The Fox and the Falcon (No Other Gods #2)

Chapter Twenty-Five

I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to eat, drink, and be merry under the ticking clock of a trial, but I didn’t have a say in the matter.

“You’re as beautiful as ever.” Caliban pressed a kiss to my forehead.

My lips parted as I looked at him and truly heard his words. He’d said them to me so many times, for so many years. Sometimes I’d smirk at the message, proud of myself for whatever inner monologue had led me to a day with high self-esteem. Other times, he’d say it to me and I’d sit on the bed and cry. His comforting touches had usually made it much, much worse. I’d hated the broken part of me that couldn’t be normal—the pieces that had conjured an ethereal man to whisper things I longed to hear. It had been something I’d tolerated, something I’d appreciated, and something I’d despised.

His heat-appropriate clothes were linen, not unlike the ones Dorian had worn on our breakfast together. The servants had displayed countless jewels and bangles from which we could choose, but he’d forgone any and all adornment. The gray he wore, contrasted against his pale skin and frosted hair, reminded me so much of the arctic fox that had shared my childhood. Recasting my memories to understand he’d been a reality rather than a fiction was a feat that couldn’t be conquered in a day, but there were three things I knew to be sure. The first was that Caliban, the gods, Heaven, Hell, and every pantheon of lore were beautifully and terribly real. The second was that I had never—not for a moment—been alone. And the third was that we could lose the love we’d fought for lifetimes to realize if we didn’t make it out of here alive.

He stretched out his hand, and I offered mine. I followed him with quiet trust as he pushed open the flat, polished door to our room and led us down the hall. I didn’t know how long he’d been in the Phoenician realm in order to become familiar with its layout, and I’d failed to ask. He didn’t seem to be worried about the turns, the corners, the forks, or the rather intimidating sigils and seals on the walls as he navigated.

I took my cue to remain silent as we walked. The walls had ears, after all.

We took a flight of stairs before I dared a question. “Will Fauna be at the banquet?”

It seemed safe enough. She was my escort, after all. Besides, whether or not I was able to share the information with Caliban, a plan was in the works that required the comings and goings of Nordic ambassadors. If Fauna couldn’t join us for whatever event we were about to encounter, then I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to explain away the arrival of Ella and Estrid.

“Of course,” he said lightly. I assumed the cadence of his words was intended for whatever carried his message on the wind than for me.

Thirty seconds later, I realized the question had been useless.

Caliban gave my hand a quick squeeze as we pushed into a banquet hall quite literally fit for gods. The ceiling was two—three—five stories high. The pillars were perfect, polished stone carvings of giants holding up the ceiling. Water features, sculptures, and overflowing vases of colorful, unfamiliar flowers spilled onto the floor in artfully curated displays of beauty and life. I was overwhelmed by the sound of music, the babble of water, the twirl of majestic fabric, the patter of feet as entertainers swirled and danced, the smell of rich food, and the wine-fueled laughter. It felt like I’d stepped out of the dark, windowless palace and into a sparkling dome of life, excess, and opulence.

A woman in an indescribably beautiful patterned gown that flowed like flames off a bonfire danced up to me. She pushed a bouquet of pronged white flowers into my free hand and danced away before I could thank her. She rejoined women more beautiful than the sun, each shimmering with the inner light of fire sprites.

My escort turned the moment I entered the room. She’d been positioned just to the end of a table, with not one, but two chairs at the table head. Lord and lady, awaiting their seats at the far end of the banquet hall.

“Merit!” Fauna said enthusiastically as she pushed back from the table. Her chair creaked against the floor as she got to her feet with true enthusiasm, throwing her arms around me. She crushed me to her, thin arms possessing more strength than I realized as she held me as if I was water in the desert.

I was surprised at how emotional the fjord-like smell of forest and ocean made me as I breathed her in. We’d been separated for less than twelve hours, but coming together again felt like two halves reuniting to make a whole. I didn’t want to be separated from her. I needed her discord, her energy, her irreverence, her joy in every moment of my life. She’d become my family in a way I couldn’t articulate. And though I was excited to hold her again, I hadn’t missed the two other blond heads that had turned at our approach.

