Chapter 6
Graysen
The Horned God returned, his ambling gait marked by the clatter of his hooves. He went straight for the writing desk and raided the burlap sack eagerly.
As a child, I had snuck about Florin’s lair, investigating his wares, and glimpsed my mother peeling apart a croissant she’d brought with her, watching in astonishment as Florin stuffed it full of squished dead squirrel he’d kept stored in a drawer.
Which was why I’d stopped on the way to shovel up roadkill and bought fresh pastries from a market stall.
Shuffling over to the workbench, Florin slapped the flattened opossum onto a heavy chopping block and murmured fondly, “I haven’t had anything as delicious as this since your mother last visited.”
He reached for a cleaver, talons curling around the handle, lifting it to strike.
“My mother…” The words scraped out, thin and raw. I swallowed hard and tried again. “Did she come here the day she…” And again, I couldn’t voice it.
Florin froze mid-swing. He didn’t turn fully, just angled his head enough that one red eye, glowing with pity, caught the firelight. His horns dipped once in a small, deliberate nod. “I hadn’t known that would be the last time I’d see her.”
He lowered the cleaver and prodded the opossum.
“I didn’t know what had happened to your mother, not for a while.
She always visited once a week, sometimes more.
And if she couldn’t see me, she’d do her best to let me know in advance.
But when she didn’t turn up a week later…
then failed to show up the second week…and by the third…
” He yanked the cleaver upwards, wide nostrils flaring.
He brought the blade down hard, splitting apart the opossum.
The blow landed with such force that the candles shivered. “I knew something was wrong.”
He kept chopping as he spoke, quickly turning the roadkill into lean strips of dried meat.
“In my line of work, though my customers are my kind, it’s unusual for them to be aware of what’s happening within the world of Houses.
That’s Sirro’s domain. It was in the third week that I learned about your mother’s death in the car crash. ”
“We let the Houses believe that’s what had happened.
It was close enough to the truth and easy to swallow.
” We couldn’t allow them to know my mother was other, or they’d work against us and sow discord.
Nor could we afford for the Horned Gods to distrust my family or suspect that we knew she was still alive.
Trusting no one and keeping our scheming in the shadows was our only advantage.
“That’s what Sirro said,” Florin gritted out, giving a final whack to the roadkill.
My entire body jolted. I shoved off the doorframe, flipping up a hand. “Back the fuck up… Sirro?”
The Horned God tossed the cleaver onto the workbench, bits of matted fur sticking to the blade. “Sirro came looking for something among my rarities.”
“Did he know that my mother used to visit you?”
A chill slid into my gut. Was this purely coincidental? Or had he known?
“If Tabitha was ever here when a customer arrived, she’d hide out the back in my private residence.
It’s warded. But out here,” he made a thoughtful hum as he glanced about his office, at the feather dusters, to the writing set and shammy cloths.
“Tabitha is stamped all around here. You wouldn’t know unless you knew what you were looking for. ”
“What was Sirro after?” What the hells had brought the Horned God to Florin?
“He was seeking a curiosity that once belonged to the Great House, back when your family ruled. A gift given to that mortal wife of Konrad’s.”
I stiffened. “Posey? What kind of gift? What was it he was after?” It had to be among the treasures stolen from us when the Houses ransacked our treasure trove and slaughtered my ancestors.
Florin’s gaze sharpened. “The item isn’t important.
Sirro’s sly. Seeking something from your family got us talking about recent events.
About your mother’s supposed death in this car crash late one night.
How she was found out as other by the Great House and claimed by our brethren.
Sirro was feeling me out for information.
Subtly. He wanted to know if I knew of these Horned Gods.
If I knew of anyone among us that might have claimed Tabitha. ”
Hope was a slender flame, but it burned as bright and hot as a scorching bonfire.
My mouth parted eagerly.
Florin raised an arm, presenting a calloused palm outward to stop me. “Before you ask, no, I don’t know who took Tabitha. I’d never encountered the Horned Gods that accompanied Lyressa.”
And just like that, my hope was dashed like glass against jagged rock.
But it didn’t put an end to my inquiries. I was here for a purpose, and I was still going to fucking tease it out of Florin.
