“He hides on the river where the water bends to—”

The Grigori had died seconds before he could reveal anything important. Rhys wondered if that was the exact reason two of the soldiers had hung back. Did Bozidar know what Meera could do? It was an unnerving thought.

Vasu knew.

Suspicion licked at Rhys’s mind, but he didn’t want to accuse the angel. Not unless he was sure.

He knew Meera was always going to be a target, but he felt wholly unprepared to guard her on his own, even in her cozy house with all the wards refreshed. He’d called the New Orleans scribes and asked them to patrol the neighborhood for the night, though he’d avoided telling them exactly where Meera’s house was.

He was becoming nearly as paranoid as Damien and Gabriel. He trusted no one but his brothers. He wished he could spirit Meera away to Istanbul or pack her off back to Udaipur.

Something very big and very bad was coming, and it wasn’t paranoia if they were really after you.

“Rhys.” Meera slid a hand along his shoulders. “Calm down. No one is going to get through mine and my father’s wards. I don’t even feel anyone close.”

What about Vasu?

“It was too close in the church,” he said quietly.

She sat across from him at the small kitchen table while a pot of soup simmered on the stove. “Don’t do this.”

He wiped a hand across his forehead. “Then tell me how I’m supposed to react.”

“You’re supposed to have confidence that I can defend myself.” Her voice was low and steady. “You’re supposed to remember I’m a very powerful singer with defensive spells I’m well practiced with. That I was born of and trained by two warriors and have good situational awareness.”

“He almost shot you. I didn’t even sense them.”

“That’s partly a consequence of the spell I was using, and I should have warned you about that,” Meera said, rising to check the soup. “It’s geared toward Grigori, but it can have a muddling effect on Irin as well. You’ll be more aware next time.”

“Next time?”

She turned to him with a grave expression. “You won’t lock me in that fortress. I won’t allow it.”

Twin instincts battled in his heart. He wanted to protect her desperately. For the first time he truly understood scribes who had wanted to lock their mates up in retreats before the Rending.

If she was guarded.

If she was away from danger.

If if if…

“I would give you anything,” he began. “But Meera—”

“Stop before you make a very big mistake.” She turned off the stove and stepped toward him. “I have agreed to take you as my mate, not my keeper. I have no keeper. I have no master.” Her voice vibrated with barely controlled anger. “And I will never take one. Not even one designed by heaven. So stop that train of thought before it even starts, Rhys.”

“You’ve been a target your entire life. You’re going to be an even bigger target once you become the librarian of Irina martial magic.” He stared at her. “Don’t you have any fear at all?”

“Of course I do, but if you’re wondering about tonight, no. I wasn’t afraid in the church. I don’t operate like that. I would be afraid if I didn’t know what to do, but I did know what to do.” She turned back to the stove. “Also, Vasu didn’t even show up, so you know I wasn’t in any real danger.”

The angel suddenly appeared, sitting on the counter and swinging his legs. He looked like a teenager again. “That’s true.”

“You.” Rhys gritted his teeth. “Is he going to just show up like that everywhere we go now? Like an annoying stray cat? What do you know about this angel, Vasu?”

Vasu slid off the counter and shifted into a large gold-and-black striped tiger before he padded to Rhys and bared his teeth.

Meera kicked her foot back, making the tiger grunt and turn. “Stop. Don’t be annoying, Vasu. This house is too small for that form.”

The angel shifted into a medium-sized cat with grey and ochre markings Rhys thought might have been a clouded leopard. The leopard sat on the table in front of him, flicking an ear and staring.

Meera shoved him. “Go away. You’re just trying to annoy him now.”

Vasu bared his teeth. Rhys bared his right back. Petulant? Perhaps. The angel was acting like a child, and Rhys had suspicions.

“What do you know about Bozidar?” he asked the cat under his breath. “Is this you? Why is he showing up now?”

The leopard said nothing.

“What are we going to do about Damien and Sari?” Meera asked.

“Pick them up in the morning and take them back to the haven,” Rhys said. “At this point I’m relieved they’re coming. They’ve fought more angels than anyone else I’ve known, and Damien wields a black blade.”

Meera nodded. “Good. That’s good.”

Rhys could feel her sorrow like it was sitting under his skin. “Meera, I know you hated what happened back at the church. I know you’re not eager for conflict. But think of it this way—if we can kill Bozidar, we free his children.”

The tension in her forehead relaxed. “I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

“This angel has thousands of children scattered across this part of the world. Free from his influence, many of them might choose to live peaceful lives. Fighting and killing this angel could free thousands.” And rid the world of one of the most vicious angels in history.

