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As the light floated up through the bullet, Memento Mori was briefly illuminated, letter by letter.

Then it faded, the dark metal stark in the gray light.

“What now?” Ithan rasped, barely able to speak.

Connor had been here, and now he was gone. Forever.

“I have Reapers to sort out,” Hypaxia murmured, staring off into the distant mists, to where the hissing was growing louder.

Ithan mastered the hole in his heart enough to ask, “What about Sigrid?”

Hypaxia said carefully, “What would you like me to do with her?”

“Just, ah …” Fuck, he had no idea. “Tell her I want to talk to her.” He clarified, “I need to talk to her. But only once I’m back from the Eternal City.” If he ever came back.

Hypaxia nodded solemnly. “If I encounter her, I will convey the message.”

“The Reapers won’t take the power shift well,” Jesiba warned Hypaxia.

“Then I appoint you my second in command and order you to help me,” Hypaxia said flatly.

“Happy to oblige,” Jesiba said, examining her red-painted nails.

“You can’t kill them,” Hypaxia warned the sorceress.

Jesiba gave the witch a wry smile, and nodded to Ithan, who pulled himself from his grief long enough to meet her steely gaze. “Get your ass to Pangera, Prime. And get that bullet to Bryce Quinlan.”

* * *

Tharion didn’t speak, barely breathed, until he and Sathia were back in the open air. It had taken a few hours to coordinate with his former colleagues about how they’d conduct the exodus from the city, how they’d get the message around without alerting anyone to the plan. Word was bound to leak at some point about the Blue Court harboring refugees, but hopefully by then they’d have a good number of people Beneath. And then the Blue Court would go into lockdown, praying that the River Queen’s power could hold out against the brimstone torpedoes of the Omega-boats docked in the river. It was risky … but it was a plan.

Only when they’d ducked for cover in a shadowy alley did Tharion say to Sathia, “We did it. We fucking did it—”

She smiled, and it was beautiful. She was beautiful.

But a voice crooned from the shadows of the alley, “Isn’t this an interesting turn of events?”

It was all Tharion could do to draw the knife at his side and step in front of Sathia as the Viper Queen emerged into the light, her drugged-out, hulking Fae assassins flanking her.

“I don’t have any quarrel with you,” Tharion said to the Viper Queen, who was clad in one of her usual jumpsuits—ocean blue this time, with high-top sneakers in an amethyst suede with maroon laces.

“You burned my house down,” the Viper Queen said, her snake’s eyes glowing green. Like a Reaper’s eyes. The Fae assassins behind her shifted, as if they were an extension of her wrath.

“Colin?” Sathia blurted, and Tharion found her gaping at one of the Fae males. “Colin? I thought you …”

The Viper Queen glanced between the towering Fae male and Sathia and said to the latter, “Who the fuck are you?”

“Sathia Flynn, daughter of Padraig, Lord Hawthorne.” Sathia’s chin rose, pure disdain in every word. “I know who you are, so don’t bother to introduce yourself, but I want to know why my friend is in your employ.”

It was a different face from the one of courtly grace she’d poured on for the River Queen. This one was imperious and icy and a little bit terrifying.

The Viper Queen snorted.

Sathia bared her teeth. “Colin. Get away from this trash and come home.”

The towering Fae male stared blankly ahead. As he had this whole time. Like he didn’t hear her.

“Colin,” Sathia said, voice sharpening with something like panic.