Rhys woke with a naked Meera in his arms and the unflinching certainty that Atawakabiche, the Painted Wolf, last and most feared warrior of the Uwachi Toma, was going to make him pay dearly for this day. She would do what he wanted in the end, but sometime in the future he would pay. He glanced down at the woman lying across his chest, her hair spreading out in rippling feathers across his skin.

Worth it.

He kissed her shoulder and stroked a hand through her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear before he traced the perfect shell decorated with delicate gold rings.

Creator, how have I pleased you? Show me, that I may always be so blessed.

“Meera,” he whispered.

“Hmph.” She wrinkled her nose and rubbed her eyes. “What?”

“We need to wake up and make ourselves as fancy as we possibly can under the circumstances.”

She grimaced, her eyes still pressed shut. “I left my fancy back in New Orleans.”

He smiled. “I left mine back in England. But we still need to make an effort.”

“Fine.” She rolled over and stretched across the moss-filled mattress. “How are we doing this?”

“As formally as possible. She’s a military leader and a chief. She’ll respond to formality and a sense of honor, even though it’s going to piss her off to high heaven that we’re making her do this.”

“And pissing off an ally we need and a source of invaluable magic is a task you want to take on?”

“I told you, pissing people off is practically my job description.” He slapped her bottom and spent a few pleasurable seconds watching it bounce. “I am becoming immeasurably fond of your bottom.”

She laughed, which only made it shake more.

Hmmm. Lovely.

Meera said, “I’m glad you’re fond of it, because it’s unlikely to be leaving anytime soon.”

“I find that reassuring.” He stood. “Let’s move. If you want me to do the talking, that wouldn’t be a bad idea. Most of the magic she needs to teach is to you, so make me the bad guy.”

Meera sat up and shook her head. “This could go so very wrong.”

“All the best ideas can,” Rhys said. “No point in dragging it out.”

Rhys dressed in his last pair of clean trousers and a linen shirt he’d washed and hung up two nights before. It was still damp, but it would have to do. They’d only been in the swamp four days, but it was remarkable how much dirt a body could attract.

He anointed his hair with the sweet oil he’d found in the bathhouse the night before and combed it back before he rubbed some oil on the dark beard that had begun to cover his face. He glanced at Meera, who was watching him groom himself.

“I think you like beards.”

She smiled. “I do. Most of the men in my life have worn them. It’s traditional for the Tomir to leave their hair uncut.”

He walked over to her and bent down, sliding his mouth over hers. “But do you like mine, sha ne’ev reshon?”

“I love it when you call me that.” She brushed her hand over his cheek. “I do like your beard. And I like you without. Whatever you prefer.”

“I prefer you.” He kissed her once more before he turned back to the small mirror he’d hung on the wall of the hut. “For now the beard stays since I can’t find my razor.”

“It looks very nice.” Meera stood and began unfolding a long linen cloth from her backpack. “Let us begin rudimentary fancy preparations.”

“Is that a sari?” He smiled.

“It is, though quite a plain one. Just ceremonial robes. In my defense, I didn’t know I would be greeting anyone formally.”

“I’ve never seen you wear one.”

“I like sundresses.” She began folding the sari in hand-wide pleats. “But I always bring a sari for ritual occasions. Most of the time in Udaipur”—she tucked the pleats in the pants she wore before wrapping the length of linen around her waist—“I wear linen pants and a tunic because it’s the most comfortable and people are very, very traditional there. But saris are nicer for formal occasions, and they’re quite easy to travel with.”

Rhys watched in amazement as yards and yards of fabric methodically became a garment. “Yes,” he said. “Easy. That was the first word that came to mind.”

Meera finished the wrap quickly, folding the fabric over her shoulder before she deftly arranged the remaining cloth around her waist and secured the garment with thick gold pins she pulled from her bag. She affixed two large gold hoops to her ears and coiled her hair onto her head with braids. In minutes she had gone from rustic traveler to elegant diplomat.

“Stunning.” Rhys blinked. “Heaven above, that’s quite impressive.”

She smiled. “I’m no stranger to formal events.”

No, he could see she wasn’t. Her bearing had changed completely. She was regal. Arresting in her carriage.

A queen.

He’d teased her about being a princess, but in that moment, she was his queen. Rhys cocked his elbow out. “Shall we?”

“We’ll both formally introduce ourselves,” Meera said. “Then you offer the invitation. As the scribe to be mated, it would be your role.”

“Very well.”

