Page 138 of Evermore

“Just having a little fun,” I cooed, watching the Remnants dance around him. “They’re harmless. Mostly. Unless you’re creepy. Maybe don’t be creepy.”

I had to blink several times when Winter appeared beside the man, snow falling over her opaque form as she dragged a finger down his cheek.We are not harmless.

“He doesn’t need to know that,” I shot back.

“Know what?” the guard asked.

The Remnants crept higher. “Nevermind. It’s not important.”

Archer stumbled up beside me, slinging an arm around my shoulder. “Think of the shadows as a private show. Very exclusive. Usually costs extra.”

The guard looked from my power to Archer’s lopsided grin and back again. “Alastor won’t like this.”

“Al can kiss my?—”

“We just want to talk to him,” Archer cut in. “Important royal business.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed. “You’re drunk.”

I gasped. “Who told you?”

After a tense moment, he stepped aside. “Your funeral.”

“It’s fine. Death’s Court is lovely in the fall,” I called over my shoulder as we sauntered through the entrance, the Remnants trailing behind us like sulking children.

The Vale was quiet, with fewer merchants and more shadows. Alastor’s command, no doubt. We made our way through the long, central valley of his black market to doors in the very back with Archer humming an off key tune that somehow matched my stumbling steps.

When we pushed through the double doors without waiting for approval, we found Alastor seated behind his grand desk, looking precisely as irritated as I’d hoped. Irri stood by the edge of a bookshelf nearby, arranging and rearranging a collection of crystal paperweights that caught the light in dizzying patterns.

“Huntress,” Alastor said, his voice dripping with disdain. His eyes shifted to Archer. “King.”

“Not yet,” Archer corrected, swaying slightly. “That’s why we’re here.”

Alastor’s gaze flicked between us, his expression darkening. “You’re both intoxicated.”

“Very astute, Big Al,” I drawled. “No wonder you get to be a god.”

His jaw tightened. “Don’t call me that.”

“What? Al? We talked about this. It suits you. Short, punchy, easy to remember when you’re three, or six, drinks in.” I grinned, enjoying his discomfort far too much.

Despite his obvious annoyance, Alastor didn’t throw us out. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“Do stars dream when they fall?” Irri asked suddenly, abandoning the paperweights to twirl in a slow circle. “I used to catch them, you know. With nets made of moonlight and children’s wishes.”

Archer blinked at her, momentarily distracted. “What?”

Alastor sighed. “Ignore her. She’s having one of her moments.”

“Rude,” I mumbled, but even drunk, I knew better than to antagonize Irri. The goddess hummed a haunting melody, seeming unbothered by Alastor’s dismissal as she continued her strange dance.

“We need information,” Archer said, trying to sound authoritative despite his slurred speech. “About marriage laws. Royal ones.”

“And you thought to come to me?” Alastor’s eyebrow arched perfectly. “The God of Lost Things is hardly an expert on mortal matrimony.”

“You’re old,” I pointed out helpfully. “Like, really old. You must know something.”

The look he gave me could have curdled milk as his Remnants poured onto the floor. And though he may not have wanted me to see it, I noticed the opacity. They seemed weaker. Slower. “Your eloquence never fails to impress me, Huntress.”