“Vasu?” Meera called.

The angel appeared in his teenage form on the counter again. “Yes?”

“Do you know this angel, this Bozidar?”

The young man swung his legs. “A little.”

Liar. Rhys could see it in his face. The angel was hiding something. What a surprise.

Meera asked, “And? What do you know? Is he an ally of yours?”

“No.” Vasu shrugged. “Kill him. I have no loyalty to him or any other Fallen.”

“He’s not an ally?”

Vasu laughed. “Bozidar doesn’t have allies. He has minions. He only aligns himself with others until they’re not useful to him anymore. Then he usually kills them.” The angel watched Meera from the corner of his eye. “His death would sorrow no one, not even his human consorts.”

Rhys narrowed his eyes on Vasu. “For once I agree with him.” But why do you want this angel dead?

“Fine.” She reached up to a shelf where she grabbed three bowls. “Then we’re all in agreement. We must kill this angel.”

Rhys saw the look of triumph in Vasu’s eyes, but Meera’s back was turned.

What are you about, troublemaker?

Not that he objected to killing Bozidar. Rhys had been telling the truth. Killing the angel would free thousands of Grigori and kareshta. That was purely good.

But there was nothing pure about the expression on Vasu’s face in that moment.

“Vasu,” Meera asked, “are you staying for dinner?”

Rhys glared at the Fallen and shook his head.

Vasu turned to him and smiled. “I would be delighted, Meera Bai.”

* * *

Damien and Sari were standing on the edge of the sidewalk at the airport in the morning, two tall and lethal sentinels in a river of unsuspecting humans. Damien’s long hair was twisted at the back of his head, and Sari’s blond hair flowed around her shoulders. They were both wearing sunglasses and had a foot on their luggage, watching the cars that drove past.

Rhys pulled up in Meera’s compact and crawled out of the driver’s seat. “You two look like European rock musicians.”

Damien frowned. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.” He put his hand on the small of Sari’s back. “We tried to pack light, but it is a formal mating celebration, so we brought more than usual.”

Sari hooked an arm around Rhys’s neck. “Congratulations, brother. I’m so pleased for you. Meera is an incredible woman.”

He opened the trunk of the car and loaded Sari’s suitcase. “Slight change of plans for your visit. Still doing a mating ceremony with all the formalities and rather epic food, but we’re also hunting and killing an archangel while you’re here.”

Damien looked up from his phone. Sari visibly perked up.

“Interesting,” she said. “That’s much better than formal dinners.”

“Oh, I’m quite certain we’re not getting out of the formal dinners,” Rhys said. “We’ll just be wearing weapons while we eat.”

“Bozidar?” Damien threw his suitcase in the trunk and climbed in the back seat. “Malachi mentioned growing activity in your reports, but there wasn’t any mention of the angel himself.”

Rhys got in the driver’s seat while Sari sat across from him. They quickly merged into the exiting traffic from the airport. “Meera and I were followed last night. The Grigori who attacked us said Bozidar was already in the city.”

“Anything more than that?” Sari asked.

“I think Vasu has orchestrated all this, but I’m not sure why.”

“Him again?” Damien muttered. “That angel needs a hobby.”

“He’s oddly attached to my mate,” Rhys grumbled. “Future mate. And she doesn’t hate him, so I’m making an effort not to throw daggers at him when he shows up.”

Sari smiled sweetly. “Rhys, I never thought I’d see the day you were mated. I was quite certain you were too cranky for any woman, but I can see Meera has softened you.”

“Do be quiet, or I’ll sic Meera’s annoying angel on you.”

“Yes,” Damien said. “I see the glow of love around him. An almost Zen-like peace. It’s extraordinary.”

“Listen,” Rhys said. “You both just came off a plane, so I know you’re not armed. I’ve been itching to stab something since last night. Please, please give me an excuse.”

Sari looked over her shoulder. “He’s really got that diplomatic mindset now, doesn’t he? He’s going to do so well in Udaipur.”

“Almost as well as you do in Rěkaves, my dove.”

Rhys smiled. “And how is your mother-in-law, Sari?”

“Probably as well-armed as yours.” She scratched his cheek. “You should keep the beard. I hear they’re all the rage in Udaipur.”

“Tell us more about Bozidar,” Damien said. “What has prompted this move?”

