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His attention stays tacked to the ground. “I had a grandfather. Centuries of fatal bargains and pointless combats between Solitaries who held a variety of grudges narrowed my family down to the two of us. I worshipped him.” Scorpio’s mouth twists. “During The Trapping, the humans caught my grandfather while he was trying to save someone.”

To say the least, I was hoping Scorpio’s story would be flat, hollow enough to disregard. Moth had lost her parents to The Trapping. Cerulean had lost the fauna family who raised him—all but Tímien. Elixir had lost his mothers, and I almost lost Sylvan.

Countless Faeries were deprived because of the uprising. I can’t argue with Scorpio there. Only months ago, I was delighted to drop my human sacrifices into a hunting game. The ones who refused got shackled in The Redwoods of Exile, where they either keeled over from thirst or were eaten alive by predators.

I’d watched both happen and hadn’t flinched.

But didn’t Scorpio just say he’d done the breaking, not the other way around? How does that fit in? And who was the grandfather trying to save?

I’d ask, but it’s pointless. Only a smidgen of me cares about the answers. My woman and our kid might still be languishing on the brink of death if the petal doesn’t work, my brother has been tortured to within an inch of his life, and my back feels like it’s been deep-fried for brunch.

My shit-list keeps getting longer. I’ve got plenty to keep the dregs of my sanity occupied.

In any case, Scorpio’s blinks, and his features wad into a grimace. He’s reached his threshold, as far as emotional bonding goes.

He considers the iron bars. “You could always stay here. I could let the humans do my job for me. Eventually, Elixir will come sniffing for your whereabouts, and they’ll lump him with both of you. Without the ruling Three, the Fae on your side will have no leaders, thus no one cementing them together.”

I shrug. “You’re underestimating the ones fighting with us.”

“You mean those paltry mortals who spread their legs for you?” While my knuckles curl, he contemplates the question. “They may have won their games, but in a war against the whole of our Solitary wild, I’m not worried. It could be amusing, watching them struggle without you. It might be even more fun if I capture one of them, see what it’s like to hold them prisoner.”

He licks his lips. “Perhaps I’ll leave you here and make good on that idea. Perhaps I’ll find out all the different ways your whore can scream—”

My hand cannonballs through the grille, clamps onto his nape, and hauls him forward. Scorpio’s forehead hammers into the bars, his scales roasting on impact just as badly as my arm. I don’t give a toasted fuck, don’t mind the burn because trapping him like this feels too good.

The merman growls, jerking backward in vain as I fasten him against the rail and lean so close my lips almost touch the bars. “Big mistake, luv.” I jolt him backward, only to slam him again into the grille, the force making the cage shudder. “And now who said anything about you leaving?”

I’ve got him where I want him. I can stay like this for an eternity, or at least until two of two things happen—first, this moron reaches medium-well temperature and, second, the humans come back and find him with us.

In any case, if it’s between sharing a cage with this fucker and letting him go free, the choice is easy.

Except I’d forgotten a minor detail. No Fae travels without a weapon.

The flashing tip of a knife lurches through the bars. A hand intercepts, catching Scorpio’s wrist inches from the side of my throat and shackling the merman in a steady grip.

“Careful now,” Cerulean whispers from beside me, his voice fatally calm. “Be very careful about playing with sharp objects, or you might drop one.”

Whatever residual strength my brother has salvaged goes into that grip, clenching so hard Scorpio’s fingers snap open.

Cerulean swipes the hilt with his free hand, but the sautéed merman manages to break from our combined grips and lunge backward.

Griddle tracks cinder his forehead. His scales radiate, throwing light across the vale. I should have suspected that just because his trident had been absent, that hadn’t meant he was brainless.

The merman touches his charred flesh and seethes at us. “Suit yourselves. Let the mortals have you.” With that, he fumbles through the pocket of his shirt and tosses a small pouch into the cage. “Brought you a care package.”

Cerulean casts the gift a dubious glance, but I was done pacing myself a while ago. I snatch up the parcel, rip the thing open, and watch a single petal flutter to the floor. It’s shaped like the point of a starburst. Shades of copper, bronze, gold, and silver fluctuate like a prism, each color melting into the next.

The Evermore Blossom shimmers between us like a sucker punch.

“By any chance, did you need that for something?” Scorpio brags, then rises and walks backward. “Two down. One more to go.”

He strides from the cage and slips into the briers as if they’re made of water.

“Now you see him,” I mutter to myself. “Now you don’t.” Afterward, I slump on my ass, my earrings tinkling as I drive a hand through my hair.

Cerulean picks the Evermore Blossom from the ground and reclines sideways as if he’s lounging on a throne. He winces with the movement yet still manages to look graceful, even while in pain.

His dark blue hair slides across his cheek as he studies the petal, which sways hypnotically in his hand. “He was bluffing, Puck.”