Lying on her bed, Clio stared blankly at the ceiling. She rolled the small pink gemstone between her finger and thumb, feeling each imperfection in its surface.

In terms of skill, the smaller the receptacle of a weaving, the more difficult the spell was to create. After perfecting a spell’s design in a disk, Lyre would eventually compact the weaving into a smaller form to fit in a gemstone or steel marble. The weaver didn’t weave it that small, of course. They wove a layer at a reasonable size, condensed it into the lodestone, wove the next layer, condensed it, and so on.

The gem held layer upon layer of fine weaving. When she examined it with her asper, she didn’t see the literal tiny threads, but a version in her head she could parse piece by piece. Illusions were difficult, though. She couldn’t tell what the illusion would look like, only that it was an illusion.

This one was constructed so it could be activated and deactivated, and the threads recharged with magic by the creator as the stores inside the stone grew low. She could have activated it when she first brought it back to the inn, but she hadn’t—despite having more than enough time. Countless hours of darkness had passed, then most of the bright Underworld day. Outside the window, the flare of sunlight was drawing closer to the edge of the planet in the sky, and in another hour, it would slip out of sight—the beginning of the eclipse.

Her first cycle in the night realm was almost complete. Seventy-two hours. It felt like weeks had passed, not three days.

She turned the stone over again. The last half-cycle had crawled by in utter monotony. She, Kassia, and Eryx had been stuck at the inn while Madrigal worked on her commission. He wouldn’t have a functional weaving to show her for at least another cycle. After so long in their room, she was almost looking forward to the event at the Hades palace.

Rocking her head to one side, she scowled at her flowing nymph costume, carefully cleaned and spread across the bed covers, waiting for her to put it on. Seeing as she hadn’t thought to bring a formal evening gown on her spell-stealing hell trip, it would be her outfit for the event.

She held the gemstone up to the light and watched it sparkle. Curiosity burned, but she didn’t activate the spell to see what the illusion was. Beneath her curiosity, a leaden weight sat deep in her gut.

Closing her fingers over the stone, she rolled onto her stomach and pressed her face into the pillow. She shouldn’t have invaded Lyre’s privacy. Aside from Kassia and Eryx, he was the closest thing she’d had to an ally here. The tentative trust between them, the growing camaraderie … why had she ruined it?

Pushing herself up, she rubbed her face. It didn’t matter. She would never see him again anyway. She would go home to Irida, and he would have to figure out his own problems. Their worlds did not overlap—figuratively or literally. She needed to focus on what was important.

Tossing the gemstone onto the pillow, she stripped out of her clothes and donned her costume. She was fixing her braid into a bun at the back of her head when the main door to the suite opened and closed.

“Finally,” Kassia said, her impatient voice carrying through the closed bedroom door. “Where did you go?”

“Just wandering around,” Eryx answered nonchalantly.

“You do a lot of wandering whenever Clio is sleeping. Where have you been going?”

“Scoping the nearby area. In case of an emergency. It’s good to know your way around.”

“What kind of emergency are you expecting? If things go so wrong that we’re fleeing through the streets, we’re screwed anyway. We’d never make it out of Asphodel alive, and even if we did, we don’t know where to find a single ley line in this realm.”

Clio swallowed nervously at the bleak assessment.

“Your optimism is heartening, Kass,” Eryx said with cheerful sarcasm. “Don’t worry so much. I just like to know what sort of ground I’m standing on.”

Kassia grunted. “Are you ready for this event? I hope you can hold your tongue better than your first time in Chrysalis.”

“Of course I’m ready. We’ll have to keep our ears open for any interesting tidbits. A gathering of Underworld leaders—who knows if an Overworlder has ever been privy to such a thing. It’s exciting!”

“Not the word I would use. I’m already worried about Clio. A single Overworlder in that viper’s nest? No way she’ll go unnoticed.”

“We’ll be beside her the whole time. We can look threatening enough when we want to, you know.”

“What if we have to defend her? What happens then?”

“I doubt Samael would allow something like that. He invited her, after all.”

“Unless that’s exactly why he invited her—so something would happen.”

“That doesn’t even make sense. You’re being paranoid, Kass.”