“Do you believe Lyressa isn’t aware of who they are?”
“It’s possible she doesn’t. Our world is vast and secretive, even from each other.” He strode to the writing desk, the feathers of his cloak shifting like seagrass beneath the ocean. “Or it’s simply a case of old-fashioned lying.”
I frowned. “But Sirro believes her.” A few weeks back when I’d met him at his private residence, I distinctly remembered he wouldn’t question one of his own kind.
Florin picked up the paper bag of croissants from the writing desk and collected a delicate scallop-edged plate from the mantelpiece.
It looked strange clasped in his large hand, the coarse black talons stark against the off-white porcelain.
“Maybe it’s safer for Sirro that Lyressa thinks he believes her…
Maybe it works to his advantage that she believes she’s gotten away with it.
” He shot me a sly look that spoke volumes.
“Maybe he’s still hunting her, waiting for her to falter. ”
The ground felt as if it had tilted beneath my feet, as if the stone had turned into a rogue wave. This was fucking huge. A seismic mind shift.
I knew Sirro was fond of my mother. I knew when he’d offered us the Alverac five years ago, it had allowed my family to claim Nelle, even though Nelle suspected there was a darker motive.
If there was anything I knew about the Horned God, it was that he was a deep abyss of secrets and personal agendas.
But this—what Florin was insinuating—meant Sirro hadn’t just known something was wrong.
He’d been hunting my mother’s abductors from the get-go.
And he was still hunting them.
Florin carried on speaking, striding toward the workbench. “For some reason, it was necessary for Lyressa to hide their identity, not from you but from my kind. From Sirro himself.”
A cold sensation, like icy fingers, slithered down my spine. “Why?”
He rounded his gigantic upper body downward, his face leering menacingly close to mine. “That is a question that has plagued me for the past decade, as I’m sure it has for Sirro.”
For a long moment, as I stared up at him, turning the information over in my mind, the only sound in the office was the crackling and popping from the fire.
Gauzy orange light shimmered across the stone floor and climbed the walls carved into the likeness of a thick tangle of ivy.
Chiseled among the leaves was a flower, its starlike petals unmistakable. Larkspur, poisonous and deadly.
What the fuck was Lyressa holding out on Sirro?
Florin straightened, shifting aside to pull croissants out of the brown paper bag and slice them apart with a talon. Buttery crumbs fell like snowflakes, scattering upon the plate. He stuffed a handful of dried meat strips into the pastries, grinned and licked his lips.
I gave him a shrewd glance as he set the plate on the coffee table. I’d felt his sorrow at losing my mother like a draping of cold, miserable mist, but beneath it was a steady current of confidence. Faith, I tasted, perhaps in Sirro. Yet uncertainty still gnawed at me.
“Did you know what my mother did that day? If there was any place or person she might have met beforehand or intended to meet after she visited with you?”
Florin frowned lightly. “Why do you want to know?”
Because that day in the city wasn’t sitting well with me. Especially since learning about the lightning strike at the Monarch Tower.
I hitched a shoulder. “Just curious.”
Goopy green liquid bubbled inside the small black pot simmering above the fire, chunks of dead things spat up from its depths.
I spotted flies and a rat’s tail before they vanished beneath the roiling surface.
He bent over and ladled the chunky concoction into a large teacup he retrieved from the fireplace mantel.
“Cup of tea?” he offered.
My stomach churned at the thought of drinking that horrible-looking shit, and I fought the urge to gag. “No,”—fucking—“thank you.”
He straightened and took a sip of the goopy tea, smacking his lips and grinning with pleasure.
Then consumed another sip, as he drifted toward a large armchair.
He set the cup on the coffee table and lowered his huge frame into the chair.
The wood creaked and groaned as he wriggled to get comfortable against the fluffy cushions.
Leaning forward, he snatched up a croissant of roadkill. “She arrived with the scent of the lake lingering on her clothes.” He shrugged. “She often visited the lakeside before coming here. She was fond of endlessly prattling to gardeners about flowers and plantings.”
“Did she stay long with you?”
“A few hours. She soothed my aches. And she’d bought something for us to eat for lunch. Though she had little appetite. She looked rather peaky.”
