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The arch of his brow softens, and he shakes my question away like snowflakes on an ice dragon’s back. “I saw you earlier. You could barely handle the sacrifice, and if I noticed, so did the others. If you’re not in better shape for Morheim?—”

During Morheim, all Fae citizens follow the Shadow Court’s custom of wearing masks to ward themselves against the nightmares that roam the realm more freely. At the end of the season, each kingdom offers a tribute so that we liberate the sun and continue to protect them. Every shadow hunter needs to bring their “A” game this year, or the magic I have left will dwindle, and we won’t make it through winter.

“I’ll be ready for Morheim.”

Elio blinks a few times. “I hope so.”

His gloomy words of encouragement unnerve me more than his earlier condescension.

I serve him a casual shrug, force my jaw loose, and add a trace of arrogance to my lips. “I have new seeds, and one of them is exceptional. It won’t be long until she sprouts and when she does, I’ll be good for ten seasons, at least.”

“Your seeds take months to sprout.”

With a dismissive wave, I laugh off his concerns. “Not this one.”

My situation is even more critical than he believes, especially after the clusterfuck yesterday. If Nell had caught a clear view of our unexpected guest in the gardens last night… I might have had to give up on her altogether. Just the thought turns my stomach.

Elio rakes his nails across the frozen patch at his neck, his eyes fixed on the chalice. “Every single one of us is doomed.”

Seth Devine condenses into solid form behind his mother’s throne, clearly eavesdropping. “Elio…ever the optimist.” He was born to two kingdoms and yet none, his powerful magic split between light and dark, two opposing forces. His ability to turn into mist or wind is not even his most annoying quality.

Elio stiffens from head to toe, and his nose wrinkles in disgust. “Get lost, dandelion fuzz.”

A thundercloud sticks to Seth’s shoulders as he closes the distance between us. “I’m looking forward to this year’s pageant, Elio. Your discarded wanna-be brides are always so…receptive to my soothing words.”

Being three of the most hated and misunderstood Fae in existence, you’d think we’d find common ground, but alas… Seth’s misery only loves the company of naked women.

“Why are you here, Seth? Don’t you have wine and women to tend to?” I drawl in a dispassionate tone.

The prince of nowhere at all strolls around the sacred hall, appraising the thrones like he’s browsing for new furniture. He drags a finger over the top of Elio’s seat and rubs his fingers together, checking for dust. “Morrigan’s presence was felt in the sceawere. The others were whispering about it before you two arrived.”

The wretched name scrapes my insides and makes little bows of my gut. “Certainly nowhere near the Shadowlands.”

Seth gives me a wide smile that says, oh, you’re such an idiot. “She wouldn’t lurk too close to home, would she? The question you should really ask yourself is: why would she be on the move now. I’d love to discuss that with you.” He offers Elio a wide, impish smile. “Privately.”

Elio meets my gaze for the first time since his wife died, and the unblinking stare chills me to the bone. “If Morrigan is left unchecked, the others will demand more from you. You need all the magic you can get.”

“Don’t worry about Rye. If she’s in Faerie, I’ll find her.” I grit my teeth, her pet name sour on my tongue.

“You better. I’ve got enough to deal with at the moment. I’d rather not pay you one final visit.” Elio bares his teeth to Seth in lieu of goodbye and hustles to the reception with his hands tucked inside the pockets of his silver jacket.

I turn back to the annoyingly well-informed prince and offer him a fake, bemused smile. He’s more powerful than me right now, but I can’t let it show. If he knew, he’d probably kill me right here.

He licks his lips, clearly excited to spell out my troubles. “Morrigan crossed the sceawere from Demeter to the fringe of Storm’s End and vanished through the frozen hills of Wintermere…”

I’ve always known Morrigan was hiding in the old world. It’s the only realm where people don’t allow mirrors into their homes, so I can’t hunt for her there without some serious investment of time and power—more than I can spare. But Wintermere is a different story.

“Elio would have told me if Morrigan had been through Wintermere.”

My gaze latches on to Elio’s back, the Winter King now sipping on a flute of Feyfire wine. From his scowl, you’d think it was tepid water—and not the most potent aphrodisiac in existence.

Seth leans closer to my ear. “Are you so sure about that? I know you two used to be friends, but look again. Elio has become one of his lost souls, and you know as well as I do what mistakes a desperate king can make when he’s backed against a wall. What better prey than a hopeless king for a woman that longs for a throne?”

I examine Elio again and find the blueish tint of his skin a little worrying indeed. “You think Morrigan turned her sights to Elio?”

“I’m saying you don’t know who your friends are anymore. And that’s a dangerous position to be in, cousin.”

Cousin is a way for royal Fae to address their equals by power—not blood, and a wolfish smile quirks my mouth. “I bet you’d be my friend…for a price.”