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Bryce examined the relief. Took in the dancing, the stars, the idyllic islands in the background. And she said softly, “It means that there was once joy in this world.”

Silence. Then Nesta said, “That’s it?”

Bryce kept her eyes on the dancers, the stars, the lush lands. Ignored the darkness beneath. Focused on the good—always the good. “Isn’t that all that matters?”

13

It took five hours for the Viper Queen to deign to meet Ithan.

Five hours, plus the fact that Ithan had opened the door to the hallway where two Fae assassins stood posted and threatened to start ripping apart the warehouse.

Then and only then was he escorted here, to her office.

He’d left Flynn, Dec, Marc, and Tharion quietly debating not only how the fuck they’d get out of the Meat Market, but also whether to trust the Hind. The sprites, shocked by her mention of their lost queen, had retreated into Tharion’s bedroom with Sigrid. The dragon hadn’t yet emerged from her own.

But Ithan had had enough of debating, of asking questions. He’d never been good with that shit. Maybe it was the athlete in him, but he just wanted to do something.

It didn’t matter if they could trust the Hind or not. If she could get them to Pangera, closer to their friends … he’d take that. But he had to get one friend out first.

Ithan sat in an ancient green chair in a truly derelict office, watching the Viper Queen type key by key into a computer that could have doubled as a cement block.

A statue of Luna sat atop that computer, arrow pointed at the Viper Queen’s face. A few more deliberate click-clacks of her long nails on the keyboard, and then her green eyes slid to Ithan.

“So what was all the yelping about?”

Ithan crossed his arms. On the desk itself sat a statuette of Cthona, carved from black stone. In one arm the goddess cradled an infant to her bare breast. In the other, she extended an orb—Midgard—out into the room. Cthona, birther of worlds. He touched it idly, gathering his courage.

“I want to discuss what you’re going to do about Sabine,” he said.

The Viper Queen leaned back in her seat, sleek bob swaying. “As far as I know, when Amelie Ravenscroft woke up from having her throat cut by my guards, she tracked down the Prime Apparent, dragged her carcass home, and has been feeding Sabine a steady diet of firstlight to regenerate her. She’s already back on her feet.”

Ithan’s blood curdled. “So Sabine recovered quickly.”

The Viper Queen cocked her head. “Were you hoping otherwise?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he asked, “And you’re going to hand Sigrid and me over to her?”

The Viper Queen opened a drawer, pulled out a silver tin of cigarettes, and lifted one to her mouth. “Depends on how nicely you ask me not to, Holstrom.” The cigarette rose and fell with the words. She lifted a lighter and ignited the tip, taking a long drag.

“What’ll it take?”

Smoke rippled from her mouth as the Viper Queen sized him up. Her tongue darted over her purple lower lip. Tasting—scenting. The way snakes smelled.

“Let’s introduce ourselves first. We’ve never met, have we?”

“Hi. Nice to meet you.”

“So testy. I thought you’d be a big old softy.”

He flashed his teeth. “I don’t know why you’d assume that.”

She took another long drag of her cigarette. “Did you not go against Sabine’s orders and lead a small group of wolves into Asphodel Meadows to save humans? To save the most vulnerable of the House of Earth and Blood?”

He growled. “I was doing a nice thing. There wasn’t much more to it than that.”

The Viper Queen exhaled a plume of smoke, more dragon than the one upstairs. “That remains to be seen.”

Ithan challenged, “You sent your people to help that day, too.”