Fate of the Sun King

by Nisha J. Tuli

Genres: Fantasy action & adventure; Fantasy Romance

Synopsis

The highly anticipated third installment of the steamy Artefacts of Ouranos series journeys deeper into the glittering fae world as Lor puts both her life and her heart on the line in this enemies-to-lovers fantasy romance.
 
With the Heart Crown now in her possession, Lor must navigate the dangers of being an heir on the run, knowing more than one power-hungry ruler is after her blood. When she returns to Aphelion to unlock her magic and recover her family's legacy, it becomes clearer than ever that all that’s gold doesn’t sparkle. No stranger to battles, she continues to fight her attraction to the Aurora Prince, understanding this might be the one she finally loses.
     As the past mixes with the present, Lor uncovers the truth about the Artefacts and their role in shaping her destiny. Now, her future hangs in the balance, leaving her closer than ever to getting everything she's ever wanted... or losing it all forever.

Release date: June 4, 2024

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 448

Sample

Pain throbs behind my left eye, reminding me of the time an angry lover twisted my balls in his grip after finding me buried between his sister’s thighs. I told him jealousy wasn’t a good look, and unsurprisingly, that only made things worse.

Another stab pulses in my temple as I jingle a ring of golden keys in my hand, hating the sound. They’re too shiny and bright in this corridor’s weak light. A mockery of what lives in this abandoned corner of the palace, carefully shielded by false curtains of shadow.

My footsteps ring sharply in the silence, like razors slicing into my eardrums, each more ominous than the last.

I both loathe and look forward to this task.

When I reach the door, I pause and drag in a deep, grounding breath before I insert the key and swivel the lock. The door drifts open on carefully oiled hinges, as silent as dust tumbling through a sunbeam. Though we’re far from the curiosity of acutely tuned High Fae hearing, every layer of these buried secrets is carefully considered.

Thanks to his powers of illusion, Atlas ensures this corner garners little notice from passersby, their eyes slithering over the archway of the dimly lit hall. They swear they noticed something, but a moment later, it’s gone, and surely they have better things to do.

A feat he’s managed for nearly a hundred years.

On the far side of the door, a stone stairwell spirals up into the darkness. My dogged steps strike like nails against steel, winding the tight corner, suffocating me as I ascend. The top landing reveals another door—this one heavier and stronger, fortified with iron bands, bolts, and a barrier of protective magic for a dose of good measure. Even a full-grown Imperial Fae at the height of his strength would struggle to break it down.

I pick out another key from the ring and flip the lock before opening another door oiled into silence. The tower room is comfortably sized to suit its single discarded resident. Unlike the rest of the Sun Palace, it boasts none of the usual gilded trappings. No resplendent décor or surfaces polished to a high shine. Here are stone floors and walls, everything grey and faded, like a memory you’re trying to forget.

Windows inset around the perimeter afford a breathtaking view of Aphelion from every side. The taunting blue of the ocean. The glittering domes of the city’s buildings. The shadow of The Umbra lying to the south.

What I can’t decide is whether the king offered this panorama as a kindness or as further penance for a sin that was never committed except in his own mind. I suspect it’s the latter. To be confined to this space, forced to bear witness to the untouchable outside world, is a prison of its own sort.

Atlas’s already shaky moral compass deserted him so many years ago I’ve forgotten he ever had one.

I take a moment to gather myself before my gaze wanders to the figure on the bed. Tyr lies on his side, his knees tucked up, his thin hands clutching the covers, his eyes distant and vacant. Once as bright and blue as the sea, decades of confinement have dimmed them to haunted hollows of muted grey shadows. His once shining blond hair is the same—muddied by time and torment and the years spent without the sun’s warmth on his face.

I stride to his side and crouch on my haunches, putting me at eye level with the royal Fae, who was once a king. Who, by all rights, is still a king, but there are only eleven people left in the world who know that—ten of whom are magically bound to silence.

“How are you doing today?” I ask, though I’m not expecting an answer.

Tyr’s eyes flick up, registering me before they flick away again. He listens when I speak, though he rarely responds. Sometimes he does, and those are the good days, if there is such a thing. But they happen less and less, and it’s actually been weeks since he last said a word.

