Lyre lounged in the back of the storage shed, leaning against the wall with gardening tools stacked on either side of him. He rolled the green tracking spell between his finger and thumb as faint light from the gaps around the door glittered across its surface.

He hated waiting. He hated sitting here doing nothing. He hated feeling helpless and vulnerable, and he really hated feeling like a burden.

He’d felt like a needless burden since setting foot in the Overworld. They were here to get his KLOC back but he’d contributed nothing to their efforts. Now he was hiding in a damn shed while Clio ventured into the royal palace alone.

Of course, being the daughter of the king, she was probably safe. Then again, it was her brother’s bodyguard who’d almost killed her, then left her to die in Asphodel. So he wasn’t entirely sure.

But what could he do? Among a different caste, he could have disguised himself, but not here. Not surrounded by nymphs with astral perception. He didn’t even dare leave the shed despite how vulnerable he felt in the cramped space where he couldn’t see if anyone was coming.

He let his head fall back against the wall. Nymphs. Such an odd caste. Walking through this city had been an eye-opening experience. Males and females, all petite and beautiful, flitting around in skimpy clothes without a hint of self-consciousness. The boys were as pretty as the girls and difficult to tell apart at a glance.

The chimeras, however, were a whole different breed. Clio had explained the nymph/chimera arrangement so it hadn’t come as a complete surprise, but seeing the tall, tattooed, red-haired daemons mixed among the ivory-skinned nymphs had still been a shock. And what the nymphs lacked in appropriate suspicion, the chimeras more than made up for in natural aggression.

All in all, he felt more comfortable among chimeras than nymphs. Chimeras, with their confident swagger and ready-to-fight attitudes, were reassuring in their familiarity. These gentle, cheerful nymphs were just … weird.

Clio being the exception. She was his gentle, cheerful nymph.

He tossed the tracking spell into the air and caught it again. How long would he have to wait? What if Clio didn’t come back? Sneaking out of here in the dark would be a nightmare. He’d been hopelessly lost about two minutes into the city, and beyond that, he had even less of a clue. If Clio never came back for him … the prospect of being stranded in an enemy world with no escape was terrifying.

He tried to focus on something else—anything else.

Clio’s childhood home had been nice. He’d liked the quiet meadow. The monstrously oversized trees commanded a presence of their own, like ancient, watchful guardians. He could have happily stayed there for a few days recovering his strength. Too bad they hadn’t had the time.

With that, his thoughts slid right back into pointless, worry-filled circles. Assuming Clio’s meeting with her brother went well, would he turn over the KLOC? Lyre doubted it. He fully expected he’d have to steal it back. How he would steal it was the big question.

Maybe he would have to tell them what the KLOC could really do—the real danger he hadn’t revealed even to Clio. Maybe that would frighten them into returning it so he could destroy it. Assuming he could destroy it.

It was easier to worry about the KLOC. He didn’t have the energy to think about what would come after. No matter how well things here went, when he was done, he would have to walk right back into the nightmare he’d left behind on Earth. Countless bounty hunters tracking his every move. A dark, dank city where he would have to find a way to survive. And, if he’d interpreted Reed’s warning correctly, his father either planned to join the hunt or was already weaving his lethal webs in Brinford.

Whatever waited for him in the human world, he would face it alone. Clio would stay here, with her people and her family. Leaving her behind felt … wrong, like a betrayal. They had escaped Asphodel together, and his subconscious had decided that meant they would stay together. But that had never been possible or even expected. She had her own life to return to, and he had a new life to build. Somehow. With Lyceus coming for him, Lyre doubted he’d get a chance to try.

Lost in bleak thoughts, he watched the floating dust motes dance in the line of sunlight leaking around the doorframe.

Then the line of sunlight darkened.

He stiffened. Something—someone—had moved in front of the door, blocking the light. Gripping the chain around his neck, ready to activate his shields, he didn’t even breathe.

A rapping on the wood made him jump. Someone was knocking?

“I’m opening the door,” a male voice warned, muffled by the wood. “Don’t attack.”

Lyre rose to his feet, back to the wall, as the door swung open. Light flooded the shed’s interior, silhouetting the man standing in the threshold—a horned chimera with a bladed pike in his hand. The weapon carried by the palace guards.

The soldier backed away, leaving the doorway wide open.

“Lyre, isn’t it?” a soft, refined voice called. “Please come out.”

The breeze carried the scents of multiple daemons but Lyre didn’t know how many. Staying in the dark shed seemed stupid, so he touched the gems around his neck, activating his defensive weaves, then pinched the tracking spell between his finger and thumb.

This spell was his lifeline. If he was captured, the tracking spell would lead Clio to him, and he couldn’t risk them taking it.

