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Dahvid shrugged, like death was nothing to him. Like the murders of their parents and their brother were not the exact reasons they were here now, scraping an existence out of this hovel. Nevelyn let out a sigh.

“Cath, what about his next tattoo?”

There were drawings on the far wall. Several images they’d discussed at great length. The last couple of attempts had failed to properly settle into Dahvid’s skin. It had created the first tension she’d seen between the two lovers. It was always easier to laugh when things were going well. Cath confirmed her guess.

“We might need more time.”

Nevelyn cut a concerned look back at Dahvid. “You’re not ready.”

“Not ready for simple head-to-head matchups, but you want me to eventually win a gauntlet? Explain how that works, Sister.”

“To win a gauntlet, you will have to guard your biggest secrets until the very last possible moment, Brother. A fight against one of Darling’s handpicked champions will force you to reveal too much too soon. As if we haven’t discussed this a hundred times. I will not lose another brother.…”

“Ease up, Nev.”

This came from Cath. She was a bridge between them. Dahvid, headstrong and quick to act. Nevelyn, spiderlike and cautious. Whenever they could not find a middle ground, it was Cath who stepped forward to offer one. Much like Ava once had. Nevelyn softened at the expression on the girl’s face.

“Fine. You’ve done good work, Brother. Father would be proud.” She took a deep breath. “Ware and Ava would be, too. You know that I am just being cautious. It’s all that I’m good at.”

He grinned wildly at that. Cath smiled too. At heart, both of them were dreamers. Creatures of great optimism. They believed that they could leap off the cliffs the world offered and events would simply work out in their blessed favor. It fell to Nevelyn to actually supply the logistics that allowed them access to those bright, imagined futures. There were logical steps that needed to occur. Passion was not everything. Dahvid thought that emotion could triumph if you simply had enough of it. That was something their father had imparted to him, and that impracticality—that lack of looking at the larger picture—was exactly why House Tin’Vori was destroyed in the first place.

Not again. Not while she was in charge.

“Let’s celebrate, then,” Nevelyn sighed. “Down at the Severed Head?”

Dahvid looked surprised. “You’re not too tired?”

Her eyes flicked over to the unwelcoming bed with its lackluster sheets.

“Not nearly tired enough. Let’s go. Cath is right. This is good news.”

Her brother hefted a sack of coins from one hip. Nevelyn recognized the fabric. It was likely the same sack they’d used to escort him to Darling. It looked like the cloth she’d often seen in the hands of pit masters, after a fight ended. They always slid them over the heads of the dead, not wanting the audience’s stomach to turn when they saw the lifeless eyes rolling. People liked the killing. The startling color of blood leaving a living body. They didn’t care for what came after, though. Corpses and shit and ruin.

She saw a brief and frightening glimpse of Dahvid lying on his back in the arena sand. A faceless pit master sliding a similar sack over his head. And then her mind flicked back to the present. The sack was just a sack. The coins inside sounded like they were laughing at her fears.

Dahvid was grinning.

“Drinks are on me.”

5 REN MONROE

Theo’s guess proved accurate.

A letter arrived in the morning. Ren was invited to work with a group of spellmakers. It was precisely the sort of work she’d craved in undergrad. Research and development. New spells that stretched modern thought about what magic could do. It stung that the invitation was a trap, but at least the bars of her cage were bright, golden things.

Theo read the letter twice. “I didn’t expect my father to be this kind. Clearly, he thought you’d turn down anything less to go with me to the mountains. It’s a compliment, I suppose. He thinks you’re loyal to me. At least this means you will be happy.”

Ren heard the bitterness in his voice. The implication was that he would suffer in exile while she went happily about her work in Kathor. She doubted that would be the case. She would likely be surrounded by men and women who were loyal to House Brood. Her every move would be watched. Still, it was better than being shipped off to the middle of nowhere. She genuinely pitied Theo. This wasn’t just their bond tugging at her sympathy. His family had gone too far. Bad enough to exile him, but to humiliate him in front of the city’s most powerful people? She thought what they’d done was unnecessarily cruel, and that might be very useful to her.

“Are you traveling by waxway?” she asked.

Theo actually shivered. “After what happened last year? No.”

“Carriage?”

“I’m not that antiquated. My father arranged a method of travel that I am far more comfortable with.” He smirked. It looked like the expression she’d seen on his face out in the Dires—before everyone started dying. “I am traveling by wyvern to Nostra.”

Ren actually laughed. “Really? You’re not comfortable with the waxways, but you’ll take a wyvern? After…” She gestured to the scars that barely peeked out above the V in his shirt.