“I don’t know anything for certain, but Roch—one of the scribes in the haven—has been getting reports from various scribes scattered around this area. There are quite a few brothers not attached to either the Houston or the New Orleans house, and they’ve been noticing growing activity for a few weeks. Which, according to Meera, was right around the time Vasu found her here in the US.”

“If this is some conflict between two Fallen, why are we getting involved?” Damien asked.

“Because we don’t know for certain if that’s the reason,” Rhys said. “Bozidar might simply see an opportunity. A city with no real watcher and a rich hunting ground of tourists. It’s to the New Orleans scribes’ credit that the city has been peaceful so far. They don’t get many attacks.”

“Or do they and they’re simply not noticed?” Sari asked. “New Orleans has had several natural disasters in the past twenty years, has it not?”

“That’s a good point. The city has a large tourist and transient population.”

“So this problem may have been growing for some time, just going unnoticed by human authorities.”

“Anything is possible, but activity has definitely ratcheted up in the past few weeks, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

“You always were a suspicious one.” Damien tapped him on the shoulder. “Causing problems wherever you go.”

“If my watchers would give me more peaceable assignments, I might take a vacation.” Rhys glanced in the rearview mirror. “Why did you send me here, Damien? Was it to find the Wolf, or was this an elaborate matchmaking scheme?”

“Are you complaining about the results of either?” Sari asked. “As far as I can tell, you’ve found a legendary warrior with a trove of Irina martial magic, discovered your reshon, and will probably kill an angel before this is all finished.” She clapped his shoulder in a friendly pat worthy of a heavyweight wrestler. “All in all, one of the most successful missions we’ve ever orchestrated.”

“That did not answer my question.” Rhys glanced in the rearview mirror, but Damien had his eyes on Sari, watching her with a smile.

“Take us to meet your woman,” he said. “We’ll plan for battle in the morning, but tonight we should celebrate.”

* * *

Maarut had driven into the city to take Meera out to the haven, so Rhys drove Damien and Sari to the edges of the wards, passing the old house at the bend of the river. The old man was gone, but a dog perched on the edge of the porch. His tongue hung down and his tail wagged as Rhys’s car drove past.

Patiala greeted them at the edge of the wards with a wave from the back of a small four-wheeled vehicle they used on the farm.

“Sari.” She dismounted from the four-wheeler and walked over to embrace the taller woman. “Gabriel’s fist, it’s so good to finally meet you in person.”

“My friend, I am full of joy for you and Maarut.”

Patiala smiled at Rhys. “It was a good recommendation. I knew they would be suited from what you said, but to be her reshon… It was far more than we could hope for.”

“Well, that settles that.” Damien nodded. “You and Meera were definitely set up.”

“So you’re feigning ignorance of this?” The corner of Rhys’s mouth turned up. “I can’t be angry. Could you?”

“Considering how many matings my mother tried to arrange for me, I want to say yes, but she’s your reshon, brother. There is no greater happiness on this earth.”

Sari climbed back in the car after a quiet exchange with Patiala, then with a softly whispered spell, they drove into the haven, Rhys shrugging off the now-familiar feel of old earth magic that guarded the property.

They drove under the oak trees, now even more decorated with colorful banners and flowers. Someone had created a spell that made tiny gold petals fall from the trees on either side of the alley.

“What joyful magic,” Sari said with a smile. “Rhys, this is stunning.”

“Are you regretting our quiet mating in Norway, my love? It was nothing like this.” Damien chuckled. “Had we gone back to Rěkaves—”

“There would have been ceremonies for days,” Sari said. “Rhys, one of the sabetes found her mate last fall. She was the eldest instructor and Katalin insisted on a full mating celebration for her.”

“The castle and village were partying for a week,” Damien said.

“Over a week,” Sari added. “Nine days for the formal celebration.”

“It was fun.”

“It was a lot of work,” Sari said. “And all the children had special dances during the feast.”

When Sari or Damien talked about the Grigori children they were fostering at Rěkaves, their manner changed completely. They doted. That was the only word for it.

“Well, I have a feeling that pomp and ceremony will be my good friends going into the future,” Rhys said. “My mother will find all this most amusing.”

“Are they here yet?”

“They arrive tonight.”

He pulled the car up to a field that had been designated for vehicles and got out, searching for the woman at the center of the maelstrom. He saw Meera on the back porch of the house, talking with her father.

Heaven above, he adored her.

“And when does the Wolf arrive?” Sari asked.

“She said four days, which would be tomorrow morning,” Rhys said. “But how she’s arriving is a mystery to everyone but her.” He glanced at the two scribes hustling toward them with a wave. “I think these gentlemen will take your luggage to the cottage Patiala set up for you. Let’s go meet Meera.”

