Chapter 37 Fail at Everything
(Except Wanting Her Forgiveness)
Kazimir
When I entered the kitchen a few minutes later, Thorne looked up from where he’d been sharpening one of his many blades. Wind battered the God Spire with relentless fury, and the ancient structure responded with a slow, stomach-turning sway.
Arabella stood by the window, cradling a cup of coffee.
Nyx sprawled at my wife’s feet, her bulk consuming half the kitchen.
Her tail coiled around a table leg, and those liquid silver eyes tracked my every movement.
I was so tired that it took me a full two seconds to realize she was brilliantly pink now.
“Summon the Sky Serpent,” I ordered, tearing my eyes away from the dragon. “We’re leaving.”
“Any luck?” Thorne asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
“None.” I stalked to the counter and poured myself coffee. “It’s like Pip vanished into the void itself. Even my shadows can’t find a trace.”
Arabella didn’t turn from the window when she added, “Same here. I checked every gambling den and questionable establishment I could find. No one’s seen him.”
Her casual admittance that she’d gone searching by herself came as no surprise, but I had to quell the anger rising in me once more. I took a long drink before speaking again. “And the assassins?”
“Ghosts.” Thorne set down his knife. “Every contact, every informant—willing or otherwise—claims complete ignorance. Either they’re all lying with remarkable consistency, or—”
“Or whoever’s behind this has resources we haven’t accounted for.” I rubbed my temples. “Just like Zaraiah said.”
Arabella finally turned, and I caught the exhaustion etched in the lines around her eyes.
She looked as tired as I felt, but still breathtakingly beautiful.
The morning light caught in her hair, turning it to spun gold, and for a moment I forgot about assassins and missing spies and the voice in my head that whispered terrible things.
I wanted to cross the room, pull her against me, breathe in the scent of her hair. I wanted to apologize for the night at the Gilded Gallows, for trying to compel her, for being the kind of man who would even think to do such a thing. I wanted—
I scanned the room, noting the conspicuous absence of two members of our party. “Where are Griffin and the Scone Lord?”
Thorne cleared his throat. “The Academia of Malice, sir. Griffin’s lecture. Sebastian accompanied him.”
“Go retrieve them,” I said, then caught myself.
Griffin’s lecture was probably the highlight of his year.
Dragging him away early would result in weeks of sulking and “accidentally” explosive experiments.
Despite the voice in my head urging anger and violence, I took a calming breath. “How much longer?”
“Another hour, perhaps two.” Thorne checked the elaborate timepiece on the wall—a grotesque thing made of bones. “The Academia’s afternoon sessions run long.”
Two hours. The voice in my head whispered that I should just leave Griffin and Sebastian behind, let them find their own way—
“I’ll go with Thorne.” Arabella moved toward the door, and Nyx rose to follow. “I’d like to see the Academia before we leave.”
I opened my mouth to object, then caught the look in her eyes. Not quite a challenge, but close. And really, what right did I have to tell her where she could or couldn’t go? I’d lost that particular privilege when I’d tried to compel her to stay in that booth, if I’d ever had it at all.
I turned back to my coffee, not trusting myself to say anything. But when I didn’t feel her leave, I faced her again.
“Kaz—” she began, then stopped herself. Something in her tone made me study her more closely. She seemed… quiet wasn’t quite the right word. Subdued, maybe.
“Yes?” I prompted, and my heart squeezed, hoping.
Finally, she shook her head and left with Nyx forcing herself impossibly through the kitchen door. As the dragon’s tail slipped out of view, I let out a breath.
Maybe Arabella was just relieved to be going home.
Gods knew I was, even with the monumental task ahead of us.
Gathering heroic bloodlines, performing another ritual to force the Shadow King out of the ley lines, preventing him from consuming all magic in existence—just another typical week in the life of a Dark Lord.
Thorne grabbed his weapons and followed, pausing only to give me a look that clearly said, Try not to destroy anything while we’re gone.
The door closed behind them with a soft click, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Dangerous company these days.
I moved to the window that Arabella had vacated, watching the writhing chaos of the Spire’s lower levels. Somewhere out there, Pip was hiding. Whoever had sent those assassins was planning their next move. And here I was, about to leave it all behind to play hero-wrangler.
I huffed out a laugh. Kidnapping heroes.
Under different circumstances, it might have been fun.
The kind of dark adventure Arabella and I would have enjoyed together, trading quips and stolen kisses between acts of villainy.
There was something darkly amusing about the reversal—instead of heroes coming to rescue innocents from my clutches, I’d be the one doing the collecting.
I just hoped they weren’t all like Sebastian. One perpetually cheerful hero was more than enough for any self-respecting villain to handle.