Fauna didn’t miss a beat, playing her role expertly. She pulled away to hold me at arms’ length as she said, “Merit, please meet some distant relatives from our court! Ella and Estrid are from álfheimr, my homeland!”

Both were already on their feet. Estrid offered a bow, but Ella pulled me into a hug, squishing me into her warmth in a genuine embrace. She looked over her shoulder at Estrid before releasing me, then at the others.

Fauna was quick to draw attention away from their tender moment, giving them whatever privacy they needed. She cleared her throat with intentionality. “And you must be the Prince?”

I lost my breath as I turned to catch his bemused, regal expression. He didn’t look like a prince as he stood in the palatial banquet hall amidst dancers and flowers and fountains. He didn’t just blend in. He looked like a god.

Something changed as I looked between the two of them. His expression remained joyous, but a cold fire danced in his eyes. His face remained tight when he extended his hand for a very human shake.

“Call me Caliban,” he said.

A tiny gasp escaped Fauna’s lips as she reached out a delicate hand to be engulfed in his.

I wasn’t sure what surprised me more: the normalcy of the gesture, or the way Fauna’s entire body blushed. Her smattering of freckles disappeared as her skin tone shifted to a matching heated shade of copper. I couldn’t tell if I was surprised that she was capable of the respect, or inarticulately jealous. I made no attempt to conceal the lift of my brows.

“I had planned to tell you that I owe you,” Caliban said to Fauna.

“You owe me nothing,” she muttered, her crimson flush mixing with the music and performative swell of the banquet that overpowered her words.

His verb tense struck me as odd. He had planned to tell her he owed her, as if something had changed his mind. But if the walls had ears even when we were alone, then I certainly couldn’t ask them at the banquet. Instead, I deflected. “Do you two need a moment?”

Caliban flashed a grin. “I suspect your escort knows precisely how hard you are to keep alive. If you appreciated it as much as either her or I, you’d understand my gratitude.” He slipped his hand around my waist and pressed another kiss into my hair with his final word.

“You’d be surprised at her capacity for ingratitude,” Fauna said, plopping into her chair. She’d already shaken off her discomfort and returned to her typical irreverent self.

I took the seat beside her, sandwiched between my Nordic guardian and the Prince of Hell. He didn’t release my hand, nor would I have allowed it as I leaned away from him and over the corner of the table toward Fauna. I whispered, “Estrid and Ella?”

“Yes,” she said breezily. “I’d left word that I was headed with my human to see the Canaanites, and it’s one of the realms they’ve never visited!”

I gulped. The wheels were fully in motion. If the valkyrie and the goddess of treasure were here today, would Poppy and Dorian truly arrive tomorrow? Ella and Estrid’s arrival appeared to be tolerated at best. I couldn’t fathom an excuse that would allow for a sudden Hellenic presence.

Ella propped an elbow on the table and grinned at me. “We haven’t visited the Aztec pantheon, either. Shall we put it on our to-do list, Miss Mythology? Fauna tells us you’re writing about South America next. So, what do you recommend? The Candomblé Ketu? Or maybe the Mayans, though I suppose the southern peninsula of North America and the Global South are different concepts for humans… Let me think on this…”

I knew that I’d need to be quicker on my feet if we were to keep up any such ruse, but curiosity got the best of me. “You’ve been to the African realms?”

Estrid scoffed behind him. “The Orisha are among the oldest deities. You can’t come, Merit, as theirs is a closed pantheon. I suspect you’ll get over it, given how many realms you’ve already managed to irritate in your short human life. But yes, it was one of the most important for us to visit. What’s your human equivalent? Consider them prime destinations like Paris, or New York. We want to go to…”

I shrugged. “Mexico and Brazil?”