He walked across the lawn, marveling at all the decorations. Flowers and fountains seemed to have sprung up like magic—they probably had sprung up by magic—and the heady scent of freesia filled the air.

“Rhys!” Meera spotted him and broke into a huge smile. “You’re earlier than I thought you’d be.” She ran down the steps and into his embrace. “Traffic must have been easy.”

There. Safe. Surrounded. He let out a huge breath, not failing to notice the three new Tomir warriors who had joined Maarut on the porch. They had come for the mating celebration and decided to stay at Maarut’s request.

Rhys was decidedly in favor of that. Meera, less so.

“Sha ne’ev reshon.” Rhys kept his arm around Meera. “This is my former watcher, Damien, and his mate, Sari.”

“We are also his friends,” Damien said, taking Meera’s outstretched hand and bowing over it. At the first touch of his hand to Meera’s, Damien looked up with wide eyes. “Soma…? Does he know?” Damien glanced at Rhys.

Meera nodded. “He does.”

Damien looked at Sari. “Did you know?”

She smiled softly. “Some secrets are not mine to tell, my love. You know this.”

Damien let out a long breath and fell to his knees before Meera. Tears filled his eyes. “Forgive me. It has been over seven hundred years since I have been in the presence of a keeper.”

“Rise, brother. I am just a woman.”

“No. You are much more than that.” Damien rose and wiped his eyes unashamedly. “Does the light still burn in this house, sister?”

“It does, and you are welcome to its light, you and your own.”

Damien bent and kissed both Meera’s cheeks reverently. “I am honored to be here, both for my friend and to meet you.”

“As I am honored to meet you.” Meera smiled up at Rhys. “My reshon speaks very highly of you.”

“I find that hard to believe considering how headstrong he’s always been. Rhys of Glast is the absolute worst kind of scribe to command. Stubborn. Arrogant. Filled with a vast well of self-importance—”

“I think you mean confident in my own opinions.” Rhys pulled Damien away from Meera. “I’m almost sure that’s what you meant to say.”

Sari pursed her lips. “No, I’m fairly sure I’ve also heard him say—”

“Aren’t you tired and needing to freshen up?” Rhys asked. “Let’s go feed you. Maybe then you’ll stop talking.”

“Oh no.” Meera linked her arm with Damien’s. “Please, tell me more.”

* * *

Rhys was sleeping that night when he heard the knock on his cottage door. He rose and rubbed his eyes as he opened it.

Maarut was standing at the door. “Dress in your linen clothes. Patiala says the Wolf is at the border of the wards.”

Without another word, Rhys nodded and combed his fingers through his hair. He dressed hastily in the ceremonial linen tunic and trousers, walking barefoot out of the cottage and onto the grass. He followed the line of torches, not to the formal alley that led to the river, but back to the vast sugarcane fields at the back of the property. He could hear drums beating in the distance and the sound of foxes howling.

Ata’s retinue?

Rhys found Meera in the predawn light and took her hand as the sound of drums grew closer. They knelt on the grass with Patiala and Maarut on one side, Rhys’s parents standing quietly on the other.

Angharad and Edmund had arrived late in the night, only a few hours before, and he’d barely greeted them before they’d begged for sleep, but seeing his mother and father that morning, dressed in the linen robes he remembered from his childhood, he was utterly grateful they were there. They were meeting a legend of Irina history, a warrior come back from the dead.

Scribes and singers filled the lawn, many holding torches to light up the pathways. Others held heavy ropes of flowers to greet their guests. Roch and Sabine were standing to the side, hand in hand, and Rhys was pleased to see Sabine’s expression was serene.

Meera squeezed his hand. “Are you ready?”

“Are you?”

“Yes.” She smiled at him, and he saw a bright blue stone sparkling at the crease of her nose.

“That’s new.”

“Not new, I just don’t wear it often. Do you like it?”

Rhys smiled. “I love it.”

“I do too.”

They turned back to the cane fields where the sound of drums was growing louder. Rhys’s heart pounded with them, with the power he felt permeating the ground.

Such strong magic.

The wolves emerged first, their silver-grey coats glowing in the moonlight. Five of them leapt out of the fields, circling before the gathered scribes and singers before the largest wolf lifted its head and howled. They sat in a semicircle at the edge of the fields, wild sentries waiting for their commander.

The foxes came next, their bright red fur vivid against the green of the fields and the grass. Their green eyes shone in the darkness as they ran back and forth, sniffing the ground and the people gathered.