They left the hut and walked across the mound to the garden where Ata was weeding corn. She looked up, frowned at them, but immediately came to attention.

Rhys stopped a few yards from the warrior and bowed. “Atawakabiche, elder singer and last chief of the Uwachi Toma, guardians of the Western lands and keeper of Uriel’s fire, I am Rhys of Glast, son of Angharad the Sage and Edmund of Glast, heir of Gabriel’s library, archivist and warrior of Istanbul.”

Meera mirrored his bow, pressing her hands together in respect. “Great Atawakabiche, I am Meera Bai, heir of Anamitra, somasikara of Udaipur, daughter of Patiala, guardian singer of Udaipur, and Maarut, commander of the Tomir warriors.”

When Rhys rose, he could see their formal introduction had accomplished its goal. Ata was standing straight, her carriage formal even if her eyes were suspicious.

“Honored brother and sister,” she said cautiously, “how does heaven greet you, and how can my people be of service?”

Rhys glanced at Meera. Her eyes spoke to him although she remained silent.

Do it.

He turned to Ata. “Through heaven’s blessing, we have found our reshon in each other and choose to honor the Creator through our mating ceremony.”

Ata nodded. “I am pleased for both of you. I also believe you honor the Creator, the Forgiven, and the first mothers by this union.”

“Further, honored sister, we request the blessing of the Uwachi Toma at the ritual ceremonies to celebrate the union of our bloodlines and families. We will be traveling to Havre Hélène to formalize our mating and receive our family blessings, and we invite the chief of the Uwachi Toma to be the guest of honor at our mating celebration. Your presence would bring honor and blessing to our union as the Uwachi Toma were the first Irin to inhabit this land, granting it protection and Uriel’s light.”

Ata’s eyes spoke volumes. She was furious. Confused. Furious. Impressed. But mostly furious. She hadn’t even seen the attack coming.

“I was not expecting this… generosity,” Ata said through gritted teeth.

Rhys and Meera both remained silent. Any argument at this point would only give Ata an avenue for refusal. The invitation had been made. It was up to the Wolf to refuse or accept it.

Refusal would be a formal insult to two prominent Irin clans who had never offered her any offense. Acceptance was the honorable answer, especially considering she was their host.

“It is my honor,” she finally said, “to accept the blessing of your invitation.” Her eyes locked on Rhys. “I only hope someday I can repay this consideration in kind.”

Translation: I will make you pay, and it will be painful.

Rhys nodded. “We are honored, Atawakabiche. Would you grant us the distinction of escorting you to the haven?”

“I know where that old place is,” she said, turning back to her fields. “Pack your things. I will lead you to your boat at tomorrow’s first light. Then I will follow in four days’ time. That should give you enough time to prepare for me and my retinue.”

Rhys had absolutely no idea what her retinue would be. Alligators? Birds? He didn’t question it. He bowed and turned to leave.

Meera stepped forward. “Thank you, Ata.”

The old warrior turned and her eyes softened a fraction.

“Thank you,” Meera said again. “It will mean so much to me and my family that you will be our guest. I hope you will feel welcome.”

“The honor is mine, Somasikara. And as you honor me, I hope I will honor you by the favor I ask.” Ata stepped forward and straightened her shoulders. “Three days after your mating, when your magic has been replenished, I ask that you take my memories—the whole of them—so that I may die and rejoin my mate. I want nothing more to do with this world. I want to rejoin my people.”

Damn. Rhys watched Meera. It was a reasonable request—a favor for a favor—but everything in him rebelled at the thought. The Irina needed the Wolf. She could be a hugely valuable asset, a political force, a voice no one could ignore.

“Five days,” Meera said quietly. “Five days after our mating—if you still feel this way—I will take your memories from you. All of them.”

“Agreed.” Ata turned back to her fields. Meera grasped Rhys’s hand and walked back to the hut. Then she sat on the edge of the bed, and tears rolled down her cheeks.

* * *

The next morning Rhys and Meera had packed all their clothes and equipment along with some of the smoked fish Ata had dried and two large jugs of water. They pushed off through the bayou in Ata’s boat, poling through the narrow channels until they reached a larger waterway.

It was not the way they had come, but Rhys found it just as confusing. If Ata’s aim was to make her territory impenetrable, she was very, very successful.

She approached the pontoon boat from the far end of the river, but Roch had spotted them long before Rhys could see clearly through the mist. He was waiting on the edge of the boat.

“Welcome back,” he said.

“I’m bringing your friends to you, old son. Have you discovered what you need to do?”