She smirked at my unwillingness to play along in her game of comparisons. Caliban had told me not to be spirited with the gods, and I would force my sarcastic nature to oblige. When it came to the álfheimr lovers, however, not only did they happily tolerate Fauna, but I’d already been high in their living room. I was pretty sure they could handle whatever level of human embarrassment I could dish out.

Fauna took over the conversation, presumably before I could say anything I’d regret.

“Caliban,” she said, blushing once more as she spoke the name I’d given him. “Merit tells me she’s been an idiot this entire cycle. Tell me, has she always been this stupid?”

He released my hand, and for the briefest of moments, I felt the chill of abandonment. But then he leaned toward her as he slipped his arm around me to claim me further. “I suspect you know that not only is she brilliant now, but that she’s always been brilliant. And I don’t care how high ranking you are amongst the Nordes. You will not insult her again.”

How high ranking could a skosgr? be? His words reverberated as if he’d issued a challenge. The tension was remarkably uncomfortable.

Huge parties were an introvert’s worst nightmare even when everything went spectacularly. This one had so many uncertainties, I couldn’t handle the two most important people in my life fighting, even if I didn’t understand their bizarre tension.

Caliban’s shoulders relaxed. “If I were a betting man—and when I bet, I rarely lose—I’d suspect your flippancy is precisely why you two made the perfect pair.”

Fauna turned yet another shade of red. I wasn’t sure if she felt flattered or scolded.

“Fauna,” I blurted, “for the love of god, what’s wrong with you? I’ve literally seen you be cheeky to—” I bit my tongue before mentioning Greek gods. Instead, I cleared my throat and said, “ Everyone . You weren’t particularly respectful in Hell, either.”

She released a nervous breath as she said, “I’m just trying to make conversation.”

I straightened as I grabbed her arm. I felt a genuine surge of perplexing worry. My eyes flared with the unspoken question.

She took her free hand and gave mine a squeeze, but didn’t get the chance to elaborate.

“Guests!” came a booming voice from the far side of the room.

Amidst the dancing, the milling guests of fae, lesser deities, and citizens beyond the Phoenician veil, I hadn’t noticed a terribly familiar face. The attendants stilled. Everyone quieted, either taking their seats or assuming reverent postures amidst the pillars as they dipped their heads in respect. A bearded man and a slick, handsome, youthful male at his side drew the crowd’s attention.

“Today I’d like to raise a glass to our most welcome guests: Hell’s Prince and his mortal companion.”

I would have recognized that face in a sea of ten thousand. The Phoenician god of prosperity looked directly at me as he raised a goblet from the far end of the table. Caliban slipped his hands supportively onto my back once more to let me know he was there for me. I quickly scooped up my goblet and lifted it as I looked into the ancient face, the long black beard, the glistening-scaled robe, and the eyes of Dagon.

Three generations of gods looked upon us.

“My absence was involuntary,” Dagon went on, “though others in our kingdom chose to live among the mortals.” He looked beside him, just around the corner of the table, and my blood chilled. I must have reacted, for Caliban’s fingers tightened around my waist to keep me still as I saw Anath watching. I swallowed and forced my gaze back to Dagon, but refused to let her leave my periphery.

Dagon continued, “It is my honor to laud my son, Baal, who has ruled the Canaanites in both the mortal and eternal realms.”

His son, Baal—Lord Baal, as I knew him from mythos—was at his side. The god was nothing like I expected him to be. Perhaps the aged pottery, dusty tomes, and aged texts had been wrong. Perhaps Fauna’s gift to shield me from true forms had done me a service. The man who stepped forward didn’t have the long, full beard of his father. His tanned skin had a similarly golden quality, his hair an ink-dark that matched the members of his court, but his face was clean-shaven, belying his eternal youth. The human in me wanted to guess him to be in his late twenties, though I knew the number was foolish. And while I was certain these were not appropriate thoughts to have of a god, he was breathtakingly beautiful. He caught me staring and nearly caused me to drop my wine when he responded with a wink.

