Kyra was never sure how she would be received when she visited an Irin scribe house. When she was in Istanbul, she was home. Leo was her North Star. Ava and Renata were her sisters. Max, Rhys, and Malachi the teasing, protective brothers who made life familiar. She’d been raised with her brothers, often the only woman among dozens of men. Her father, the archangel Barak, had other female children, but he kept them apart. It was part of the illusion the Fallen created to convince their daughters, the kareshta, that they were frightening and unstable.

It was a view shared by many of the Irin race, which was why Kyra was never sure of her reception. Renata was welcome anywhere. As one of the revered Irina singers—and a warrior no less—Renata was the hope of the future and nostalgia for the past wrapped in a confident, beautiful package.

Kyra was other. Traveling always made her keenly aware of that.

Max and Renata walked ahead of them in the airport, practiced travelers in almost any situation. They walked with their arms around each other, dark and light, a perfectly balanced couple.

Kyra and Leo walked behind them, following their lead as they passed through customs and immigration. Her paperwork said she was married to the man at her side. In the human world, Leo was her husband and a native Latvian. The officer looked at Kyra. Looked twice. Blinked and looked down at her paperwork one more time before his eyes went to the giant standing behind her.

She was beautiful—even those who hated her admitted that—but she was feared and distrusted by most in the Irin world. With her luminous skin and otherworldly golden eyes, she wouldn’t be mistaken as human by anyone with even a drop of angelic blood. She was marked as other by humans and Irin alike.

Except for Leo.

After they passed through immigration, he slipped his hand into hers and pulled it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles before he pressed it to his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, feel the magic of his talesm alive on his skin. His need for her centered Kyra and refocused her attention. Being nervous was an indulgence. This trip was about Leo.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her.

“I’m fine.” She squeezed his hand. “Don’t be concerned about me. Are you worried?”

“About you? Always.”

“No, not me. About your grandfather.”

“Not worried.” His deep blue eyes were fixed on some point in the distance. “I’m… sad.”

“When was the last time you saw them?”

“Over one hundred years ago.” His voice dropped. “Max and I didn’t come back after we left the academy and received our first assignment. We had each other.”

Max and Renata stood at the luggage carousel. “They didn’t expect us to come back,” Max said. “They had raised us and trained us. We had duties to fulfill. I’m surprised Peter even wrote us about this.”

Renata passed Kyra a look that told her exactly what the other woman thought about that. Even to Kyra, whose family was the opposite of functional, it sounded heartless.

Kyra asked, “Do you know any of the men at the house here? Are any of them the same as the ones when you were young?”

Leo said, “A few.”

“More than a few,” Max said. “The watcher is different, but most of the soldiers are men we know.”

What did that mean? Kyra sensed no anticipation or expectation of homecoming from either Max or Leo. They seemed to be on autopilot and had been since the day the letter had come.

Based on their home in Istanbul, Kyra had assumed Irin families were stronger than the fractured bonds between children of the Fallen. Perhaps she’d been wrong. Perhaps nothing would be what she expected. She gripped Leo’s hand more tightly.

Whatever came, Leo was hers and she was his. Of that she had no doubt.

* * *

Renata was trying her best not to let the anger she was feeling bleed into Max. They were mated, and Max was unusually perceptive of her moods, often identifying what she was feeling before she did. It was part of the reason they worked so well together. But for this trip he needed support, comfort, and strength, not anger.

She wasn’t angry at him of course. She was angry for him. She’d known his childhood hadn’t been a happy one. Unlike Renata, Max and Leo had grown up after the Rending. They had no memories of a balanced home with Irina influence. They had been little more than valuable child soldiers to the Riga scribes. Max had once casually mentioned sword training at the age of six.

Renata’s head had almost exploded.

They walked outside and waited for a minivan to taxi them to an address on the other side of the city. Max loaded their luggage in the back of the van, then slid next to Renata, reaching his arm behind her to pull her close.

“Okay?” she asked.

Max only nodded.

Renata’s childhood in the mountains of northern Italy had been one of stories and adventure and indulgence. As the only daughter of two librarians, she’d been surrounded by Irin history and lore. Imagination and creativity had been cultivated. From speaking with Rhys and Malachi, she knew they’d had similar childhoods. Protected and indulged in Irin communities until it was time to start training at thirteen.