Keeping the movement casual, he brought his hand to his face as though adjusting the hood of his cloak, and with the motion, he slipped the gemstone into his mouth. Empty-handed, he cautiously approached the doorway.

Five unfamiliar chimera soldiers waited for him in a loose half-circle around the shed. In their center was a nymph. His long blond hair was tied back and his features were too beautiful to call masculine. Unlike the half-naked nymphs in the city, he was dressed more conservatively in a gray-blue tunic and fitted pants, both expensive-looking garments. His ice-blue eyes watched Lyre carefully beneath elegant eyebrows, his cheekbones accented with the greenish markings all nymphs had.

Lyre wasn’t sure if it was obvious to him because he was looking for it, but he didn’t see how anyone could miss the family resemblance between this nymph and Clio.

Lyre crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. At the same time, he used his tongue to tuck the gem into his cheek and hoped his aura hid the weaving’s glow from the nymph’s asper.

“Bastian, right?” he asked coolly.

“His Highness,” a chimera corrected in a growl, “Prince Bastian Nereid, crown prince of Irida.”

Bastian raised a placating hand to his guard. Lyre’s eyebrows rose higher. Interesting how the prince had waited until after the chimera had finished spouting his titles before quieting him.

“And you would be Lyre Rysalis, master weaver and fifth son of Lyceus Rysalis, head of Chrysalis.” Bastian smiled with cautious warmth. “You are the daemon I must thank for saving Clio’s life.”

Lyre returned the smile, keeping his expression smooth and pleasant. Well, well. With a mere two sentences, the prince had Lyre’s instincts buzzing with warning. He had been playing deadly games of manipulation since he was a child, and with that experience, he could see subtle red flags all over Bastian.

“Have you talked to her, then?” Lyre asked, trying to get a feel for what Bastian knew—and what game he was playing.

“Not yet,” he admitted. “I wanted to speak with you first.”

Hmm, Lyre hadn’t expected that honesty. “Why is that?”

Bastian folded his hands behind his back, his expression somber. His guards waited, their pikes held informally but their focus on Lyre.

“I learned of what befell Clio from my bodyguard Eryx upon his return,” Bastian said, “so I know something of your role in her survival—and, I assume, her escape from the Underworld.”

“Did Eryx tell you he killed Kassia, betrayed Clio, and left her to die?”

“He did.” Bastian’s expression hardened. “For his actions, Eryx has been incarcerated.”

“So why are you here talking to me instead of Clio?”

Bastian didn’t react to his accusatory tone. “I am here because my father is not a tolerant king. With the growing threats against our kingdom, he is especially paranoid. If he learns there is a Hades daemon in the city, I fear he may react rashly.”

“But you’re not prone to rashness, are you?” Lyre asked mockingly.

Bastian ignored that too. “I do not believe punishing you would be in the best interests of my family or my kingdom. You are a daemon of talent and skill—and of honor, or you would not have protected Clio at risk to your own life. I have come to speak with you, to ascertain your trustworthiness for myself, so I can convince my father to offer you asylum.”

“Asylum?”

“A new home. A sanctuary where Hades cannot reach you.”

Yep, he’d been right. This here was a walking, talking, scheming ball of slime in the shape of a nymph prince.

“And all you ask is my unswerving obedience, right?” Lyre unfolded one arm so he could flutter his fingers in Bastian’s direction. “You’ll shelter me in your territory, and in return, I have to weave whatever spells you request. If I fail to comply, well, who knows what will happen to me, isolated and under your power in a world I can’t escape.”

“That’s a bleak outlook on a generous offer,” Bastian said with a frown. “Providing a sanctuary for you would come with risks for us. Asking for your cooperation doesn’t seem unreasonable, does it?”

“Well, that’s the thing. I didn’t come here seeking asylum. I came to get my spell back.”

“Your spell?”

“Yeah, you know, the one your dear pal Eryx stole from me.”

Bastian’s frown deepened. “Eryx didn’t turn over any spells when he returned. Are you sure he stole it?”

Lyre smiled, an expression that could almost be mistaken as friendly. “Do you really want to play this game with me, little prince?”

The chimeras stiffened but Bastian merely raised his eyebrows.

Pushing away from the doorframe, Lyre stepped out of the shed. “This territory is something else, you know. Nymphs are unlike any caste I’ve encountered in the Underworld. They’re almost like children—so trusting and naïve.” A sharp edge crept into his smile. “It must be so easy for a guy like you.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Still pretending, huh?” Lyre ran his hand through his hair, pushing his hood off. As it fell back, the chimera guards went rigid and their wide eyes darted over his face as they got a good look at him. Bastian’s expression didn’t change.

