Page 19

LUCIAN

R onan was seriously getting on my nerves.

“Might as well kidnap her,” he reasoned, matter-of-fact. “I mean, someone will, eventually. Pretty, owns a bar, heals fiend venom sickness like it’s a common flu, can touch you at full power? If your mom hears?—”

“You will not mention Kleos to my mother,” I growled threateningly. “You will not speak about her at all at lunch, or I swear to every god known and not, you’ll lose your invitation, permanently.”

“That’s not fair. You know how I love your dad’s roasts.”

Ronan and I both lived on Kings’ Avenue—by the gate, in his case, and at the very end, in mine—so we made our way to my parents’ place in the Gate of Night together most weeks.

A network of seven tram lines ran through the underside, by far the most efficient transport here, and that was typically how I travelled, but Ronan, the arrogant sod, kept horses and a chariot.

We’d banned cars because of the stench, and the fact that they were too dangerous when almost everyone was on foot, but there were cycle paths, and a paved central road on all avenues for carriages.

Only five families kept them now. Mine was one of them, and we made use of it on formal event, or when all of us had to get somewhere together, but I wasn’t about to call for horses and a driver on a casual Sunday. Ronan had no issue doing so.

His two eight-legged horses hated going slow, so whenever the road was clear, they galloped at such speed the two hours’ walk only took fifteen minutes. By the grace of the gods, and an abundance of magic, we didn’t trample any pedestrians.

My friend spent the entire journey chatting about Kleos. He was positively obsessed. I was glad I’d never confessed the fact that her magic was so fascinating. He’d never drop the subject.

“My boys!” Mother called when we walked in.

Wrapped in a dark green empire line dress, her hair up in a beautiful complex twist, she looked ready to host this year’s gala rather than Sunday dinner. This was her version of casual. She wore her tiny emeralds and small diamond ear drops.

She kissed Ronan first, before pressing her mouth to my cheek.

“You drained,” she observed, frowning. “You know that’s not necessary, love. Not here.”

She could tell in one glance.

When my energy was drained, I lost some of the strangeness, the looks that set me aside from the people around me.

I was less pale, my hair became more gold than platinum, my eyes warmer.

In actual fact, most people would take a look at me at my weakest and believe I was healthier.

At my normal strength, I looked like my father’s son, rather than the descendant of a dark, powerful force.

I made myself shrug. “It’s no big deal, Mother. I like hugs, and I’d rather not murder you.”

Shaking her head, she engulfed both of us in a tight embrace, her arms around our shoulders. She was a lot stronger than she looked, and I loved it.

“Preoccupied,” she concluded. “Both of you. You know my rules, boys—you leave your troubles at the door or you share them with me.”

I was wise, so I opted for the first option, immediately pushing down every concern that could come to mind, and only thinking about a lovely meal with my loving family.

Ronan being Ronan, he immediately spilled.

“I can’t work out a way to mix wolfsbane with any component that makes the transition less painful to new shifters, and it’s driving me insane.

It’s like the answer is staring me right in the face, but I can’t think of what it could be.

It’s for children so I’m also trying to make the damn brew less disgusting, and most of the elements changing the taste also affect the efficiency.

My mom keeps pretending she’s not bothered by Dad keeping his mistress in the house, and Lucky almost died three times this week.

I’m losing it. And your idiot of a son met a girl immune to his touch, and he didn’t propose to her on the spot. ”

“Dammit, Ronan!” He just had to bring that up.

“What? If Cassiopea asks, I’m going to tell her. You should give it a try.”

“Yes, you should,” my mother readily agreed, threading her arms through both of our elbows, before leading us to the main atrium.

“Darling, leave your parents to their misery. They’ve been together a hundred years.

If they’re putting up with each other’s nonsense, it’s because they want to.

As for your wolfsbane issue, have you tried hemlock?

Dangerous, I know, but a single drop in a very large brew ought to take the bitterness out—and help with pain. ”

“Hemlock,” he repeated. “By all the gods, that might just work.”

Mother patted his hand. “As for Lucky, she’s here, and still alive. We’ll keep her in one piece until dessert.”

Her keen gaze—green eyes completely unlike mine—settled on me. “Immune to you, hm?”

I glared at Ronan, deciding I’d curse his bollocks. He was going to itch all week.

“A healer,” I explained. “She wanted to test her innate shield against my power. It held. I didn’t affect her.”

Her lips thinned. “And you did not propose? Lucian, darling, surely you must grasp the benefit of a partner who won’t wither and die by accident. And you’re not getting any younger.”

“Mother,” I said patiently, “you refused the marriage your father tried to arrange for you—which is why you and Father are one of the only couples in the founding families who don’t openly despise each other. May I remind you you wished Damian and I found a bond just as strong?”

“Yes, darling. When you were eighteen. Pardon me if, with two sons in their thirties?—”

“I am twenty-seven ,” I reminded her.

“—neither of whom have seen fit to bring a partner in their lives, I am getting desperate. I need grandchildren, Lucian. Posthaste.”

Why was I here again?

My father walked into the atrium, half hidden behind the humongous tray piled with his legendary roast, screaming, “Out of the way, out of the way!”

One sniff, and I remembered.

Oh yeah. That.

Both Mother and I moved together without a spoken agreement, and the tray floated out of my father’s hands and on to the center of the table, while her magic rearranged the bottles, glasses, and plates to make room.

We were not going to let a single drop fall to the floor. Father might be a klutz just as dangerous as Lucky, but damn if the man couldn’t cook.

Once lunch was saved, we all sighed in relief.

Mine didn’t last long.

“The girl, Ronan. I need a name.”

I fixed my best friend with a glare, the threat quite clear.