Clio tied the last long, billowy sleeve into place and pushed the door open. Kassia and Eryx stood facing each other, their terse postures at odds with their seemingly casual conversation. Clio glanced between them in confusion.

Eryx stepped back and smiled. “Are you ready? There’s a carriage waiting for you at the front doors.”

“There is?” Clio yelped. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“It’s better to be fashionably late than early, isn’t it?”

Grumbling, she took a step toward them, then hesitated. “Just a second.”

Returning to the bedroom, she scooped the gemstone off her pillow and tucked it into the hidden pocket in the wide belt of fabric around her waist.

“Okay,” she said, rushing back into the main room. “I’m ready.”

Kassia and Eryx wore their red leather ensembles, and with their expressions equally grim, Clio had to agree with Eryx: they did look threatening. As they headed down to the waiting carriage, she was more grateful than ever that she had the two of them with her.

Sneaking around Chrysalis had been dangerous, but she suspected her visit to the Hades residence, even with an invitation, would be a whole new level of hazardous.

* * *

Clio had expected a room full of politicians. She hadn’t expected a room full of literal monsters.

Standing beside a long table, she tried not to fidget. Kassia and Eryx hovered on either side of her, glaring warningly at anyone who glanced her way. With her white, blue, and green outfit, she was impossible to miss in the dimly lit room full of muted colors. And she was more than ready for the Underworlders to stop trying to talk to her.

The rail-thin man with eerie champagne-pink eyes who’d introduced himself as the Warlord of Torngasuk—a territory she’d never heard of before—hadn’t been that bad. He was now speaking with a pair of women with leathery faces, tangled manes of gray hair, and huge feathered wings folded against their backs. Their feet ended in bird-like talons that clicked whenever they walked. Clio had already talked to them—matrons of the harpies, a notoriously mercenary caste.

They weren’t even scary compared to other castes. Like the towering black-furred beasts that resembled the human idea of werewolves. Or the trio of creatures with female torsos that changed to snake bodies below the waist—or Clio thought they were female. It was hard to tell.

Then there was the man with skin that looked like stone. And the man with bug eyes and a scorpion tail, complete with the stabby, venomous part on the end. Oh, and how could she forget the twelve-foot-tall minotaur with curving horns and hooves the size of dinner plates?

At this point, she was just trying not to stare too much.

To be fair, over half the guests were in glamour and appeared no more threatening than an odd bunch of humans. Many had introduced themselves with perfect manners and questioned her—politely—about her intentions. They wanted to get on the “political allies” bandwagon with Hades, a theory supported by several not-so-polite comments about the Ra family. The enemy of their enemy was their friend.

Wearing glamour wasn’t about good manners though. Like everything daemons did, it was a power play. The monstrous guests might look more frightening, but the truly powerful daemons were in glamour. Not only did they appear more reserved and sophisticated, but deliberately weakening themselves with glamour was a clear statement that they weren’t afraid of anyone at the event.

It was mostly those daemons who’d approached her, and she couldn’t fault their etiquette. But the guests were growing restless, and she knew why. Samael had yet to appear at his own party. According to other attendees, something had delayed him, but he would join them soon. She couldn’t decide whether she was anticipating his appearance—she wanted to see the face that went with the fearsome reputation—or dreading it.

“Well,” Eryx muttered, “this is boring.”

“Shush,” Kassia hissed under her breath. “Be glad it’s boring.”

“I haven’t heard a single interesting bit of gossip.” He glanced across Clio and Kassia. “I’m going to wander around. Find the bathroom, maybe.”

“Eryx—”

He grinned and slipped away, leaving Clio and Kassia standing alone.

“That chimera,” Kassia growled.

Turning to the table, Clio surveyed the spread of unfamiliar delicacies arranged on simple silver platters. She picked up a bite-size morsel that looked like chocolate and popped it in her mouth. A flavor like extra spicy cinnamon exploded across her tongue and she cringed, tears stinging her eyes. Swallowing hastily—it burned all the way down to her stomach—she considered the other foods with increased wariness.

“What do you think?” Kassia whispered.

“It’s not what I expected,” Clio admitted, peering around the hall.

