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He takes another swig from his flask, passing it back to me. “Someone here must’ve seen what happened to the body,” he replies. “I’m going to have a little chat with them.”

A little chat.Right. That’s a Bargainer euphemism if I’ve ever heard one.

I swallow a shot’s worth of Otherworld spirits—oh, that sitswellin the stomach—before handing the flask to Des and glancing around us.

There’s not a single spark of life anywhere within eyesight. Not an animal, not a plant, and certainly not a fairy. Besides us, there’s no one here right now, just as there likely was no one here the day Galleghar’s body disappeared from its tomb.

But even if there was …

“Shouldn’t we then be looking for them?”

“They will come to us.”

I’m seriously not following.

Des, smirks at me, no longer looking so distant. “Have you been feeling a little parched?”

“Yes …” I say slowly. What does that have to do with anything?

“There’s a reason we banish fae here. This place is devoid of magic. A long ago battle reaped every last drop from the land. And magic, cherub, is a fairy’s lifeblood.”

With his flask, the Bargainer points to the bonfire, which is doing such an excellent job of shoving off the cold that I have to scoot away from it. “That right there is putting out magic in spades—magic that fae will be drawn to.”

The smoke gives off a perfumed scent—like burning rose petals—and I suddenly get it. The fire was literally sending out a smoke signal, carrying magic off along the wind, coaxing magic-starved fae towards us.

“So we’re bait,” I say. “You decided to make us bait.”

The Bargainer’s gaze sharpens on me, his pale eyes changing color as the flames dance in them. “You’re not bait, love. The fire is the bait. You’re an iron-manacled trap set to crush willful fairies.”

Yessss, my siren says.He understands.

Des’s eyes move to the fire and his gaze unfocuses. I think that maybe he’s going to add something else, but the seconds tick by, and soon it becomes obvious that his thoughts have returned inwards.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen the big bad Bargainer fall into himself. In my mind he’s the deal-making, door-busting, tatted thug I met eight years ago.

Not this.

“Des.”

We all have roles we play. I’m used to being the vulnerable one, the lonely one, and the Bargainer is used to being the tough, secretive one. The problem is, we aren’t actors and this isn’t a play. We’re flesh and blood and even a fairy as strong and capable and old (and I meanold) as Des sometimes needs to be weak.

And it’s okay to be weak and upset. I’ve stared down those emotions at the bottom of many a-bottle.

I think that’s where the Bargainer is, even though his stoic expression gives away nothing. His kingdom is compromised and his father is alive and maybe all sorts of old emotions he thought he buried are now resurfacing. I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong, but in case I’m not—

I get up and close what little distance there is between me and Des. I sink down on his lap, my thighs on either side of his hips. His gaze sharpens, and he stares at me with those intense, pale eyes of his. He’s hard to look at because even after all this time he’s still so ridiculously pretty.

He closes his eyes, and when he opens them, there’s so much turbulence in them. So much. An immortal’s worth. I touch the corner of his eye.

“I’ve got you,” I say. And then I kiss one of his cheeks, and then the other.

Wordlessly he pulls me to him.

“Cherub,” he brushes my hair back and cups my face, “I’m not sad. I’m so very, veryangry.”

Now that he says it, I can feel the emotion like it’s some sort of magic unto itself. It vibrates beneath his skin and along our connection. It makes his hands shake.

“This is the one part of me I don’t want you to see,” he says softly.