“Plans are underway for the bonding ceremony,” I say as I push myself up and move about the room before unloading the bag slung over my shoulder and unpacking its contents onto the dresser pushed against the far wall.

Atlas can’t place his trust in the palace servants, so Tyr’s care has fallen to me and the other nine warders. But Tyr makes my brothers uncomfortable, so the duty lies mostly with me. It’s one of the few tasks I approach without resentment, because I don’t trust anyone else to do a proper job.

My haul includes the usual load of dried goods. Some loaves of bread. Hunks of cheese. Fruit and vegetables. Wine and beer and water. Though he’ll wait until I leave, he’ll eat it all. That knowledge offers some consolation. At least he’s not starving himself, and I take my victories where they arise.

“The queen’s guest list would probably wrap around the entire city,” I continue, keeping up a stream of chatter. “Twice.”

No one has ever accused me of being verbose, but I hate the silence that squats in the corners of this room when Tyr isn’t in the mood for conversation. As a result, I find myself babbling into the vacancy like a fool.

“She’s stirring up all kinds of shit about another delay.”

As I ramble, I consider the circumstances of all that’s transpired over the last several months. The many things I don’t understand about Atlas’s plan to bond. He isn’t the Primary or an ascended king, so I’m not sure what he’s hoping to accomplish. At the same time, I also don’t understand what he’s waiting for. He held the Trials to find a partner, or so I presume, and the Mirror chose Apricia. So this should all be over.

But Atlas continues deferring, and her shrill screeches can probably be heard all the way to The Aurora. The entire thing is wearing on every last one of my fucking nerves. I understand it has something to do with Lor, but after months of digging and questioning, I’m no closer to an answer.

Clearly, I’ve missed something important about the woman who made my life hell during the Trials, though I’ll grudgingly admit she started growing on me in the end. Like an annoying little pet you can’t bring yourself to abandon at the side of the road despite the fact it keeps chewing up your shoes.

I sense Tyr listening as I chatter about the kingdom and the latest news on the ground. Reports from The Umbra speak of increasing unrest stirring within its streets. The low fae demand the right to buy property within the twenty-four districts, but their bids for housing in the upper quarters are continually denied by the city council at Atlas’s behest. Despite everything working against them, plenty have cobbled together enough wealth to afford a home in the districts, but their wishes fall on Atlas’s unwilling ears.

I’ve never understood why they remain here rather than heading for The Woodlands or Alluvion, where they’d be free to live as equals. But I know all too well that abandoning the place you call home isn’t as simple as it sounds. Besides, it’s hardly fair they’re the ones being pushed out.

In addition, the Aurora King’s roving bands of poachers act as enough of a threat to keep them confined within our walls. They might hold few rights in Aphelion, but it’s probably a marginally better fate than conscription to Rion’s mines.

“Hungry?” I ask Tyr as I fix him a plate of food, slicing some of the cheese I know he likes and adding a few crackers, along with a cream puff that’s his favorite treat. I also pour him a generous glass of the vintage whisky I bought—it cost nearly as much as an entire flat in one of the lower districts, but why shouldn’t he be allowed to indulge whenever he can?

I set the food on the table next to the bed, glancing over, wondering if we’re having a good day or a bad one. He’s barely reacted to my presence, and that probably tells me the answer.

My gaze skits over the arcturite cuffs ringing his neck and wrists. The glowing blue stone, mined in the Beltza Mountains far to the north, has cut him off from his magic since the day Atlas confined him to this room.

Atlas used the warder’s promise against me and my brothers, convincing Tyr to turn over the rule of Aphelion to Atlas. We were forced to capture Tyr against our will, bind him in the cuffs, and lock him away—possibly forever or until… something drastic changes.

The memory haunts me in my dreams and when I’m awake, but I had no choice. I still have no choice. Going against the king’s command means suffering unimaginable amounts of pain and, eventually, death. More than once, I’ve considered it. Just allowing my insubordination to end it all. But then Tyr would be without me, and I can’t rely on the others to protect him the way I can. At least this way I can do my part, as much as I despise myself for every second of it.