I raised an eyebrow, waiting.
Florin continued. “I thought at first she wasn’t feeling the best. But I think it was more to do with meeting someone for afternoon tea—”
“At the Monarch Tower,” I cut in, too fast.
He blinked. “Yes, that’s right.” Taking a big bite of the croissant, he practically inhaled it. He chewed noisily, and I cringed at the crunch of dead opossum.
My ears pricked. Behind me, I heard the patter of soft feet. Nelle had kicked her shoes off and was slinking about barefoot.
Casually shifting back toward the doorway, I took up as much space as I could while Florin sighed in pleasure as he ate and slurped at his fucking gross tea. I adjusted my stance when he glanced over, trying to peer around me.
“Do you know who she was going to meet?” I asked. “My mother was wearing something formal that day. The kind of dress she’d wear if she were meeting someone high-ranking.” I gestured to my neck as I scrambled to explain. “And a necklace… A jewelry set that had sentimental value to her.”
He wiped the flaky crumbs from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ah, your father’s gift to her. The one fashioned out of yellow diamonds.”
“Yes. She wore it for him on their wedding day.” Along with other family occasions. It just wasn’t a set I remembered her wearing when she attended House Gatherings.
Florin smiled slowly. And it was a cruel slash across his face. “Your mother wasn’t afraid to make a statement.”
I cocked my head, something in his tone scratched at a vague suspicion in the back of my mind.
“Why else would Tabitha be wearing a statement piece like that?” he asked, and then he answered his own question. “To remind someone else that she was married to your father.”
That was exactly what I had suspected yesterday. That the yellow diamond necklace was a message. But to whom?
Florin finished the croissant with a second bite.
And dread slithered through my veins. “Who did she go to meet that afternoon?”
“The Szarvas woman.”
I lurched forward. “The Szarvas woman?” Who the hells was that?
My mind soared to the Szarvases. They were a Lower House and hunters of lesser creatures.
Their hunting field was the Hemmlok Forest, on which their estate sat.
I ran through the family members. Marton and Hira ruled as Head and Matriarch.
Could he be referring to Hira? Or could it be one of their unmarried daughters who were nearer my mother’s age and still lived with their parents?
Florin sighed, and it was full of regret.
Guilt riddled his expression, and he rubbed his thigh anxiously.
“Your mother liked to chatter. I wasn’t the best listener,” he confessed.
His eyes went wide, his gaze drifting past me as if he were staring into the past. “When she really let loose with her chattering, her voice became like the drone of bees, and my mind would wander. I’d hardly take in anything she said.
” He propped an elbow on the armrest of his chair and flipped a hand this way and that in time with his words.
“The Szarvas Woman this, the Szarvas Woman that, that’s all Tabitha referred to this woman as.
Whoever she was, she caused your mother some anguish over the years. ”
A cold weight dropped low inside me. “What do you mean?”
His gaze cut to mine. “The Szarvas woman’s affection for your father.”
Disbelief struck hard and fast. “Why was Mom meeting this woman?” Had my father not been faithful to my mother?
But Florin’s attention sliced past me. His mood turned on a blade, blood-red eyes black with fury.
The dark power in the room trembled, swirling dust motes and eddying the heat waves rolling off the fire.
I shifted directly into his line of sight, my heart erupting into a stumbling pace at the danger thickening the air.
The Horned God’s gaze snapped to mine and narrowed. “Move.”
I knew exactly who he focused on. And that feral side of me, possessive and protective, silently snarled back.
A low, threatening rumble clawed up his throat as he rose, moving fast.
Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I loosened my limbs and shifted my weight, readying to intercept.
Shit, shit, shit…
“Out of my way,” the Horned God gritted, nostrils flaring.
I remained where I was.
“NOW!” he roared, charging at me like a bull.
His fury exploded with a savage blow, shooting through the room and guttering candles. A fistful of darkness slammed into my body—forcing me sideways.
I let the spin carry me, caught my balance and pushed forward in a surge of speed, chasing Florin as he stormed from the office.
He glared over his shoulder, a sour curl to his mouth. “She reminds me of you, Sticky Fingers!”