The man—god, I corrected myself—beside him could have been his youthful twin. An informed guess pegged him as Baal’s son, Melqart, guardian of Canaan’s dead and the Phoenician Underworld. The pair had presumably ruled their realm as father and son while Dagon and the pantheon’s major goddesses remained in the mortal realm.

I was on the edge of a headache. The mere thought of spending eternity with my family made me want to throw up.

Caliban leaned over to whisper, “Baal holds the first elite chair in the Ars Goetia of Hell’s Infernal Court. He rules two hundred and fifty demonic legions. Dagon may be his father and Melqart his son, but Baal is the Lord of the realm.”

Dagon was to ancient, unapproachable otherliness as Melqart was to the Herculean, himbo typecast. I was certain the thought alone would get me flogged, but sandwiched between the two, Baal was clearly most worthy of his rank. Their most high god was older than time, but he looked my age. More than that: he looked my type.

I hated myself for the involuntary way my body responded to his presence.

The gods on Baal’s sides melted into the background as I focused on the beautiful man in the center. Returning Caliban’s hushed tone, I asked, “Wait, a Phoenician god holds titles in Hell? Can deities do that in multiple pantheons without defecting?”

“The Infernal Divine is a court of appropriated deities— demonized , in a literal sense of the word—where other gods were captured and used as djinn. Solomon did to Baal what Astarte did to Dagon.”

Solomon, as in the wise king in the Bible? I had a trillion more questions, and no time to ask them.

I rapidly tried to process the information, then suspected the bits of my knowledge would be useless to me. As far as I knew, Hell was a kingdom for adversaries. Perhaps those in a war against Heaven would band together with adversaries from any pantheon. I was already anxious over making a good impression on any member of Hell’s multitudes. The idea of winning Hell’s citizens to my side felt like the natural impulse of wanting future in-laws to like you. Instead, having recently been a catalyst for the murder of Baal’s consort, I wasn’t sure if his affiliation with Hell would work against us, or in our favor.

Baal raised his cup and looked directly at Caliban. “Tell us, Prince of Hell, how should my court address you this night?”

“Lord Baal,” came the chillingly authoritative response at my side. “These days I’m going by Caliban. The name was gifted to me by my bride.”

My throat tightened. The room whirred dizzyingly. The name I’d gifted my imaginary friend as a teenager was being spoken amidst realms, to deities, to pantheons, to the courts of Hell, with me as his bride. It was a marriage proposal I’d never been extended and hadn’t formally accepted.

No one appeared surprised at his proclamation.

Perhaps changing names was a ready and common occurrence amidst realms. If I understood anything, then I supposed Baal wasn’t the true name of the Phoenician King—and that more than likely, his true name would be one I’d never be worthy to learn. I wondered if it was more common to change names in realms that had more exposure, then winced at the implication. Heaven and Hell remained in the mouths of humans across the globe, for better or for worse. I suspected Baal would not appreciate my disrespect for the kingdoms that mortals had long neglected.

“Thank you,” Baal said, directing his gaze to me. The court’s attention bore down on me. “And you have my gratitude for your role in my father’s liberation.”

I attempted to keep my hand from quivering as I held the goblet steady.

Be reverent .

Azrames’s words, amplified by Caliban, echoed through me. It wasn’t my place to speak. I dipped my head in respect while lofting my glass. I was positive I didn’t imagine the collective relief as those on either side of me relaxed at my deferential reaction. I didn’t blame them. I didn’t have any sort of record of doing the right thing when faced with the preternatural. I thought briefly of the witches I’d called in my desperation to make sense of the sigil scrawled on my door, and wondered what they’d do in my situation. I was confident that they’d know better than to be, as Fauna so lovingly said, an idiot.

I certainly wasn’t inherently worthy of the experience. I hadn’t earned it. And the part of me that had been certain Caliban was a fictional manifestation of my broken pieces vying for positive self-talk would have told me that yes, I had worked for this. They would have told me that I’d studied, I’d worked, I’d learned the languages. I’d done the homework, I’d written the books, and I’d spent the time in the trenches for this. Still, as I stood here now, I felt certain I hadn’t trained for it. Yet I’d be damned to somewhere worse than Hell if I didn’t step up and live up to whoever or whatever Fauna and Caliban needed me to be.

