our world. Their caste ability is terrifying.”

Her eyes sparkled; she was having fun telling tales about the scary daemons of her world.

“What’s their caste ability?” he asked, amused but a little wary of the answer.

“They call it ‘shadow-step’ and—”

“How does this look?” Sabir called, cutting through Clio’s murmur.

Fifty feet ahead, a flat sheet of rock jutted from the ridge, forming a rough wall. Standing in the shelter it created, Sabir waited for them. Lyre grimaced. The rocky formation would block some of the chilly breeze, but it would still be a rough night.

As the last of the sunlight vanished below the mountainous horizon, they quickly set up camp and Lyre sat gratefully on his folded white wrap from their desert travels, using it as a cushion. Clio sat cross-legged on hers, fretfully glancing north where the river glinted under the light of the waxing planet, partially obscured by thick clouds.

Sabir ventured farther along the ridge and returned a few minutes later with an armload of tree branches. “What do you say to a fire and hot tea?”

Clio’s face brightened. “That would be lovely.”

Lyre said nothing, withholding his opinion that building a fire on an exposed ridge was a bad idea. The light would be visible for miles around. But it was that or freeze, he supposed.

Sabir made quick work of stacking the branches and lighting them with a spark of magic. As he pulled a metal pot from his pack and poured the contents of his waterskin into it, he asked Clio what kind of tea she liked. Their comparison of teas expanded into a detailed analysis of local botanical something-or-others and Lyre tuned them out. His day had been way too long for that kind of plant talk.

He was nodding off, the fire warm and the quiet pops of the burning wood familiar and soothing, when Sabir passed him a metal cup of steaming tea. He wrapped his hands around the warmth and inhaled the bittersweet smell.

Clio curled her hands around her own cup, still happily describing her favorite garden herbs with adorable animation. Lyre took a sip, not particularly impressed by the sweet berry flavor with a bitter undertone, and watched Sabir carefully scan the ravine on one side and the river valley on the other. Night had fallen, but the planet’s silvery light leaking through the clouds held the darkness at bay.

As Sabir dropped dried vegetables in the leftover hot water, Lyre drank more tea. The warmth was pleasant and relaxing. His head nodded forward again and he let his eyes close, listening to Clio’s voice rise and fall without really hearing it.

“What kind of tea is this?”

He started, jarred by Clio’s razor-sharp tone. She held her full cup of tea beneath her nose, inhaling the steam. Her stare was fixed on Sabir, her back rigid and mouth pressed into a thin line.

Sabir blinked at her, his mouth quirking down. “It’s greenberry leaf. Does it taste bad? I don’t think it could have gone off already. I dried the leaves myself only a few weeks ago.”

“It smells wrong,” she said, hostility radiating off her. If she were a cat, her hackles would have been standing on end.

Lyre looked down at his near-empty cup. Well, fuck. “Did you poison it?”

Despite his calm tone, Clio jerked like he’d slapped her. Her face paled.

Sabir smiled as though Lyre had made a funny joke. “Of course not. Moldy greenberry won’t hurt you. I’ll just make something else.”

“Did he drink any tea?” Lyre asked Clio.

Sabir held out his half-empty cup. Clio snatched it and lifted it to her nose. “Yours doesn’t smell bitter. Why is mine bitter? Greenberry is sweet.”

“Bad leaves?”

Lyre sighed. “What did you put in the tea?”

Sabir leaned back, propping himself up on one arm. “Hauling your pathetic ass this far only to poison you would be a complete waste of effort.”

A fair point. Lyre fixed a cold, calm stare on the daemon. “But you did put something in the tea.”

Sabir smirked.

“What did you do?” Clio demanded, clutching her cup as though it held the key to life or death. “Tell us!”

“Tell you what, exactly?” Sabir drawled, scanning the surrounding darkness. “I could explain all the reasons you two are the stupidest fools I’ve ever encountered, but …” He pushed to his feet. “But it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Lyre shot up, ready to fire a rapid cast into Sabir’s face—except when he called on his magic, nothing happened. A wave of sickening dizziness rolled over him when his power failed to manifest as commanded. He staggered sideways, the world spinning. In his wavering vision, Clio launched off the ground, her hands coming up defensively.

Sabir made a sharp waving motion, and Lyre expected the spell to strike him down. Instead, the daemon’s blast hit the campfire, knocking over the pot, extinguishing the flames, and scattering the glowing coals across the ridge. The darkness deepened.

A spell struck Lyre in the back. He hit the ground on his knees, arms bound against his sides.

“Lyre!”

As Clio sprang toward him, the shadows behind her bubbled upward like a thick, inky soup. One moment, she was lunging toward him. The next, a daemon had materialized out of the darkness like a ghost. He grabbed her arm and hauled her back, then casually pressed the shining blade of a dagger against her throat.

“You’re late,” Sabir said irritably.

A shadow moved beside Lyre and a second unfamiliar daemon stopped beside him. He grabbed Lyre by the hair and forced his head back. Lyre bared his teeth, glaring at the new brown-skinned daemon as he tried again to summon his magic and was met with more whirling dizziness.

“Is this him?” his assailant inquired.

“Yes,” Sabir answered as he stuffed his supplies back into his pack. “We should dose him with more Shade Rune before we get off the ridge.”

“What about this one?” the other daemon asked, pulling on Clio’s hair and forcing her onto her tiptoes. She whimpered and tried to shrink away from the dagger at her throat.

“The nymph slut? Who cares.” Sabir’s dark eyes flicked to Lyre. “It’s the spell weaver I want.”

Lyre snarled softly. That conniving bastard.

Sabir smiled with smug satisfaction, and without looking away from Lyre, he waved a hand carelessly at Clio.

“Kill her.”