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She crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine. You can come. But if we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

“Fine.”

“And I’m not going to be happy if you screw this up.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t want sex when I’m not happy.”

But he just smiled in the face of such an empty threat. “We’ll see about that.”

Chapter 40

In the end, it wasn’t Skye who ruined Taly’s plans. Kalahad never woke from the healing sleep, and that changed everything.

Aiden didn’t give a reason why. He handed the news off to Skye to give to Taly as if it were a ticking bomb, fully aware of the explosion it would cause—the coward.

It was almost sunset—or what counted for sunset during the Long Night. Lanterns strung from lampposts, cottage eaves, and shimmering wires laced between buildings began to dim, their warm glow fading.

Villagers paused in their activities, watching the change.

It began in the central square, where the largest lantern, hanging from a tall, intricately carved wooden post, kicked off the change. It flickered once, then, with a soft hum, turned from a vibrant gold to a deep blue.

The shift rippled outward, cascading through the village as each lantern followed in perfect sequence. One by one, their golden glow cooled to a serene twilight, bathing the village in a soft, calming azure.

“I guess Solnar can be kind of pretty,” Skye conceded, one arm looped around Taly’s shoulders. She fit against him perfectly, like she always had. “If you’re into glowing lanterns and pretty light shows or whatever…”

Taly didn’t respond, just pulled her coat tighter. He’d told her about Kalahad. It went about as well as anyone could expect. Then her anger had burned itself out, leaving something more brittle in its place.

Skye knew she wanted to find Aneirin, or Bill, or whatever they were calling him now. In the same way he knew she felt responsible, as if being the only one to talk to him made it herduty to bring him in. Gifts came to the townhouse now almost daily, and he knew they frightened her, even if she wouldn’t say it. They frightened him.

On her shoulder, Calcifer huddled beneath her hood, which was pulled low to keep the rain off her face. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, her lips pressed into a frown. He had a flash of memory from the previous day, of that pale pink mouth quirking as she pushed him into a closet intent on ruining him.

That was how it should’ve been. Her, smiling. Not bracing for the next hit.

At home, she aimed straight for the piano to scry. Skye nudged her towards the dining room instead. She’d scry all night if he let her, ignoring food and sleep like they were optional.

After dinner, they settled in the music room. Even with the world gone mad, Sarina still insisted on family time.

“Shit,” Ivain slurred, blearily squinting at the board in front of him. He looked very undignified with his tie loose around his neck, his shirt unbuttoned, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees with both hands steepled.

He and Skye were on their second game of “better chess” for the evening, a little something that had found its way into being years ago when Taly had grown bored of regular chess. The rules were ever-evolving, though in its simplest form, the pieces were replaced with shots of liquor, queens could resurrect with a small payment to the weapons vendor, and the pawns came with a dice roll that had the potential to clear all surrounding squares. “I think I’m losing…”

“No, you’re winning,” Skye grumbled. “You just keep taking nips from the bottle.”

A bottle of very rare, very expensive Arendryl brandy. Taly had unearthed it from behind a book in the library—this time, it was The Complete Guide to Boring Legal Precedents. Ivain’s hiding spots had improved over the years, but Taly stilloutmatched him. It was in her blood, Skye decided. Had to be. The Venwraiths were famous for two things: charm and liquor. Maybe the latter came as instinct.

The woman in question was seated at the piano, teasing out a slow tune. She’d swept the first two rounds of better chess. After that, Skye figured it was only fair to let her go scry.

Her hands moved instinctively over the keys. Her eyes were closed. A slight frown marred her brow. The melody was light, unhurried—the kind of tune she used to play every night after dinner.

It struck him, just how much he’d missed this.

It felt like thebeforetimes—Sarina dozing on the couch, the mimic cradled in her arms and snoring; Ivain studying the board in front of him like it was some kind of championship game.

It felt almost normal. Like the years hadn’t passed. Like Taly had never left.

Ivain put down his piece—a green shot glass with a leaf motif. A bishop.