Max and Leo had started at six. Possibly earlier. They had been raised to be soldiers by hardened men. The only family they had had cast them into war as soon as they’d reached maturity.

If Renata bit her tongue any harder, the tip would fall off.

It was after rush hour, but the days were long in Latvian summers. Cars zipped by them as their silent taxi headed northeast from the airport to the Mežaparks neighborhood.

It was Renata’s first visit to Riga. Max didn’t keep a home here. She’d never heard him mention going back, though he’d had an apartment in Oslo as long as she’d known him. As far as Renata had been able to tell, Riga was a quiet and safe city, so Max would have little reason to visit.

Mežaparks was a thickly wooded neighborhood of large homes and gated estates seven kilometers north of the city center. The sky was still a pale grey-blue when they pulled up to the old house and parked by the gate. Renata could hear dogs barking in the distance, but no one waited for them.

Leo buzzed the keypad on the gate as the taxi pulled away.

“Did you call anyone?” Leo asked.

“No. They’ll be expecting us. They’re the ones who sent the letter from Peter.”

It was telling to Renata that Leo did not call his father by any title. Max didn’t call him uncle. He was Peter. Their grandfather was Artis.

Leo shoved his hands in his pockets. “Maybe we should have called.”

“I told you—”

The speaker on the keypad crackled. “Yes?”

Renata looked around the entry, but she could see no cameras or modern surveillance equipment.

Max bent down. “Tell the watcher Maxim and Leontios have arrived from Istanbul.”

“Along with our mates,” Leo added.

“A moment.”

A buzzing sound signaled their welcome. Renata pushed the gate open, reaching for the bag she’d hastily packed.

“We were expecting you, brothers.” A different crackling voice. “We did not know you were bringing your mates. They are most welcome.”

The speaker went silent, and Renata held the gate as Max, Leo, and Kyra grabbed their luggage. Leo, as usual, was treating Kyra as if she were made of glass. Renata tried not to roll her eyes. Her sister-in-law was a capable woman with a strong mind. She’d fooled Renata on first meeting but had quickly revealed an iron will and an excellent understanding of human nature. Renata approved of her new sister wholeheartedly. The two women were as different as night and day, but then so were Leo and Max.

Leo cosseted his mate, but Renata couldn’t find fault. They were too happy. Too adoring of each other. Kyra had lived most of her life with a wolf at her back. If it gave Leo pleasure to pamper her, Renata would never criticize.

Max grunted beside her as he threw a second backpack filled with books over his shoulder. “What did you pack in here? Is this my bag or yours? I don’t remember packing anything this heavy. Why aren’t you carrying this?”

Ah, her doting lover. “I packed your travel desk and the manuscript you were working on in Italy. You haven’t had time to work on it since we got back to Istanbul.”

“You think I’ll have time here?”

She slipped her hand into his. “We are here until he is gone, aren’t we? In times of waiting, it is good to have things to do.” Renata could feel Max’s eyes on her. “What?”

“I love you.”

The warm weight of his words settled in her chest. “I know.”

They walked up the driveway through an alley of linden trees, taller oaks dotting the property. The house was set back from the road, three stories tall with golden windows shining in the dusk. The front door opened and two figures appeared in silhouette.

“Is that Volos?” Leo asked.

“I think so.”

“He cut his hair.”

Renata said, “Well, it has been roughly one hundred years. He might have wanted a new look.”

Both Leo and Max looked at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. Only Kyra offered her the ghost of a smile.

“He is coming,” Kyra said.

The scribe that approached didn’t say a word. He appeared middle-aged, and his face was lined. His hair was a rough crop of grey and brown, and he wore a trimmed beard. He paused a few feet before he reached them and stared, first at Renata and Kyra, then at Max and Leo.

“Volos,” Max said. “It is good to see you well.”

Volos nodded to them, then he bent down and reached for Renata’s suitcase. He hoisted it over his shoulder, then reached for Max’s bag. “I’ll get the others if you want to leave them here,” he muttered.

“It’s fine,” Leo said. “Thank you, brother.”

