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“One, that’s not true. I keep saying I don’t trust anyone, and yet it’s because I can’t help but trust people that I keep getting into stupid situations like this one.

” She laughed quietly. “And two, I don’t trust him to want to do right by me.

I don’t trust him not to be scheming behind my back.

But one thing at a time, like this? Sure.

I believe what he said to me about this bracelet.

Can you tell if he was speaking the truth? ”

“I am not a magus. That is the kind of magic that made him so loathed amongst our kind.” He grimaced. “The only one who may be able to discern that is Valroy. Or, perhaps, Bayodan.”

Two people she didn’t know if she could trust the answers of. Cool. “Well, they obviously won’t be very helpful.”

“You trust him. After all he’s done. After what he’s trying to do to you. What he’s trying to turn you into. Yet you— why, Ava?” Lysander shook his head, still flabbergasted. “Do you love him?”

“No. Don’t be stupid.” Her answer was quick and harsh, even to her own ears. “Just because we had sex, doesn’t mean I’m in love with him. I figured you fae would be the experts on that.”

“That is not what I’m implying.” Lysander took her upper arm and stopped her progress down the hallway, turning her to face him. “Ava.”

She pulled her arm out of his grasp, laughing sardonically at his expression of concern.

“You want to call me an idiot for taking this bracelet from him? Sure. Go for it. It’s a new mistake on a long list of mistakes I’ve made over the past—I don’t even know how many weeks or days or hours it’s been.

But here’s the thing—I know more about his motivations and what he’s after than I do yours.

Or Valroy’s. Or Bayodan’s. And while I’m here to slow things down and get away from Serrik and his genocidal designs on all of you, I’m not ready to throw my lot in with the Unseelie yet, either.

I’ve yet to see anything that’s made me want to trust any of you more than him. Far from it.”

Lysander watched her, expression a mix of turmoil and curiosity. “Valroy was wrong to torment you with Ibin and Nos.”

“Yeah. Maybe. But that’s just who he is, isn’t he? Asking him to not be a scheming dickhead is like asking the moon not to rise, isn’t it? He can’t help himself.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

Lysander looked away.

“Right. Exactly. He’s a force of nature.

Like what I’m turning into. And that is really why I’m here, Lysander.

Not because I want to trust Valroy—but because he’s supposed to help me get a handle on whatever the fuck this Web entity nonsense is.

So, maybe it was a mistake to take the bracelet from Serrik.

Or, maybe it spared me getting further entangled—Web pun not intended—with other fae like you and Bayodan.

I don’t know. Nobody is giving me a lot to work with, here!

” She turned and started walking again down the hallway.

“I’m just makin’ this shit up as I go along, kitty. ”

Meanwhile, Bitty was just following along, silently watching the whole thing unfold with wide eyes .

Lysander jogged to catch up with her. “I am not saying it was a mistake. I am just…concerned for you. And confused.”

“And I appreciate the concern, I really do. As for the confusion?” She rubbed her collarbone where the seven-legged spider tattoo sat, proudly declaring to all the world precisely what she was becoming—and who got her into this mess in the first place.

“You’re probably right. I’m probably a stupid moth being drawn to a flame, nothing more. ” Or a butterfly in a spiderweb.

“I’m not insulting your intelligence, Ava.

I simply worry that it is more of his undue influence.

” Lysander grimaced. “As loath as I am to spark more controversy than is needed, you may wish to seek Bayodan or Valroy’s advice on the bracelet—and ensure that it does what the exile claims it does.

And only what he claims it does. Before you wear it for too long and it becomes too late to undo some deeper damage. ”

He had a point. Even if she didn’t want to admit it. And hiding it from Valroy was going to be pointless—the guy was King, and he was an asshole, but he wasn’t an idiot. “I hate politics, you know that? It seems like one game of bullshit after another.”

“Mm. Yes. In that, you are quite right.” They arrived at another outdoor space that was loosely arranged to be a dining room.

Only this time, the table was much smaller.

There were thirteen large, important-looking seats at the table, along with a collection of smaller ones that were likely for the “plus-ones” and the attendants of Valroy’s inner circle.

Already seated at the head of the long, ornate, dark-stained antique table was the King himself.

He was seated with a leg slung over the arm of the chair, a glass of wine in his hand.

And in the talon of one of his wings, slowly being twirled between the digits like a pen—the second mirrored shard.

It caught the reflections of the candles and burning fires that illuminated the space in the dark of the night.

“Ah, Weaver. Come. Sit here.” He gestured to his left side where a seat—the same chair with the spider themes as last night—had been placed. “My servants tell me we have an important matter to discuss. I would prefer we settle this before the others arrive.”

Of course he already knew. Of course he did. She tried not to sound too dead inside when she responded, “Which one?”

That earned her a laugh from him. Dropping his leg from the chair, he leaned forward and poured her a glass of wine.

A tall one. Likely knowing she’d need it.

She sat in the chair—Lysander adorably pushed it in for her, before sitting to her left—before she took the glass and downing a hefty swig of it.

“Your new gift from your…patron.” He reached out a hand, palm up. Obviously asking to see it.

“Word travels fast.” She really shouldn’t be surprised.

“I have very bored servants. They delight in anything to make the humdrum of eternity any more eventful.” He curled his fingers before flattening them again, clearly eager. “Nearly as much as I.”

“Did you just admit that all of the horrible nonsense you fae cause is entirely because you’re just in bad need of a better TV subscription service?” She held out her wrist to him. It was inevitable. He could take it from her if he wanted—in a slew of various and sundry unpleasant ways.

“In not so many words, perhaps.” He took her wrist with shocking gentleness and studied the bracelet, his eyes flicking over the inscriptions.

