Page 77 of Evermore (The Never Sky #3)

“What are you?—”

“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.”

Archer leaned forward, bracing himself against Alastor’s desk. “I need to know if there’s a way around the marriage requirement for ascending the throne. Some loophole, some precedent, anything.”

“You know better than that. If there were, Thorne’s dog would have found it already. Those laws were written with very specific intentions, and with… certain influences present to ensure they remained absolute.”

“Did you just call Tuck a dog?” I asked, flopping down in the chair across from him. “You can’t go around calling people dogs, Al. It’s offensive. To the dogs. Do better.”

Archer groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “So I’m screwed.”

“The arrow cannot wed the hawk,” Irri said absently, now tracing patterns in the air with her fingertips. “Their wings beat to different rhythms.”

We all turned to look at her, but she had already moved on, humming that eerie tune again as she rearranged books on a shelf.

“What does that mean?” Archer asked.

Alastor shook his head. “It’s best not to try interpreting her musings. They rarely make sense to anyone but her since she’s come back from the Forgotten. She needs time.”

“Or perhaps they make too much sense,” I suggested, watching Irri with newfound curiosity. There was something about her words that tugged at my mind, like a forgotten melody.

Archer straightened suddenly, his expression shifting. “There’s something else I need to know. Am I really an Unmade Guardian?”

“Of course you are,” Irri said, opening the door only to shut it again. “We have to let the secrets out or they will become trapped and destruction will follow. Isn’t that right, Huntress? Darling Huntress. I like your dress. Was it mine?”

I looked down to my leather trousers, blinking several times to bring them into focus. Still not a dress.

“Oh!” She spun to Alastor. “It’s snowing.”

“Are you cold?” Alastor asked, jumping from his seat to rush to her. “Do you need something warmer?”

A moment of clarity struck as she reached for Alastor’s handsome face. “You love me too hard some days.”

“Impossible,” he answered, staring down at her like she created the air he breathed.

“Awkward,” Archer whispered, leaning toward me. Except it wasn’t quiet at all.

Alastor’s attention snapped to him. “Rumor has it you wear the Treeis mark. Though many are trying to figure out who you’ve bonded to. Between us and anyone that saw you loitering outside my market, I’d say the answer was fairly obvious.”

“But I’m not bound to Ezra,” he argued, ignoring the answer Al was fishing for.

“I believe that part is true, at least. But how many mortals truly understand what they are, what forces shape them? The Treeis mark doesn’t lie, Archer Bramwell. You are Unmade, though perhaps not in the traditional sense.”

“That doesn’t make me one of Ezra’s puppets!”

“Unmade Guardians aren’t puppets,” Alastor corrected. “They’re chosen. Special. Vessels for a power greater than themselves.”

“Oh yeah?” I challenged. “From where I’m sitting, it looks a hell of a lot like manipulation. You fuckers are good at that.”

Alastor’s dark eyes fixed on me. “Careful, Huntress. You’re in my domain now, and I’ve been remarkably patient with your… behavior.”

“Aww, am I annoying you?” I batted my eyelashes. “How absolutely devastating for you.”

“Paesha,” Archer warned, clearly sensing the dangerous edge to our banter.

Irri suddenly appeared beside Alastor, her movements so fluid it was as if she’d simply materialized there. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and some of the tension left his frame.

“The three-pointed star cannot bear the crown alone,” she said, her eyes focusing briefly as she looked directly at Archer. “The bond that saves will also chain. No marriage vows can stand against such ties.”

Archer frowned. “What is she talking about?”

“She thinks you can’t marry,” I translated, the pieces clicking together despite my inebriated state. “Because of the Treeis bond.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Archer scoffed. “Plenty of people with magical bonds get married.”

“Not the Unmade,” Alastor said quietly. “And certainly not those bound to both a child and…” He glanced at me, something calculating in his gaze. “Whatever that is.”

“Again. Rude.”

Before he could answer, the doors behind us crashed open. Archer and I spun in our seats to find Thorne standing in the doorway, looking absolutely murderous.

“Found us,” Archer muttered.

“Time to go,” I agreed.

Irri began to hum louder, a smile playing at her lips as she resumed her seemingly random dance around the room.

The melody followed us as we stumbled toward the exit, past Thorne.

But rather than fury, he simply flashed a subtle wink at me and slid his hand over the small of my back as we walked out.

He knew where we were, of course. This man wasn’t letting me casually stroll the streets knowing his brother was hunting me.

But he was giving me space. Until he wasn’t, apparently.

“He sounds like thunderstorms,” Irri yelled behind us. “All lightning and promise. But you already knew that, didn’t you, little Huntress? With all of your destruction?”

I froze, looking back at her. For a moment, her eyes were clear, knowing, before clouding over again as she returned to her humming.

“This has been delightful,” Alastor called after us. “Please don’t come again. Especially not in this state.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Al,” I called back, grabbing Archer’s arm as we made our hasty exit.

The last thing I heard as Thorne led us out was Irri’s lilting voice, “The arrow and the hawk may not wed, but oh, how beautifully they fly together…”

As expected, by the time we got back to the Syndicate house, Thorne’s overly protective alpha male attitude was gone. He’d trusted me with Archer, sure, but he was never far enough away to truly worry. He’d simply kissed me harder in bed that night. And I’d let him.