The tall windows that lined one side of the spacious room offered an expansive view of Asphodel’s lights in the darkness. Intricate designs were carved into the round pillars, rich fabrics draped the walls, and beautiful food in artistic arrangements covered the long tables. A musician in the corner played a somber ballade on an unfamiliar string instrument.

Around the room’s shadowy perimeter, daemons of a different sort from the well-dressed guests lurked. Like Clio, some attendees had arrived with bodyguards, but unlike her, they’d mostly left their protectors to wait out of the way. Though none were visibly armed, they all carried an aura of careful watchfulness and suppressed threat.

In the shadowy gap between a pillar and the wall, two daemons dressed in black waited, their sleeveless shirts baring well-muscled arms adorned with dark bracers. At a glance, they didn’t seem much different from the other watching guards, but those two … they oozed danger.

Kassia followed her gaze, then nudged Clio with her elbow. “Don’t stare.”

Clio quickly focused on the table. “I wonder who they are?”

“I couldn’t tell you who anyone else here is, but I have a good idea about those two.”

“Really? How?”

“The older one with the scar on his face? Every chimera who does the Nereid apprenticeship knows about him: Raum, the draconian assassin.”

“An assassin?” A chill ran down her spine at the fearful hush in her friend’s voice. “Right here at the party?”

“Draconians are mercenary warriors. They do everything from killing people to covert ops to breaking kneecaps. ‘Jack of all trades’ soldiers-for-hire. Raum’s reputation is well known among Overworlders. We suspected he works for Hades, but I guess this confirms it.”

The older of the two daemons had wavy wine-red hair and a long scar down his left cheek, visible even at a distance. His expression was ice cold and harder than steel, more like a statue than a living person. His companion, a younger version of him without the scar, had darker hair braided against the side of his head with a red tie that hung over one shoulder. He was almost as expressionless.

“Why is he so well known?” she whispered.

Kassia flexed her shoulders. “Raum has killed at least six Ra family members in the last four years—that we’ve heard about. Probably more. The list of assassinations and attacks he’s tied to is about five pages long.”

“Holy crap. What about the other one?”

“My guess is that’s Ash, his protégé. A few years younger, not as much of a reputation yet, but he’s building a similar one even faster than his mentor.”

Clio squinted at them, then realized what she was doing and dropped her gaze back to the table. “I don’t think the second one can be who you think he is. He looks my age, maybe even a year younger. How could he be that notorious already?”

“It doesn’t take long when they start killing before they’re done training.”

Shuddering, Clio turned her back on the two assassins and chewed on her thumbnail nervously.

“It’s always bugged me,” Kassia muttered. “With their skills, they could work for anyone. Why the Hades family?”

“Why not?” Clio asked with a shrug. “Hades probably pays the best.”

“A few centuries ago, Hades exterminated the draconians’ ruling family and most of their population, assimilated their territory, and scattered the survivors across the Underworld.” Folding her arms, Kassia frowned disapprovingly. “The draconians must not have much pride as a caste if they’re taking money from the same family that almost wiped them out.”

Clio huffed. “Have I mentioned I hate this place?”

“Asphodel?”

“The Underworld. The darkness in this realm harbors so much ugliness.” Her thoughts drifted from the draconian mercenaries to a certain incubus. “Nothing here is what it seems.”

“Once Madrigal finishes your prototype, we’re gone. It’ll be enough for Bastian. It’s more than foul enough to suit him.”

Clio grimaced and adjusted the long sleeve of her costume. The design Madrigal had proposed made her feel dirty just thinking about it. A sacrificial soldier would carry the lethal spell into the enemy force. It would explode, killing enemy combatants and infecting others with the same weaving. Then, later, the infected soldiers would detonate as well, killing and infecting even more victims who’d then carry the lethal weave deeper into the enemy forces.

“It’s foul, that’s for sure,” Clio mumbled as she swallowed back faint nausea. “Not exactly war-ending, but definitely war-deterring. I’m glad Bastian probably won’t have to use it.”

Kassia gave her a strange look. “What do you mean he won’t have to use it?”

“The spells I bring home are supposed to give us enough of an advantage to deter Ra from attacking, and we wouldn’t have to fight a single battle. That’s what Bastian said, remember?”

Kassia pressed her lips together, then sighed. “Clio, that’s not how it works.”