A few moments later, two drummers emerged from the fields, one male and one female, holding wide drums they beat with bone clappers. Their tattoos were different than Ata’s and reached from their toes to their forehead. The sides of their heads were shaved and tattooed, and the rest of their hair fell down their back in a fountain of long black braids.

Their clothing was made of linen, as all Irin ceremonial clothing was, but instead of white, it was a vivid purple styled into long-sleeved tunics secured by elaborate, inlaid belts.

“Dene Ghal,” Meera whispered. “Native Irin from the north and the west.”

Two singers crossed to the drummers and scattered red flower petals at their feet.

“She invited guests.” Rhys was thrilled and a little intimidated by the power he felt from the man and the woman. “Where did they come from?”

Meera shook her head. “I know a large community of Dene Ghal still lives in the Pacific Northwest and Canada, but it’s a very spread-out group.”

The drums kept on, unceasing, and Rhys heard more footsteps coming through the fields. The Irin who emerged next would have stopped the fiercest Grigori in their tracks. Four spear bearers, three male and one female, stepped forward. The scribes were tattooed with familiar-looking talesm, but the woman bore no tattoos. Her rich brown skin glowed in the torchlight.

Both the men and the woman wore crimson linen, their robes pinned at the shoulders with elaborate gold brooches. More gold was threaded through their hair, which was twisted in intricate coils and ropes around their heads. The spears were also gold and the handles were carved and painted brightly.

“Koconah Citlal,” Meera whispered. “Irin from the south. Related to the Uwachi Toma. You could think of them as distant cousins.”

Four scribes stepped forward and held out necklaces of red flowers. The Koconah Citlal warriors inclined their heads and allowed the flowers to be placed around their necks.

Finally, flanked by the four spear bearers and the two drummers, Ata emerged, but she barely resembled the simple woman they’d met in the bayou.

She was still bare from the waist up, but paint had been added to her tattoos to create a stunning pattern of color. The linen she wore around her waist was bright yellow and secured with a gold belt. And on her head was a tall crown of gold feathers radiating in a half circle reminiscent of the rising sun.

Atawakabiche, last of the Uwachi Toma and Painted Wolf of the Western Lands, was in every inch of her bearing a queen and a warrior.

She walked with a gold spear in her hand, and elaborate ceremonial armor wrapped around her lower legs. Her foxes circled her, yipping excitedly, and the drummers and spear bearers beside her bowed their heads as she passed.

As she approached them, Rhys and Meera rose. Her eyes still held the edge of fury, but her voice was utter politeness.

“Does the fire still burn in this place?” Ata asked in the Old Language.

Meera answered, “It does, and you are welcome to its light. You and your own.”

Patiala stepped forward, handed Ata a rope of flowers, and bowed. “Atawakabiche, sister of Uriel’s blood, you honor my family with your presence. We have prepared the guest house for you, or a comfortable tent if you would prefer.”

Ata looked around at the warriors and animals who followed her. “I think whichever option is closer to the outdoors for my animals.”

“We will prepare the tent.”

“Thank you.”

Ata spotted Sabine and Roch on the edge of the lamplight. She walked over without a word and stood in front of Sabine. Then the fearsome woman leaned forward and whispered something in Sabine’s ear before she turned back to Patiala and Maarut.

Rhys exchanged a glance with Meera, but he had no idea what might have been said. Sabine’s expression was frozen. Roch only looked confused.

Patiala and Maarut grabbed torches and led the visitors to the largest of the tents, an elaborate structure lavishly decorated with silk cushions, large mattresses, and rugs Patiala had pulled out of storage.

“Damn,” Rhys muttered. “I was hoping they would choose the house.”

“So you could move into the tent?” Meera asked.

“Have you seen inside? It’s smashing.”

The guests of honor departed before the sun breached the horizon, and the scribes and singers of Havre Hélène retreated to their beds. Roch and Sabine drifted away before Rhys could find them and ask what had passed between them and Ata.

He took Meera’s hand in his, eyeing her Tomir guards. “Come to my cottage, just for a few hours. I have a feeling today is going to be hectic, and I’d love some time for just the two of us.”

She melted into his chest. “That sounds amazing.” She waved her guards away and slipped her arm around Rhys. “We’re going to have to steal the time when we can.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve spent several hundred years perfecting the ability to be sneaky.”

“I know. Damien and Sari spilled all your secrets.”

“All of them?”

“A badger, Rhys?” She shook her head. “Honestly, what were you thinking?”