Lyre took another step closer. He wished he could use aphrodesia but the prince would see it with his asper. “I’ll tell you something, Bastian. You might be a smooth bastard compared to all these carefree nymphs, but to me, you’re a clumsy amateur.”

Bastian’s mouth thinned. Aha. A reaction, finally.

“In my world,” he continued, “lies and deception are the air we breathe. You don’t have the skills to play this game at my level.”

The prince studied him, his expression indecipherable. For all Lyre’s condescension, Bastian wasn’t that much of an amateur. But the taunting was all part of the game.

“I see,” the prince replied. “I presume you wish me to be as straightforward as possible?”

“Yeah, that’s right. We don’t have all day to stand here verbally sparring, do we?”

“We do not,” Bastian agreed, and this time, when he smiled, it was as sharp and mocking as Lyre’s smile had been. “Then I will be honest, Lyre. I want you to work for me. You will be protected, safe, and comfortable. In exchange, you will weave at my command.”

“You propose it as though I’ve never had an offer like that before.”

“I expect you will find life significantly more pleasant here than under your family’s employment, but should you refuse, I’ll arrest you as a Hades spy.”

Lyre tsked softly. “Another amateur move, Bastian. Don’t make threats you have no intention of carrying out.”

“I assure you, it is not a bluff.”

“Oh, but it is. You won’t arrest me and throw me in a dungeon. Too much risk you’ll lose control of the situation before you can get what you want.”

“And what do you think I want?” Bastian asked coolly.

“We both know perfectly well.” Lyre dropped his voice to a malevolent purr. “The clock spell. You’re standing here with your guards, trying to persuade me to come quietly, because you can’t unlock the clock spell without my help.”

Bastian’s eyes flashed—chagrinned surprise followed by anger.

“You won’t throw me in a dungeon. You don’t want the king or anyone else at the palace to know I’m here. That’s why you came to find me before talking to Clio.” He canted his head. “Let me guess. Your spies informed you about a stranger with a gold aura and lots of fancy spells heading toward the palace, and you guessed where Clio would ditch me—in her favorite private spot in the garden.”

Bastian raised his hand. The five chimeras snapped their pikes down, the blades pointing at Lyre’s chest.

He arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t we just agree that you don’t plan to kill me?”

Stepping backward, Bastian nodded pleasantly. “We did, and your shields will prevent those pikes from piercing your flesh.”

Lyre’s jaw tensed. A diversion. Bastian wanted Lyre to focus his defenses on the threats in front of him, but the attack would come from somewhere else.

An instant—that was all he had to decide. Fighting back would be pointless. The moment he tried to cast, Bastian would see it. With no spells in hand and his enemies so close, six against one were impossible odds. And if he attacked the crown prince of Irida, whether he won or lost, he’d end up dead.

So in the instant he had to act, he caught the tracking gem on his tongue and triggered it. The spell pulsed in his head as its twin activated, and with no better way to keep the weaving hidden and close, he swallowed it.

Bastian’s gaze flicked up, focusing on something above Lyre. A signal.

A rope dropped over Lyre’s head. The noose snapped tight around his neck and yanked, half strangling him even with his shield. He grabbed the rope but the nearest chimeras caught his arms and forced them away from his body. The noose pulled up until he was lifted onto his toes.

“Begin a cast and I’ll have them beat you unconscious.” Bastian stopped in front of Lyre and touched two fingers to his chest. Hot magic washed over him, followed by a cold wave as the nymph dissolved his protective wards. “Would you prefer to walk under your own power or be carried?”

Lyre wheezed, the rope crushing his throat. He rolled his eyes up and caught a glimpse of the chimera crouched on the roof of the shed—a familiar chimera.

“Fancy meeting me again, eh?” Eryx barked a laugh. “I can’t believe you got out of there alive, but it worked out well for us, didn’t it?” He hauled on the rope, lifting Lyre off his feet by the neck. “Not so much for you, though.”

“Bind him,” Bastian ordered. “Gag him as well.”

As the chimeras pulled his arms behind his back, Lyre sneered at the prince as best he could while hanging from a rope, but he couldn’t come up with a witty insult. Helpless and captured again. What a fun pattern this was becoming.

The tracking spell pulsed in his head. With the weaving’s light lost in his aura and muted by his body, the prince hadn’t noticed it—yet.

Bastian wrapped his hand around Lyre’s spell chain. A touch of his magic snapped the links and he pulled the chain off to examine the weavings. “We can have a long and profitable relationship, or we can have a short and violent one. The decision is yours, but either way, I will get what I want from you.”

As he turned away with the spell chain, he glanced back, pale eyes gleaming like arctic ice.

“I’ll tell you something, Lyre,” he murmured—the same phrase Lyre had derisively used. Bastian’s smile returned, crueler than a blade. “You may know how the game works, but you’d lost before we even began to play.”