Roch shook his head. “I don’t do well with riddles.”

Ata said nothing. She reached for the edge of the pontoon and began tossing bags and supplies into Roch’s boat.

“I don’t speak in riddles,” she said. “There is no hidden meaning. You know already what it is she needs. You do it already. Just… do more.”

Roch’s eyes reflected the grey clouds overhead. He shook his head and muttered under his breath, but he said nothing more. Without another word, Ata handed Rhys and Meera off to Roch like so much luggage. Then she turned and poled off into the misty swamp.

“And that was that,” Roch said. “How was your trip, kids?”

“Interesting,” Meera said. “And that is not that.”

Roch looked Rhys. “What did I miss?”

“She’s coming to Havre Hélène in four days,” he said.

Meera pulled out the sat phone. “And my parents need to arrange a mating celebration before that happens.”

Roch blinked. “Well, I do miss things when I stay on the boat.” He started up the engine. “Let’s get home. You can fill me in on the way, and I’ll let you know what Bozidar and his little bastards have been up to.”

* * *

“You want us to arrange a formal mating celebration in four days because you’ve invited the chief of the Uwachi Toma to be a guest in our haven?” Patiala rose to her feet and loosed her tongue on her daughter in a language Rhys did not understand.

But… he understood.

Maarut sat silently beside his mate, grimacing and trading uncomfortable looks with Rhys as Meera and Patiala argued.

The angry interchange stopped when Maarut stood up and stepped between his daughter and his mate. “Enough,” he said. “My love”—he turned to Patiala—“she’s not asking for the pageantry of Udaipur. We both know she would never want that anyway. She is only asking for our blessing and song over her mating to this scribe whom, I will remind you, we selected for her.”

Rhys frowned. “Selected?”

Maarut turned to Meera. “My beloved daughter, I am so happy you have found your reshon. I hope you understand that the facilities here are more rustic than those of Udaipur and thus the celebration will be more modest.”

“That’s fine,” Meera said. “I’m not asking for anything elaborate.”

“But you invited Atawakabiche here!” Patiala said. “A legend among Irina is the guest of honor at my daughter’s mating celebration, and we have no retinue, no chefs, no staff, no guard—”

“We have all those things,” Meera said. “Just not in the quantities we have at home. Think of this as a…” Meera turned to Rhys with wide eyes. “Destination wedding?”

“Yes. Excellent way of putting it.” Rhys stood and put his arm around Meera. “And to be fair, the woman has been living on a very nice shell mound in the middle of the Atchafalaya Swamp for several hundred years. I don’t think she’ll be scrutinizing the menu.”

Well, that wasn’t a popular opinion with his new mother. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he added quickly. “I am at your service, Mother.”

Calling her mother softened the hard-eyed look Patiala was giving him, but only for a moment. The next one, he was kicked out of the library with Maarut.

“Clean yourself up!” Patiala said. “And then clean this place up. We’re having a banquet in four days.”

Maarut turned to him. “I’m pleased my daughter has chosen you to be her mate. You should consider keeping the beard.”

“I’m thinking about it. What kind of clothes am I going to need for this?”

“Since this is short notice, I’m sure Patiala will do a simple ceremony. Only three outfits for two feasts.”

“That’s the short ceremony?”

Maarut chuckled. “Talk to Chanak. He came with us from Udaipur. He and his mate are magic with needle and cloth. They will take care of you. I need to get to work on the property.”

Rhys frowned and looked over the sweep of lawn, the green cane fields in the distance, and the graceful alley of oak trees that framed the house. “Honestly, this place is beautiful. What do you really need to do?”

Maarut gave Rhys a smile and a hard pat on the shoulder. Then, without another word, he walked around the corner of the porch and disappeared.

* * *

Rhys sat on his small porch with Roch, watching the haven rouse into action. “This is mind-boggling.”

“You should see the place at cane harvesttime. These women are demons of efficiency. I just shut up and do what they say.”

Rhys turned away from the action. “Tell me what we know.”

“More Grigori. They’re quiet, but they’re there. My contacts here called their contacts up north. Once we put it all together, it’s pretty clear. We just weren’t making the connections before. Bastard is making his way down the river. It’s possible he’s had people in place for years, lying low.”

“Why now?”

“I don’t know. Something changed. Maybe a new enemy? Maybe another angel has shown up in the area and he’s feeling like he needs to flex his muscles or something?”

Rhys glanced across the lawn to Meera, who was walking with Sabine as they surveyed the sloping back lawn. “Is it her?”