Volos nodded and turned back to the house. Max took one of the bags from Leo’s shoulder and kept walking.

“He’s a talkative one,” Renata said.

“Just you wait,” Max said. “Compared to the rest of them, Volos is a comedian.”

* * *

Kyra studied her plate as she ate, resting a hand on Leo’s leg under the table. Her mate was uncanny at understanding when she was uncomfortable, and Kyra had been uncomfortable the moment she walked through the door.

None of the scribes had said anything rude. None of the scribes had said anything at all. But they watched. She could feel their eyes examining. As Max and Renata engaged the new watcher of the house—a friendly Dutch scribe named Levi—Kyra and Leo ate on the other side of the table. The meal was simple, a bowl of lamb stew, bread, and fresh milk. It smelled delicious, but Kyra barely tasted it. Five other scribes joined them at the dining table.

Volos, the scribe who had carried in their luggage. A tall Russian called Kaz, who looked like he could be related to Max and Leo. Two men who hadn’t said a word, not even to introduce themselves, and a thin man who stared openly at Kyra. All of them were European except for one of the silent men. He had massive shoulders and long, dark hair tied back in a braid. Kyra guessed he was Northern or Central Asian. She wondered how he had arrived in this cold and silent city on the edge of the Baltic Sea.

“Fricis,” Leo said to the thin man, who was staring at Kyra. “How have you been? How is the library?”

“Fine.” He didn’t stop staring.

Leo radiated tension. “Did you have a question?”

The man asked something in a language Kyra didn’t understand.

“English,” Max said sharply from the other end of the table. “Not everyone here speaks Russian.”

“Does she sing?” the man asked in a precise accent.

“Who?” Renata asked. “Me? Of course I sing. Haven’t you met an Irina before? Max said all of you were older than him and Leo. I would have thought you’d met Irina before.”

Fricis cut his eyes to Renata, clearly annoyed. “I’m not—”

“I am learning,” Kyra said quietly. She appreciated her new sister trying to divert attention away from the foreign object in the room, but the questions wouldn’t go away until they were answered. “I know some magic, but I’m still learning. Most of what I’ve learned so far has been for self-defense.”

The large man across from Leo grunted. “Good sense.” He glanced up from his bowl of stew and met Kyra’s eyes. “I am Gustav. I am the weapons master here. If you or your mate need daggers, I can provide them.”

Kyra’s eyes went wide. “Thank you.”

“We appreciate that, Gustav.” Leo squeezed her hand. “Kyra is quite good with daggers. Her brother has given her lessons, and she’s also trained with Renata.”

“But you’re teaching her magic?” Fricis directed the question at Renata. “Irina magic?”

“Of course I am,” Renata said, her voice icy. “She’s my sister. Why wouldn’t I?”

The man opened his mouth again, but Levi interrupted. “Fricis is our archivist and naturally curious,” he said. “I hope you’re not offended by his questions. It has been many years since any Irina have visited us.”

Renata said, “Perhaps after we are finished eating our meal, I can sing for you. I know a beautiful version of ‘Adelina and the Giant.’ That is a popular local song in this area, is it not?”

The scribes around the table murmured agreement, and Kyra noticed the atmosphere in the room warmed.

Levi said, “You honor us, sister.” He turned to Kyra. “We would love to hear from Kyra too. If she would like to join you.”

Kyra could feel the heat in her face. “I am still learning. But thank you.”

“Your next visit.” Gustav nodded as if the matter was settled. “You can sing for us then.”

Kyra didn’t know if Leo and Max would have any desire to visit Riga in the future, but she nodded anyway. Better to be polite and discuss the matter with Leo in private. The weapons master and the watcher were welcoming. The other men were harder to read. They were cold and hard, like frozen earth that hadn’t seen the sun in years.

After their simple meal, they moved to the great room while Volos and Kaz cleared the dishes. The house in Riga was a beautiful old mansion with carved wood paneling and spacious rooms, but the furnishings were spare. If Kyra didn’t know better, she’d have thought the men of the house had just moved in. Furniture was heavy and simple. There was no art or decoration. The only things that passed for adornment were the rows of immaculate weapons and old armor mounted on the walls of the great room where a large fireplace burned.