Baal took a step away from his father and began to round the table.

Anath escaped from my periphery as I tracked him. He passed pillars, fountains, and reverently poised dancers. He paused just before he reached Estrid, but his eyes were trained on me. Baal stopped me in my tracks with his movie-star smile. Caliban’s hand remained unmoving on my back. Perhaps he didn’t want to startle me with any movement, as we both understood the importance of whatever transaction was occurring.

“Merit.” My Nordic escorts parted as he approached. I was frozen beneath the glimmer of his obsidian eyes.

I tried to remember his powers. He was Canaan’s most powerful storm deity. Syrian tablets had called him the god of life—both in opposition to death, and in new birth of man, livestock, and crops. There was something else…maybe it was leaving human women blank-brained and tongue-tied.

“Lord Baal,” I said, careful to use his title. I’d intended for my words to come out with some sort of authority, but my voice did not carry. I wanted to say something eloquent, something important, but all that came from my mouth was “It’s an honor to be invited into your home.”

He laughed. The sound was unusual. Neither the light ring of joyful laughter, nor the coarse scratch of grandfatherly joy. There was a burning-coal sentiment to his amusement, as if chipped embers broke and sparked against another as he faced me. “Our realm receives visitors so infrequently,” he said. “And now five are present? And thanks to your party, my father has returned, and he is whole. The honor is mine.”

Baal closed the space between us. He was inches from me, staring into my very soul as I hummed beneath the electric scent of thunder and lightning. Estrid moved in my periphery, taking the subtlest of steps away from her chair. She’d positioned herself to attack. Caliban dropped his hand from my back, and I wished he hadn’t.

I opened my mouth to apologize for Astarte’s death, then snapped it shut once more.

Be reverent.

Fuck. Azrames had no idea how much of an impact he’d left with his words, but they may just have saved my life on the lakeside shores of Bellfield, and the cover of those around me. I lowered my eyes. Now was not the time to show bravery or entrepreneurial spirit. Perhaps those qualities would be lauded if I were an interesting recruit in a boardroom or a playmate in a friend group. But I was in an unknown realm amidst deities. It wasn’t cowardice that kept my mouth shut as I waited for him to address me.

“Merit,” he said.

I kept my chin high, trapped like a fly in honey under his gaze.

“I hadn’t expected that the catalyst for the Nordes to visit the Canaanite realm would be a human, but I also hadn’t expended Astarte to hold my father hostage in the mortal realm. Things tend to go awry at the end of a tale, don’t you think? Life has one final surprise for us yet, it seems. I owe you gratitude, both for what you’ve done, and for what’s to come,” he said, tilting his glass.

I had no idea what he was talking about, but that had become my everyday norm since stumbling into the worlds beyond the mortal veil.

“You owe her more than gratitude,” Caliban said carefully at my side.

Baal tilted his head slightly. “Caliban, is it?”

Caliban lifted his chin.

“It’s curious, don’t you think? I’ve met you in Hell, but never your human. Where have you been keeping her?”

It was with the unbothered energy of someone with nothing to lose that Caliban inspected his fingernails for invisible dust before returning his attention to Baal. “Merit has been to the mortal realms, Hell, álfheimr, and is now here amidst Phoenicians. Aside from here and Hell, where have you been?”

It took all my power not to flinch.

Baal and Caliban remained locked in a stalemate for a long moment before his face cracked into a smile. “Your bride is well traveled,” he said at last.

“And well accomplished,” Caliban agreed. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer that your deity of crops and agriculture had remained in the human realms. It seems from the floral arrangements in your banquet hall that you’re already benefitting from his return. I’m sure you’re anxious for your first harvest in two hundred and…what was it? Forty?”

“Two hundred and fifty-two years.”

“That’s right. First harvest in your realm in two hundred and fifty-two years. She really is something to be grateful for, isn’t she?”

