Page 45 of Evermore

Tuck cleared his throat. “Thea, was it? If you want to get her settled, I can make sure these idiots don’t do anything stupid for at least an hour.”

The look Thea gave him could have melted steel. “Only an hour?”

“I know my limits.”

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Fair enough.” She guided Quill toward the stairs, pausing only to throw a knowing look over her shoulder. “Try not to destroy anything else while I’m gone?”

“No promises,” Tuck said, but his eyes followed her until she disappeared up the stairs.

Archer shifted his weight, still unsteady. “So what’s the real plan?”

I jutted my chin toward the sitting room. “The real plan is for you to rest too. You’re no good to anyone half dead.”

“Like hell?—”

“He’s right.” Tuck’s tone left no room for argument. “You look like shit, Archie. You need to recover your strength before you’re of any use to Paesha.”

“When did you become the voice of reason?” Archer muttered.

“Someone has to be.”

Aeris smoothed her hands down her apron. “I assume you’ll be running out that door as soon as we all leave you to it?”

I narrowed my eyes. “You assume much.”

“I observe. And I have observed the Huntress’s fire burning twice as bright as it should. The Remnants that plague her are not natural. They carry whispers of things that should not be.” She moved toward the door. “Do let me know what Alastor has to say about that.”

After she left, Tuck let out a low whistle. “Glad we decided to be done with her ages ago.”

“Wait. You’re a god?” Archer asked, stepping away from Tuck.

“And you’re an heir,” he said, pulling the king’s summons from his coat pocket. “I was going to wait to do this, but it looks like time’s on no man’s side. You’re to report to the king as soon as possible.”

Archer went rigid, his exhaustion forgotten. “You’re working for the king?” He snatched the summons from Tuck’s hand. “Of course you are. Everyone’s working an angle, aren’t they? Even the fucking carriage driver is a god.”

“To be fair,” Tuck said, “I’m not technically?—”

“Save it.” Archer ripped the paper into tiny pieces and watched them trickle to the floor. “Tell myfatherif he wants to see me so badly, he can come find me himself. I’m not playing games with gods and kings and there’s no way in hell I’m sitting on that throne. It was always supposed to be Harlow and we all know how that turned out.”

He walked away, his steps unsteady but his spine straight with stubborn pride. I’d seen that same unyielding defiance in Paesha countless times. No wonder they’d found each other.

“Well,” Tuck said, eyeing the paper scattered across the floor. “That went about as well as expected. Though I suppose we should be grateful he didn’t try to stop time again.”

“Let’s go. Minerva won’t wait forever.”

“No,” he agreed, following me out. “But I can’t help wondering…”

“What?”

“Who the fuck is whispering to her?”

The shadowsin The Broken Crown seemed alive, writhing along the walls of the tavern like restless spirits. Of course, they probably were. Gods loved to lurk in dark corners, feeding off desperation and depravity like vultures picking clean a corpse. I could feel them watching, their hunger palpable, but I didn’t care. Let them see. Let them remember, until I decided they shouldn’t.

Minerva’s familiar presence settled beside me like a warm blanket, though her sharp eyes held their usual mix of exasperation and fondness. She wrapped her weathered fingers around a glass of wine. “Your subtlety needs work. Three gods walk into a bar sounds like the beginning of a terrible joke.”

“It’s good to see you too, Minnie,” I said, sliding my drink closer.

Minerva smiled, those ancient eyes full of the love she held for very few. The same look she’d given me every time I came back to Etherium lost and angry at the universe.