“A name, Ronan, love,” my mother whispered, her power making her voice ever so soft and silky.

Oh, she didn’t .

“It’s—”

“No name,” I snapped. “No name, and I’ll see her next week.”

Cassiopea Regis’s green eyes, pulsing with the enchantment only the descendent of a siren could wield, abandoned Ronan, settling on mine. “There, now. That wasn’t hard, was it?”

She left us, circling the table to rush to her husband’s side, pressing her lips against his. “This is a good day, darling. A very good day.”

“Sorry,” Ronan squeaked.

I kicked his leg nonetheless.

The table was almost full, though we always left a few free seats for last-minute visitors.

On the other side, my fraternal grandmother and Lucky were chatting away about gin, and a few neighborhood kids whose parents worked long hours were animatedly discussing the next dueling competition in the Circle.

I’d only just served Ronan and myself some wine while my father cut a few of his dishes when Damian showed, gracing us with his presence a few minutes after we settled.

I wasn’t certain he’d come. He hadn’t been there last week. The dick was always busy with his machinations these days. Or politics. I preferred the former word: it was more honest.

My elder brother earned just as much bullying and prying as I did—except he had no Ronan to stab him in the back, so he suffered less.

He sat next to Ronan, sending me the same mistrusting glare he’d sported since he first sentenced me to the Guard six months ago. We didn’t have to speak to understand each other.

Do your worst, prick.

Oh, I will, asshole.

“Oh, Mother, Nana,” I called across the table. “Before I forget, I thought of you last week.”

I patted down the inner pocket of my jacket, retrieving three olive-sized balls I tapped lightly. Three fully loaded Fortnum and Mason hampers burst back into their real size.

Naturally, I could have gifted them last week, but what was the point of doing that without Damian sucking on a lemon?

Each hamper, filled with jams and marmalade, alcohol, tea, chocolate, and lemon curd floated in the direction of my mother, father, and grandmother.

“Oh, darling,” Mother gushed. “Aren’t you sweet?”

I grinned, ignoring the way Damian’s cough sounded like suck up . “I was in London for my last assignment. I couldn’t resist.”

“Hey, where’s my jam?” Ronan pouted.

I fixed him with a knowing look. “Well, you had one.”

He looked like a kicked puppy, and he deserved it.

I’d relent eventually—I had opened one for myself, and didn’t technically need to keep the second.

One of my businesses would no doubt bring me back into London before I finished the jam.

Still. He could stew, and think about his actions until I felt like forgiving him.

While the older generation raved over their presents, sharing and exchanging goodies with each other, my brother leaned in. “I hate you.”

I grinned. “Only because I’m the favorite.”

“You’re the favorite because you’re the whiny baby,” he grunted. “And they didn’t put up with you for your first ten years.”

“That. But also, I’m simply a lot more loveable than you.”

Damian was predictable. He had me in a chokehold in no time, and I let him.

Silly, silly boy.

“Oh, no you don’t !” my mother screamed, finger pointed at Damian. “No violence at the table. I only have twenty-six of these plates left. Both of you, in the damn ring. Kaelius, darling, would you be a dear and stabilize the food while our sons attempt to murder each other again?”

“Of course, my love.” My father truly was better with domestic spells.

A silver shield keeping his gigantic tray warm and fresh, we all moved to the other side of the atrium.

The light overhead was artificial—we were in the underside—but given that it was powered with my excess magic, along with my brother’s, my mother’s, and whoever else in our family needed to unwind, it was just as bright, and twice as warm as the sky overhead.

The ring was a circle marked in runes on the marble floor, white and smooth, and spelled to be easy to clean, because blood was a pain to wash up.

We started at opposite sides. Damian made a point of removing his shirt, his phone, his wallet. I didn’t bother.

“Ten golds on Lucian,” my grandmother said.

“No, Andrea, he’s all drained. I say Damian’ll have this one,” Mother stated.

“Pay up or shut up, daughter,” the old woman countered.

She put ten golds in the pot.

I tuned them out when Damian bowed, inclining his head a mere inch. I returned to greeting, and Father started to count down. “Three. Two. One?—”

Always direct, Damian crossed the circle in one leap and punched, hard, putting every bit of his strength in his fist. I let him, doubling down by taking the powerful hit right to my gut, but as soon as he was nice and close, I grabbed his hand and twisted it around his back, pinning him down.

“If you weren’t my brother, you’d be dead by now,” I reminded him.

Damian flipped back onto his feet, launching me backward. “If you weren’t my brother, I would have had a dagger in my fist.”

It had been far too long since I had a chance to use the prick as a punching bag.

We fought like we hated each other, which we kinda did.

I spit blood after his elbow met my face, but I broke his nose.

Holding me down by the knee, the prick tried to send me into a fucking coma—which he could wake me up from whenever he wanted, but that was beside the point—so I wrapped my legs around his throat and squeezed until he yielded.

The winners clapped while my mother cried on my father’s chest. Not about the blood—she was used to that. She just hated losing.

“How did you know he’d win, exhausted like that?” Lucky mused.

My grandmother cackled. “’Cause the kid doesn’t back off when he’s out of it. When he’s at full power, he’s a lot more careful. Thanks, boy. You’re my favorite,” she announced, pocketing her winnings.

“And here I was going to take you out to the opera, Nana,” Damian said.

“What am I saying? You’re my favorite, darling.”

All in all, a typical Sunday.

A few hours later, at the door, my mother fussed over my nose, checking it again.

“Ronan set it. He’s mildly competent,” I assured her.

“Don’t be nasty. Ronan is perfectly average. It’ll be nice to have a healer in the family. Bring her soon. Or I’ll find out the name.”

The threat reminded me to kick Ronan again on the way back.