Was Caliban…angry? I didn’t understand what Baal had said or done that had set him off. Maybe I needed to elbow him and pass along Azrames’s two-word advice.

I understood why he’d released me. He’d positioned himself fully against the highest god of their pantheon, a Lord in his own right amidst Hell’s Infernal Court, ready to square off against Baal should the occasion call for it. I didn’t know much of Caliban’s powers. He could take the form of an arctic fox, though I didn’t think that gift would serve us now. He could come and go throughout the veil—but then again, so could Azrames. He’d beheaded Astarte, but that had been with the god-killer. He’d allowed me to see myself through his eyes, but that had seemed so minor.

As they stood toe to toe in the banquet hall, I had a feeling that Baal would not hesitate if Caliban had little more than parlor tricks and a monarch for a father. I hadn’t considered that his royal title might come with certain…assets.

Baal relaxed. “She certainly is,” he agreed at long last. “Astarte gambled while playing with the rules of gods amidst the humans. We know a thing or two about leaving our power in the hands of mortals, don’t we? Sometimes we have to take apocalyptic matters into our own hands,” he said, looking at Fauna.

She plastered on a pretty smile as she said, “ Apocalypse implies the end of the world, my Lord. I’d like to believe that Heaven’s defeat would be the world’s beginning. And when it comes to matters of eternity, I’ve learned not to leave things to the humans.”

“Wise,” Baal agreed. “And what has Hell learned?” he asked, looking at Caliban.

“I don’t speak for Hell, or for humans,” he said. “I’m here with my bride, and she has more than proven herself in this pantheon.”

He lifted his goblet to his lips, smiling at some private joke as he made a show of inhaling his wine. I tried to remind myself that Caliban had mentioned Fauna’s gift—the ability to contain my mind so I might see gods in their mortal form. I struggled to grip the information as I watched Lord Baal drink from his goblet. Between his square jaw, broad shoulders, and the glint in his eyes, I was reminded of how the most beautiful things in nature were often the most deadly.

Baal pulsed with whatever magnetism had compelled humans to worship him for centuries. The throb within me mingled between attraction and admiration. Despite my fear, my angst, my desire to grab Fauna’s arm or back into Caliban’s chest, a primal pull called to me. I loved it and hated it in equal proportions. I wanted to scramble from the table and drop to my knees in devotion, to claw out his eyes, and to take him in my mouth.

Fucking gods.

Resentment nestled its way between the emotions, burrowing somewhere amidst want and fear, crawling up to the surface above respect and compulsion. It broke free from the soil of my innermost being and planted its claws on the surface, staring Baal down. I nursed resentment at some joke, some insider knowledge, some exchange that I was either too human or too simple to understand. Resentment at the feelings, the confusion, the swirl of deeply mortal motives and needs and fears thundered over any other emotion until it was all that remained. He greeted the umbrage with a gleam in his eye.

Baal’s smile widened. “I see,” he said at long last. “Perhaps you have indeed found one worthy of you, Prince.” This time, when he winked, it shot lightning through my core. He turned and strutted back to the head of the table. He drained his goblet before setting it down. “Anath reigned for two thousand years as a favorite along the Dead Sea. She thrived in the mortal realm, in the eternal realm, and served as a helpmate to a fellow deity amidst the humans for the last several centuries. In Astarte’s absence, I would like to announce my sister Anath as not only my helpmate and deity of Astarte’s war, but also as a bringer of peace in the form of victory. May she step into her predecessor’s stead for a greater and more prosperous Canaan.”

Baal spoke of her as if he respected her. Did they not blame her for her role in holding Dagon against his will? Had she been a victim of the god-catcher, too? I supposed it didn’t matter. Their reputation and legacy were more important than personal feelings. They’d need to be a unified front regardless of how they felt if they hoped to thrive in Astarte’s absence.

The table raised their glasses in celebration and acknowledgment.

“Anath?” Baal prompted.

