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“It never is,” Taly muttered.

Azura glanced at her in warning—though the rebuke was mild at best—rising as Leto enteredthe room. “Today,” she said, wiggling her fingers for one of the champagne bottles the fairy carried in her arms, “is the day we’re going to get rip-roaringly drunk and try to find an appreciation for Draegonian art.”

Taly winced, opening her mouth to object.

“Nobuts.” Azura popped the cork and took a swig directly from the bottle. “We’re going to go look at art, dear. You need a little culture in your life. I’ll even let you bring that…thing.” She waved a hand at Calcifer, crinkling her nose. “So long as it’s on a leash. A very sturdy one.”

Taly took the second champagne bottle from Leto, holding it just a little bit tighter when she saw the label. This particular vintage cost more than an entire month’s rent back at Jay and Laurel’s tavern. Feeling slightly nauseous, she popped the cork. “Fine,” she said. “I know better than to argue with you at this point.”

“Finally, she’s learning!” Azura exclaimed. She clapped a hand to Taly’s shoulder, loosening her grip when Taly winced. Food had helped lessen the pain of her injuries, but she was still bruised. “Now then, my dear—the first thing you need to know about Draegonian art is that it is delightfully vulgar. Once you figure it out, that is.”

Chapter 18

-From the personal notes of Ivain Castaro, Marquess of Tempris

Breena is angry with me again. She’s so talented, so smart, which unfortunately means she grows bored easily. I’ve tried to keep her challenged, but I still caught her dabbling in forbidden magic two nights ago. She hasn’t spoken to me since, and I’m afraid I may have punished her too severely.

The spells contained within the Vetiri are forbidden for a reason, but as someone who began his study in bloodcraft, I can see how those restrictions might feel limiting. No other class of mage is regulated as heavily as we are, and for the gifted, nothing is as devastating as the knowledge that you’ve been confined. That you could go farther, that you could reach for the heavens and pluck the stars from the sky if it weren’t for an arbitrary set of rules chaining you to the ground.

Skye’s heart beat out a nervous rhythm as he strode down the familiar hallway. The Castaros’ townhome was more of an estate than a house, sprawling up instead of out in the way that Harbor Manor did. Eight stories—three of them underground—it was a marvel of white marble and dark mahogany, so elegant and new it was sometimes easy to forget the horrors that lay in wait just outside the city.

Skye hadn’t been able to eat after he returned from the tavern. He’d barely been able to sleep. The knowledge that Taly was alive sparked inside him, and he’d spent most of the night glancing at the stack of diaries sitting on his bedside table, afraid they might disappear.

He still didn’t have a plan for how to bring her home. After all, Aiden had tried and failed, and Skye didn’t have anything that could compare to an earth mage’s locator spell. But he knew her scent, and he had Aiden’s maps and notes. That was enough to get him started, so long as he succeeded in getting outside the city. Ivain was monitoring everyone that came and went, and without special permission, he’d never get past the gates.

Skye sighed. He had considered telling Ivain about the dreams, the woman in the tunnels, the diaries—all of it. But then he’d actually imagined how that conversation might go.

So… I’ve been having dreams. About Taly. And even though she’s human with absolutely no magic, I think they might be real. You see, she told me about the tunnels, and that’s actually why I was down there that night. And then after spending three days cutting down shades in the dark, I followed these little blue lights off by myself where Iactuallysawher. Or a version of her. She didn’t really act or look like herself, and she was wearing a dress. Which, granted, seems unlikely considering Taly only ever consented to wearing a dress on pain of death, and no—no one else saw her but me, but just go with me here because she gave me proof that she’s not just some figment of my grief-stricken imagination. She sent me to her old apartment. Where I broke in. And then I found some diaries underneath an old floorboard, so yeah, I think the evidence should really speak for itself.

In conclusion, not crazy, and please let me leave the city to go look for her.

He was pretty sure any version of that would end with him restrained and heavily sedated, waiting for a healer to come poke around in his head to see which wires had gotten crossed.

Which meant he was going to have to lie.

Too soon, Skye found himself standing in front of Ivain’s office door. Voices filtered from inside, and he steeled himself, raising his hand to knock.

Breathe,he thought as he rapped on the door. His heart was pounding.You’re a shadow mage for Shards’ sake. You know how to lie.

Just never to Ivain. Never anything more than a few childhood stories, trying to avoid getting in trouble for some terrible idea Taly had dragged him into.

The door swung open, and Skye was greeted by a pretty Lowborn girl with freckled cheeks and dark hair that had been pinned and tucked beneath a white maid’s cap. Most of the serving staff had decided to stay on after they’d found their way to Ryme, some having nowhere else to go. Shebobbed out a nervous courtesy as he stepped past her.

Ivain was already at his desk, a half-eaten breakfast tray pushed to the side, and Sarina stood by the window, sipping a steaming cup of tea. They were both dressed in black, a stark contrast to the plain white shirt and gray slacks Skye had chosen to wear instead.

Sarina took in his appearance, pursing her lips but choosing to say nothing. It was his choice if he wanted to go into mourning. Taly wasn’t related to him by blood, so she couldn’t force the issue.

“Ryanne.” Sarina looked to the maid. “Have Eliza prepare a breakfast tray for Skye.”

“I’m fine,” Skye said, holding up a hand.

Sarina gave him a pointed look. “Eliza tells me you haven’t been eating.”

Skye opened his mouth… and then shut it. She wasn’t wrong. He’d missed dinner last night, and when he was down in the airtram tunnels, most of the meals Sarina had sent had gone untouched. “It’s hard to have an appetite when you’ve been dealing with corpses all day.”

“Bring him a tray,” Sarina repeated in a tone that brooked no argument.

Before he could lodge a second complaint, the maid had already sketched out another nervous curtsey and scuttled out the door.