“What do you mean?”

“In war, a deterrent only works if the enemy knows we have it. The only way they’ll know we have it is when we use it.” Sympathy softened her crimson eyes. “Whatever spells you give Bastian, Irida will use at least once. Probably more.”

“But …” Clio shook her head. “But Bastian said …”

“He might hope we won’t need it, but if Ra is serious about invading Irida, Bastian and the king will use every weapon at their disposal, including whatever spells you bring them.”

Clio’s hands clenched. How naive was she? Of course Irida would have to use the spell. Otherwise, how could it frighten Ra? It wasn’t like Irida could just send Ra a letter saying, “Hey, we have scary spells, so don’t mess with us!” Ra wouldn’t fear Irida’s magic until they saw it in action.

Her gorge rose. Would Bastian sacrifice one of his own people, a loyal soldier, to use Madrigal’s spell? Would he commit a war crime by killing wounded soldiers or civilians?

She knew the answer. To protect his homeland, Bastian would use any and every tool at his disposal—including his half-sister.

She slipped her fingers into the hidden pocket of her belt and pulled out Lyre’s small pink gemstone. If he had done her commission, would he have proposed a spell like Madrigal’s? He’d tried to get her to purchase more typical, straightforward battle spells.

“Incoming,” Kassia whispered.

A daemon, flanked by six flunkies, bore down on her with an oily grin. His huge bulk strained the buttons of his shirt. Daemons were naturally athletic and seeing one so overweight was a shock. It took extreme overindulgence for a daemon to end up that obese.

“You must be the Irida envoy,” the daemon said in a deep, unpleasantly husky voice. His dark eyes were like little pits of coal above his sagging cheeks. “Clio, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Clutching the gemstone, she tried not to stare as his three chins jiggled with each word he spoke.

“I am Suhul, warlord of the daeva. Are you familiar with our caste?”

She wanted to move away from him, but she was trapped between his entourage and the table behind her. “I’m afraid not.”

“Not to worry, my dear. There are over a thousand Underworld castes and nearly three hundred established territories, plus as many unofficial ones.”

“A thousand?” she repeated weakly.

“Many never cross worlds, so I wouldn’t imagine their names are ever spoken outside the Underworld.” His greasy smile returned. “Your experience tonight is unique for an Overworlder. Over seventy castes are represented here tonight, did you know?”

“Seventy?”

“Indeed.” He leaned closer and she struggled not to recoil as a sour smell wafted over her. “It’s a highly varied gathering, from esteemed reapers and daevas like myself, to the mercenary harpies and draconians.”

On the last word, his gaze darted to the two draconian assassins and he licked his lips before focusing on Clio again. “Have you been introduced to everyone yet, Clio, my dear? I would be happy to act as your guide and informant.”

Clio glanced pleadingly at Kassia, but her friend just stared stonily at Suhul, no more able to get Clio out of the conversation than she could herself.

“Who would you like to meet? I saw the harpies talking to you earlier—you can certainly do for better company than them.” He swiveled his round frame. “How about—oh, but you would have met them, since you’re here for business with Chrysalis.”

“Who?” she asked.

Shifting back a step, he gestured toward two men with pale blond hair speaking to a tall woman. One of the blond men turned and Clio’s breath caught. Lyre. But no, it was another doppelganger—another brother, this one with shorter, neater hair than Lyre’s and an expression like he’d never smiled in his life.

Then the second blond man turned, and Clio gasped. Not a doppelganger, because this incubus was distinctly older, his hair paler and tied in a short tail at the nape of his neck.

“Ah,” Suhul said, watching her. “So you haven’t met them yet.”

“Who …?”

“Lyceus Rysalis, and his eldest son, Andante.”

“Rysalis,” she muttered. “Chrysalis … Rysalis.”

“Exactly, yes.” Suhul tugged his shirt down his bulging belly. “Most incubi are worse than useless, but the Rysalis family is quite a different case. The bloodline has produced some of the most famous—and infamous—weavers in Underworld history. The family is very wealthy, though that wealth is tied to Hades now.”