Dagon and Melqart’s appraising stares were stifling as they awaited the goddess.

“To victory,” she said to the table. “Fear not. Astarte’s blood courses through my veins, and her spirit will live on through me. May I bring peace when the world needs it, and war when she deserves it.”

“Here, here!” cried Baal.

My stomach churned.

His people raised their glasses in response. The world relaxed for a while as everyone settled into their chairs, accepted their meals, and dug into their dishes. Meats, spices, vegetables, sweets, rice, fruits, and foods beyond my capacity for imagination were served time and time again by an endless supply of attendants, each more beautiful than the last.

“It’s an offense to reject their food,” Caliban said once the high Lord of the pantheon had left earshot.

“What was he talking about? What was so amusing?” I pushed the food around on my plate.

Caliban’s anger hadn’t fully subsided, but it wasn’t directed at me. He remained bristled toward Baal as he said, “We are surrounded by the most tenuous of allies that could become our foes in an instant. Now is not the time to discuss an ancient deity’s obscure references. Eat.”

“I can’t,” I replied.

He placed a hand on my back, and a starved growl rumbled in return. I blinked at him in surprise, unsure if I was irritated that my human body was so easy to manipulate, or grateful that he’d spared me from committing an offense.

We were already here for murder, and the jury wasn’t exactly comprised of our peers.

I wouldn’t win any favors by dishonoring their customs.

My cup was never empty. Conversation did not idle. Entertainment resumed as dancers and musicians put on a show for the royal event. Estrid remained tense, which I assumed was her resting state. Ella appeared to be genuinely enjoying herself, though perhaps it was because she had no personal stake in the whereabouts of a demon and an angel. Ella was brilliant, making friends and bringing smiles with everyone around her. Estrid loved to stand back and watch her partner shine. Fauna laughed and cracked far too many inappropriate jokes, which bothered me. I’d gone mad with worry when Caliban was separated from me. She’d finally displayed a reasonable emotion when the doors had locked behind us in our room, and now she was carefree once more.

Caliban sensed my irritation and stroked along my spine to calm me. I wondered if his touch was soothing because I loved him, or if he was controlling my cortisol with the same power that had emptied my stomach or enabled me to understand the Phoenician language.

Anath rose and waited for the last murmurs of conversation to die before she smiled at the crowd. “And what could go better with our meal than a dish best served cold,” she said. “This banquet is about more than celebration as Dagon and I return to the realm. We come together for more than the guests who’ve graced our home. Though we lived peaceably among the humans for over two hundred years, it was the crimes of kingdoms that fell Astarte and Jessabelle on mortal soil. For dessert, please savor the divine justice of our newest citizens.”

My heart plummeted as the words left her lips.

As the great doors to the banquet hall slid open, Fauna’s sharp intake of air was the only sound louder than my heart’s thundering. The room spun as two shapes stepped into the banquet hall. Flanked by armed guards, Azrames wore a single thin manacle. It served no purpose to my human eyes, which led me to believe its sole use must have been the inhibition of magic. I scanned him as quickly as I could for signs of injury, but he didn’t meet my gaze as his eyes remained fixed beside me on Fauna.

My ears rang. My heart skipped uncomfortably. My eyes watered as I refused to blink, staring at my friend as I drowned in guilt. He was here because of me.

“Don’t worry,” he mouthed to Fauna. The corner of his storm-cloud lips tugged up in an unconvincing smile.

Nausea took hold of me at the sight of the almost imperceptibly glowing figure in the middle of the hall.

Bruises in various shades from red, to purple, to the sickly yellow-green of older wounds decorated his face. His wrists and ankles were bound so that he could do little more than take shuffling steps. Fresh droplets of glittering blood beaded from the cut on his lip as if he’d been subdued in the moments before entering. My stomach churned against his limping steps and the sneer of the guards around him, but I could stare at one thing only.

Tightly wrapped in binding circlets of obsidian rope were the enormous, white-feathered wings of an angel.

My mouth dried as Silas looked across the room and directly into my core.