Kyra and Leo sat on a large sofa in the back of the room as Renata took a place by the central fireplace. Her tall figure dominated the space as the scribes gathered around her to listen. Kyra could feel the expectation in the air.

“How long has it been?” Kyra asked Leo quietly.

“What?”

“How long since these men have heard an Irina sing?”

Leo’s face went blank. “I don’t know. I never heard any Irina song in these halls.”

“Hundreds of years?” Kyra asked. “Since before the Rending?”

Leo only shrugged.

She had listened to Renata sing many times in Istanbul. Her sister was a trained Irina librarian and could recite oral histories for days if asked. It was part of her training to share her knowledge, and she’d taken on the job of teaching Kyra and Ava with pleasure. Max sat beside her on the stone hearth, his hand resting on the back of Renata’s thigh as she stood before the scribes.

Kyra remembered the first time she’d seen Max. It had been years before Kostas had revealed her as his sister, and she’d seen the dangerous Irin scribe from the corner of a café in Sofia where Max met with her brother. His gaze had been dark and suspicious then, his energy restless and savage. Kyra had escaped through the back door of the café with one of her brother’s men, worried Max might look in her direction.

Now his eyes rested on his mate, peace and pride in his gaze. The darkness was still visible when Max was roused, but Kyra could see past it to the protective bent of his nature. He and Renata were perfectly matched—warriors who’d found respite in each other.

Kyra leaned over to Leo. “They’re so beautiful together.”

Leo’s face softened. “As beautiful as we are?”

She smiled. “Maybe more.”

“Not possible.” He kissed her temple, and Kyra laid her head on his shoulder as Renata began to sing. She sang in the Old Language, which Kyra was still learning, so Leo whispered the translation in her ear.

It was a story like many Kyra had heard in other traditions and languages. An adventurer traveling far from home, outsmarting enemies and fighting foes. Adelina traveled from an unnamed land in the east and followed the rivers to the Baltic Sea where she met a giant who promised to give her secret knowledge from the Forgiven angels if she could outwit him. After many days, Adelina discovered the answer to his riddle hidden in a linden tree and told the giant, who told her the secret of his long and happy marriage. Of course, the secret knowledge the giant shared involved building saunas and growing cabbage, which made everyone in the room laugh even though they’d all heard the tale before.

It was a joyful and humorous story, one meant to be shared among friends after a full meal. The low chuckles and smiles around the room accomplished what Renata had likely wanted. The heavy atmosphere lifted, and the hard men began to smile.

Renata moved from Adelina’s journey to a joyful song about the first mothers, the venerated women who had raised the first generation of Irin children. It was a song Kyra had heard before, a common and popular one glowing with praise and beautiful imagery. She glanced around the room to see the softer faces of the scribes around her. Some of them wore wistful expressions. Gustav had glassy eyes.

“They needed this,” Kyra whispered. “They needed her.”

Leo nodded but didn’t speak.

When Renata moved into the next song, Kyra felt the energy in the room change. The air grew heavy, and she could feel magic rising. “Leo?” She tugged on his arm. “What is she singing?”

Leo’s own eyes were glassy, and his voice was rough. “It’s a mourning song. ‘Hilal’s Lament.’”

Renata kept singing even as tears began to fill her eyes. Max leaned into her, his arm wrapped around his mate’s legs as she poured two hundred years of mourning into her voice. Mating marks lit around her neck, gold that matched the fire behind her. Max’s talesm glowed in response.

“Please,” Kyra whispered. “Tell me what she’s saying.”

Leo gripped her hand. He whispered,

Kyra watched the hard-faced warriors around them. No eye was dry. They wiped their tears without shame, listening to the singer’s lament. Some bent over themselves as if in physical pain. Their talesm glowed with a low silver light, and Kyra saw nearly all of them wore mourning collars around their neck, visible when their magic was roused. The silent Asian scribe on the far side of the room wore a thick mourning collar for his mate with three finer circles beneath it symbolizing the loss of three children, likely dead in the Rending.

Kyra’s heart ached for them, these hard men who were so very alone. No children laughed in their halls. No joyful songs filled their house. They trudged on, half-alive, ensuring the balance of light and dark in the world with no hope of a brighter future or the comfort of their ancestors.

They simply endured.