“They didn’t always work for Hades?” she asked cautiously, watching Lyre’s father. Lyceus didn’t look old enough to have sired adult children—let alone seven of them—but daemons didn’t always age like humans. The family’s patriarch appeared to be in his late twenties, but on closer inspection, she realized that impression was based entirely on his demeanor. Physically, he looked no older than his son beside him. Did incubi age at all?

“Oh no.” Suhul rocked back on his heels, delighted to show off his knowledge. “With their wealth and unique magic, the Rysalis family used to rival the main families for political power. Then—oh, about six centuries ago? Seven?—the Hades warlord struck a deal with them, and the whole Rysalis clan moved here and set up shop as Chrysalis.”

“Why would they do that?” she asked. “Why give up their independence?”

“Back then, they didn’t specialize in militaristic spellcraft the way they do now. One small family, even with the best weavers in the three worlds, was vulnerable, and their wealth could only buy them so much protection. Hades provided a safe place to work and do business, and all the helpers they could need.”

“And in return, they make whatever magic Hades wants?”

“Precisely. Over the centuries, Chrysalis became more of an arm of Hades than its own entity, but it’s still powerful.” Suhul leaned toward her with another leer. “I can see you’re a clever one, my dear. I would be happy to educate you further on Underworld history and politics.”

“A—a generous offer,” she stammered, cringing back and bumping the table. The gemstone slipped from her hand, hit the floor, and rolled out of sight. “Who is the woman Lyceus is talking to?”

Annoyance at the change of subject rippled over Suhul’s face, but he glanced over at the female daemon speaking with the two incubi. Her raven-black hair was pulled into a severe ponytail, and her curvaceous figure was clad in a mix of black fabric and even blacker leather that didn’t seem appropriate for … well, for any occasion.

“That is Eisheth Hades, a cousin of Samael’s,” Suhul answered. “A high-ranking noblewoman. She’s also the bastille’s warden, and that position commands a certain … deference.”

“The bastille?” Clio repeated in confusion.

“The, ah, prison here in Asphodel. It has a reputation …” Giving his head a shake, he stepped closer, his swollen stomach almost touching her. “As I was saying, perhaps you might like to visit my territory before you leave the Underworld. Asphodel is rather lacking in luxuries, you know. You would enjoy a visit with my people, I am positive.”

Don’t blast a warlord. Don’t blast a warlord. She chanted the words in her head as she again looked at Kassia for help. Her bodyguard straightened and raised her voice.

“Warlord, sir, is that daemon hailing you?”

“Huh? Who?” Suhul stepped back from Clio and turned, searching for the nonexistent daemon.

Kassia tilted her head, urging Clio to duck behind her. But that wouldn’t stop Suhul. Looking wildly for an escape, Clio couldn’t see anywhere to hide. And she wasn’t leaving until she found Lyre’s gemstone. She couldn’t lose it, not here. She glanced at the table, draped in red fabric that almost touched the floor, and a stupid idea popped into her head.

Stupid, but the best idea she had.

With an apologetic grimace at Kassia, Clio dropped into a crouch and ducked behind the tablecloth just as Suhul’s feet pivoted back.

“Eh? Where did she go?”

“The Irida envoy had to step out for a moment,” Kassia answered stiffly, sounding irritated.

“But—but where …” His feet turned. “Hmph. Is this some kind of Overworld magic? Vanishing on the spot?”

Crouched uncomfortably, Clio pulled a face, grateful it hadn’t occurred to Suhul that she was under the table—probably because he wouldn’t fit. It would have been beyond embarrassing for him to catch her hiding like a child. Maybe this was a bad idea, but one more lascivious grin from that creep and she would have tossed her dinner on his feet.

Ignoring the conversation above, she searched around until a sparkle caught her eye. Retrieving Lyre’s gem, she stuffed it back into her hidden pocket and hunched her shoulders. How would she get out again without anyone noticing her? Maybe she would just stay here until the event was over.

With an annoyed grumble, Suhul stalked away, his heavy footsteps vibrating the floor. Clio huffed out a breath—and heard another small puff of breath.

She twisted around, staring in confusion. Barely audible over the competing conversations was another huffy sound and a faint scuffling. Brow furrowed, Clio crept along the floor and peered between the legs where one table butted up against another.

Her eyes widened. She wasn’t alone in her hiding spot.