Almost as though he could read it. “Hm. Disappointing.” He let go of her wrist before leaning back in his chair— throne, it was a dining room table throne— and slinging his leg back over the arm of it.

“What? What does it say?” She looked

“I do not know. No one can read the First Language. Well.” He laughed quietly. “One man can, only briefly. And he does not like to speak of it.”

“Who?”

“An acquaintance from another world—you could think of us as…cousins, perhaps? Children of the ancient creatures that dwell be tween worlds.” He sipped his wine. “A strange man. Dramatic, even by my standards.”

“Sounds like a blast at parties.” She tilted her head to the side slightly. “Why did you say the bracelet was a disappointment?”

“Because it does precisely what he told you it does. It shall keep the tattoo from spreading, and only that. Here, I thought it was a perfect opportunity to expose him for the bastard that he is.” Valroy shrugged.

“Ah well, he will betray your dubious amount of trust in him sooner rather than later, I am sure.”

“You’re sounding a lot like Lysander.”

“He does serve in my court for a reason, Ava.” Valroy smirked. “It is almost as though I surround myself with those who might be loyal to me.”

“Almost.” A stranger approached. “But sometimes, nearly not, and that’s how I think you like it.

” He had a fiendish grin on his face, one that felt similar to Valroy’s, if somehow more…

unhinged. Even though they looked the same age, he somehow felt younger.

The man had a shock of cyan-teal hair on his head that matched his bright eyes.

He wore a suit that looked like it dated from the mid-forties.

It was a deep gray with lighter gray pinstripes, and it was tailored perfectly to fit his thin frame.

He turned his grin toward her, and it grew wider, revealing his pointed fangs. They reminded her very much of Serrik’s. “Oooh, so she’s the newcomer. Hello- oooo.” He tilted his head to the side and eyed her tattoos. “Which came first, the chicken or the shpider-whebs?”

“Pardon him,” a young female fae said as she walked up to the taller, clearly-slightly-off-his-rocker man and slipped her hand into his. “He can’t help but poke bees’ nests. Hey. I’m Alex. And this is Izael, the Duke of Bones. Sorry to hear you got sucked into all this shit.” She smiled.

Her tone sounded…human. And so did her vernacular.

Everything about her screamed I’m normal.

And for a moment, Ava was dumbstruck. Because she would’ve sworn that Alex was exactly like her—if it weren’t for the fact that her skin was a pale shade of violet and she had goddamn horns growing out of her deeper purple hair.

Her arm was covered in tattoos that were an array of spooky things—a raven atop a tombstone in a cemetery at midnight was the most prominent thing she could see poking up from the sleeve.

In fact, Alex and Izael would have been a perfect goth couple at a club, save for their obvious inhuman traits.

“I. Um.” Ava stammered. “The fuck?”

Izael howled in laughter, sitting down in a chair across from her with such force that he nearly knocked over half the things on the table in front of him.

Alex was smiling with a sympathetic expression that said she completely understood what Ava was going through. “I’m new to all this, too. Only been here for a few years.”

“O—oh.” Ava blinked and looked around at all the other fae that were slowly stepping into the clearing from the shadows. “Does this…happen a lot?”

“No.” Valroy grimaced. “Thankfully.”

Izael was pouring himself a glass of wine that was about four glasses in one. “Makes you wonder, though, doesn’t it? So many, so close together?”

“Abigail was hardly recent by human standards.” It was clear that Valroy found Izael extremely obnoxious, and found absolutely zero need to hide that fact. “And was far more remarkable than Alex proved to be.”

Ouch.

Ava looked at Alex, who simply looked back at Ava and shrugged. “It’s fine. You get used to it.”

“So. The ink. Which came first? Our dear exile, or that?” Izael leaned his elbows on the table. There was something oddly serpentine about him, though she couldn’t say what.

“He did this. Well. He did this”—she pointed at the tattoo of the spider— “and the rest started appearing when I started merging with the Web. Which is hysterically literal, I know.”

“Ooh, marking his territory, how very unlike him.” Izael shifted in his seat, as if he were gossiping about someone’s new boyfriend or the latest episode of some hot show. “I don’t think he ever marked any of his previous attempts before, has he, Valroy? Not so literally.”

“Izael, do stop your prattling, it is too early in the evening to give me a migraine.” Valroy looked as though he were going to scream. His head was propped up on his fingers that were pressed to his temple.

It made her want to laugh. She settled for a smile. Something about seeing the Unseelie King so put out by the people around him made him…almost approachable.

Almost.

Maybe she was judging Valroy too harshly. Maybe. Just a little. A tiny bit. “I?—”

“FOUND ‘EM!”

Ava screamed as someone blinked out of thin air right beside her.

And sent two bodies crashing into the table with such force that it tipped it onto its side, sending its contents smashing to the floor, and trapping Izael and Alex underneath the lip of it along with all the other chairs.

Bitty and Lysander had foolishly tried to grab onto the table to save it, but hadn’t managed to—only succeeding in being dragged along with it.

Ava stood, staring down at the chaos.

It took her a second to recognize the two people that had been thrown at the table.

Ibin and Nos.

Both of whom were groaning in pain.

Valroy was sitting there as though nothing had happened, simply sipping his wine in his chair.

Standing next to her, was a silver-haired fae…

wearing a pair of dark sunglasses and holding a coconut in his hands.

A straw was st icking out of one of the holes in the top.

He smiled and slurped on the straw loudly before sticking his hand out to her.

“Puck!” Then, in a perfect midwestern accent, “Nice ta meetcha!”

Somehow, Ava knew this meant things had just gone from bad to worse.

Way, way worse.