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Malik said nothing.

The door cracked open just then, revealing a sliver of a tan cheek and one brown eye. That eye lifted to the shadowy recesses of Malik’s hood, dropped to the cloaked body in his arms, and then darted to where we stood. The eye narrowed. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not at first,” Malik responded in a voice barely above a whisper. “But, yeah, you will once you know who I have in my arms and who stands with me.”

Wariness radiated from Kieran, tasting of vinegar as he crowded Malik’s back.

“Who’s in your arms?” the man I could only assume was Blaz demanded in an equally low voice.

I didn’t think Malik would answer.

He did.

“The King of Atlantia.”

My mouth dropped open as Blaz uttered, “Bullshit.”

“And I have his wife with me,” Malik continued. I thought for a moment that Reaver might actually eat him. “You know, the Queen.”

“Double bullshit,” Blaz replied.

Sighing, Malik looked over his shoulder to where I stood. “Show him.”

“Yeah.” The eye narrowed even further. “Show me and then tell me what my good man here was smoking that got him showing up at my door on a night like this, telling wild stories.”

The fact that the man hadn’t shouted to the sky at the mention of Atlantia was somewhat reassuring.

Deciding that we were already knee-deep in whatever this was, I edged past Kieran and came to stand beside Malik. I lowered the hood of my cloak.

That eye swept over my face and then darted back to the scar on my brow, going wide. “Holy shit,” he gasped as Kieran reached over, tugging my hood back into place. “It’s you. It’s really you. Holy shit.”

“Are my scars that well known?” I asked.

“Scars?” Blaz mumbled as the door swept open wide. “Holy shit on a sardine sandwich. Yeah, come right in.”

“I am slightly concerned about this mortal,” Reaver muttered.

I was more than slightly concerned about all of this, but when Malik walked in, I followed without hesitation since he carried Casteel. Kieran was right behind me, entering a small foyer. The space had no light, so all I could make out was the shape of what appeared to be low-to-the-floor chairs.

“It’s not the scars,” Kieran said, his voice low as Blaz closed the door behind Reaver. “It’s your eyes. They’re streaked with silver. Been that way since you entered the stairwell in Wayfair.”

I blinked rapidly, even though I had no idea if that would help or if it did. Maybe the adrenaline was causing it?

“Blaz?” came a soft voice from the narrow hall, lit only by a wall sconce. “What’s going on?”

“You should come in here.” Blaz backed up slowly into the hall. The man’s hair matched his name. Fiery strands brushed the skin at his temples that surely burned upon a few moments in the sun. A beard in a deeper red color covered his jaw. “We’ve got guests. Elian and special guests.”

“Elian?” I repeated under my breath, thinking I recognized the name.

“That’s his middle name.” Kieran nodded at Malik’s back. “Named after their ancestor.”

Elian Da’Neer. The one who’d summoned the gods after the war with the deities to smooth over relations with the wolven. The very first bonding between wolven and Atlantian resulted from the meeting. Was that why Tawny hadn’t known Malik when she’d been at Wayfair? Because she’d known him as Elian?

A moment later, a short figure stepped out from one of the chambers off the hall and into the lamplight. Shoulder-length dark hair framed cool, olive-beige cheeks and a rounded chin. The woman appeared to be about the same age as Blaz, somewhere in their third decade of life. She wore a dark sleeping robe, belted around the waist.

Her hands weren’t empty.

Clariza held a slender iron dagger as she crept forward. “What kind of special guests did you bring us, Elian?” she asked, dark, intelligent eyes darting over the group and lingering on Reaver, whose face was the only one visible. His pupils were normal, but the mortal still swallowed.

“The King of Atlantia,” Blaz answered, joining his wife. “And the Queen.”

“Bullshit.” Clariza echoed her husband’s early sentiment. “Have you been indulging in the Red Ruin?”

Casteel was likely to awaken at any moment. I stepped forward to avoid any lengthy attempts to prove our identities when I could just show them. I lifted the hood, letting it drape from my shoulders.

Clariza’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit.”

“What he claims is true. My name is Penellaphe. You could’ve known of me as the Maiden at one time. He does hold my husband in his arms. He’s been held by the Blood Crown,” I told them, noting the tightening in Clariza’s jaw. “He’s been injured and is in need of shelter so I can provide him with aid. We were brought here because we were told that we could trust you.”