“She’s been here four, five years almost? I don’t think it’s her.”

“But it’s something.” A new Fallen in the area.

Vasu?

Could the mere presence of the angel have put them all at risk? Meera said he’d just managed to find her. That he’d only recently shown up. Could that have tipped Bozidar off to an increased magical threat?

“What do we do?”

Roch leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Right now? Nothing. Y’all decided to have a mating production that’s gonna rival Mardi Gras. I got nothin’.”

Rhys smirked. “Not your cup of tea, is it?”

“When I convince Sabine to take my mark, I want to sneak away and leave everyone behind. No company needed, thank you very much.”

“Have you tried? Have you asked her to take your mark?”

Roch shook his head. “Man, I been trying for years.”

* * *

Over the next two days, Rhys learned just what an effective military commander Patiala could be. She rallied her army of scribes and singers to create a paradise of flowers, draped tents, and colorful banners across the lawn.

Further construction on the guest house was halted, and finished rooms were cleaned and furnished to make room for Atawakabiche’s retinue, whatever that ended up being. Simple cottages were decorated lavishly. The kitchen garden was roped off, and a fountain was erected at the base of the stairs leading off the back of the big house.

Rhys watched, gobsmacked, as Havre Hélène changed from a functional, beautiful home to something out of a movie set.

He walked hand in hand with Meera under the oaks where crimson banners hung in the trees. “How is this even possible? Where are all these things coming from? How much more are they going to do?”

“To answer in order, money makes most things possible when you have a lot of it, which I do. Most of these things are coming from New Orleans.” Meera looked up. “Though the banners are from the Tomir. One of my father’s brothers flew in last night from Ahmedabad. And I have no idea how much more my mother has planned. For a woman of simple tastes, she also takes her responsibilities as guardian of the heir of Anamitra very seriously.”

Rhys could tell she was moved and a little overwhelmed. “Everything is beautiful, Meera. I’m honored everyone is going to this trouble for us.”

“It’s not trouble to them, you know.” Meera squeezed his hand. “It’s a celebration. A continuance of Anamitra’s line. The history of Udaipur’s singers will continue for another generation, and the fortress will gain a new scribe and a new family alliance dedicated to its protection.”

“It’s because they love you.” He kissed the top of her head. “It is all those things you mentioned, but it’s also because of love.”

She stopped and turned to him, closing her eyes and taking both his hands in her own. “Are you sure about this, Rhys? Are you sure? This is me. All of this is me. The ritual and the ceremony. The obligations and the responsibilities. Your life as you know it ends when you take me as a mate. We will be able to travel, but we will ultimately be bound to Udaipur, a place you have never even visited.”

“It sounds beautiful. I hear there are lakes.”

“Please, be serious. You need to know—”

“I know everything I need to,” Rhys said. “I will be your partner, Meera. In all things. This is what we were created for.”

She threw her arms around him and held him tightly. Rhys gripped her with both hands.

Sha ne’ev reshon.

My beloved.

He didn’t want to lie to her. The ceremony and weight of responsibility were intimidating even if the celebration was a joyful one. The guest list had been the first surprise.

Rhys had been expecting only the scribes and singers already at the haven. After all, secrecy was still essential even if the chief of the Uwachi Toma was going to attend. But his mother and father were being flown in, which would make for an awkward family reunion considering they’d never heard their son mention Meera’s name and they hadn’t seen him in decades. Damien and Sari were flying in from Europe. Malachi and Ava had been invited, but since Rhys was gone, Malachi couldn’t leave the Istanbul house unattended.

Rhys had no idea how many people were flying in from Udaipur. He’d stopped asking questions when the third massive tent went up behind the house.

Despite his nerves, he felt the love and joy permeating Havre Hélène even as he worried about the darkness spreading closer to the haven.

Rhys had called Zep that morning to check on Grigori activity at the scribe house in New Orleans. The news wasn’t reassuring. Zep’s information seemed to back up Roch. Attacks in the city had picked up, and nests of Grigori seemed to spring into existence fully formed. The human news called it a crime wave.

They had no idea what was really going on.

The scribe house in Houston had sent reinforcements, but no one seemed to be looking for the source of the problem. They were tamping down sparks without looking for the source of the fire.

The Fallen was on the move. Bozidar and his sons were pushing their way to the sea, eager to flex their power for some unknown reason.

And where the hell had Vasu disappeared to?

Rhys just hoped he and Meera would be able to finish their mating ceremony and learn and practice the magic they would need before danger reached their door.