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I don’t tell the Bargainer that I get a little thrill looking at the painting, that for once I look like I belong somewhere.

“It was interesting,” I say, taking a sip from my mug of coffee. “Have fun in my absence?”

“I got by,” Temper says, her fingers running over a nearby shelf of books. “I went back to that tailor to get more fae outfits.” She smooths a hand down her outfit, and holy shit, why am I only now noticing what she’s wearing?

The gown—yes, my best friend chose to put on a gown before noon—looks like woven rainwater, each individual droplet glistening as she moves. Cascading down the skirt are what look like water lilies, the flowers artfully placed so that they hide all her incriminating bits. The neckline of the dress is so low that it plunges down to her navel.

It’s extra as fuck.

“Did you threaten the tailor again?” I ask. Last time we’d gotten fitted for outfits, she’d been a little huffy.

Temper clears her throat. “I call itincentivizing.”

Oh geez.

Temper’s eyes move to the painting, and she whistles. “Damn, Desmond, I didn’t know you painted.”

He lifts a shoulder. “When I’m restless.”

Malaki comes in right then, his imposing frame filling the doorway. Immediately, my eyes hone in on the hickeys ringing his neck. He could’ve removed them—it would only take a pinch of magic—and yet, there they are. In fact, not only did Malakinotremove the hickeys, he’s also pulled his hair into one of those girlie little buns, further displaying them.

Someone should tell him hickies were only cool in middle school.

When Temper catches me staring, she waggles her eyebrows.

I bite my lower lip to keep my laugh in check. Joke’s on her because every day she strings this fairy along, he’s less likely to let her slip through his clutches. And Temper doesnotdo commitment.

“So?” Malaki says, taking a seat next to Des, his bronze eyepatch catching the light. “How was your visit to the Banished Lands?”

Temper sits down next to me. The sleeve of her dress brushes against my arm, dampening a patch of my clothes.

“All the tomb’s enchantments are still in place, there’s no sign of forced entry, and yet the body is gone,” Des says.

I suppress a shiver at the memory of that empty tomb. For the last month, Galleghar Nyx has been gallivanting about.

“How is that possible?” Malaki asks.

Des rolls a paintbrush between his fingers. “The best information we got was that a shadow retrieved him.”

Malaki’s brows furrow. “Ashadow? Is this the Thief we’re dealing with?”

“Probably,” I say.

He curses. “Of course the two worst fairies in the world have decided to team up.” He shakes his head and rubs a hand over his eyes. “How the hell did this happen?”

“The fuck if I know,” Des says, throwing the paintbrush aside. “Are you in the mood for a bit of reconnaissance?”

Malaki’s face is grim. “This has to do with your asshole father?”

Des inclines his head.

The general’s eye glitters. “I’d love nothing more.” His friend’s scarred face and eye patch look a little sinister in the light.

The Bargainer begins to smile. “Good. I’d like you to meet with some of our old connections back on Barbos. Tell them that the dead king has risen, and anyone who has knowledge of his whereabouts will be handsomely compensated.”

“And if someone can lead me to him?” Malaki asks.

“Report back to me first. I don’t want to chance losing him. Oh and by the way—” Des’s eyes inadvertently land on Temper, “be discreet.”