Tyr’s gaze tracks my movements as I settle into the chair in the corner, picking up the book on the nearby table and flipping to where I marked our page two days ago. I’ve read hundreds of books to Tyr over the years. He refuses to read them independently, instead waiting for me to arrive. It’s another small thing I can offer. Maybe it makes this miserable life just a little less miserable.

As I read, I watch him from the corner of my vision, noticing how his eyes move as though they’re tracking the words on the page. I think he’s listening to every syllable, but whenever he utters a word, I worry it will be the last time I hear his voice for good.

Sometimes he lies so still it’s like he’s already gone. Lately, I worry about his condition deteriorating faster than ever. I confirmed long ago that prolonged exposure to arcturite slowly erodes the sanity of High Fae minds. I don’t know what Atlas plans. He can’t kill Tyr: the Mirror would transfer the magic to the true Primary, and he’d lose everything he’s been trying to gain for centuries.

After an hour, I close the book and stand, knowing I have a thousand other duties needing my attention.

Tyr, as usual, hasn’t touched his food. I’ve never understood why he refuses to eat in my presence, but I don’t press the matter. A man forced to live this threadbare existence is entitled to his eccentricities. At least he’s eating. That must be enough for now.

I stand over him, wishing there was more I could do. I tuck back a lock of his hair, the strands dry and brittle to the touch. He’ll need a trim soon, along with a shave of his thickening beard. I’ll bring some scissors and a razor next time. For obvious reasons, I can’t leave these items here. I note his tunic also looks a little ratty. It might be time for new clothes as well.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I say, trying not to sound quite as maudlin as I feel. “Eat up.”

Tyr blinks, and I like to think it’s because he’s acknowledging me. I hope it is. I miss him and everything we almost were.

I check the room one more time, pausing when the floor starts to vibrate under my feet. Another tremor. These shifts started happening several weeks ago, but their origin remains a mystery.

Whatever. This isn’t my concern. I have plenty of other things to worry about right now.

Once the rumbling subsides, I close the door gently behind me before I make my way back down the stairs and immediately head towards Atlas’s apartments, brushing past his sentries outside.

After knocking on the door of the king’s study, I call out, “Atlas?”

“Enter,” comes the voice on the other side.

I find him standing at the window, cradling a mug of tea in his hand, staring out across the city.

“I’ve just been to see him,” I say, keeping my voice low. The study is warded against eavesdropping, but I can’t defy the insistent hush of the secrets I hold. It feels wrong to speak of them in a normal tone of voice. Like I’m normalizing shit that should never be normalized.

“Hmm,” Atlas replies, still focused on the view outside.

Thankfully, he doesn’t see the way my jaw clenches at his indifference. The way he behaves like he doesn’t give a fuck about the brother from whom he’s stolen everything makes me so furious red bleeds into the corners of my vision.

Finally, Atlas pushes himself from the window and walks over to settle on the shiny leather couch in the center of the room. He takes a long sip of his tea before he settles back and gives me a look that seems to ask Is there anything else you need to bother me with?

“He’s getting worse,” I push. “The cuffs—”

“Aren’t going anywhere,” Atlas says, his response chilled with the threat that he will not entertain this conversation again.

“But they’re killing him.”

Finally, Atlas arches a brow and pins me with a cold look. “What would you have me do? Take them off so he can kill me?”

The king glares with his piercing aquamarine gaze, daring me to break. We’ve known each other for a long time. Atlas might call us friends, but it’s hard for me to consider our relationship in that light. When one side holds all the power, and you are merely a servant at his command, it’s more complicated than friendship.

I resist the urge to unleash the truth that squats on the tip of my tongue, burning like acid. That yes, I’d love to see Tyr break free and pay Atlas back for everything he deserves.

“No,” I say, my words clipped. “But this is killing him.”

I emphasize the last word, hoping that might rouse Atlas’s attention at the very least. In the eyes of the Mirror, death by neglect amounts to the same outcome as slicing his throat with a dagger.

“If you don’t do something…” I trail off, allowing the threat to dangle between us.

“Everything will be fine once I’ve bonded,” Atlas says with a wave of his hand, and I want to demand an explanation for what that means.

“Speaking of which,” I ask instead, even knowing he won’t answer, “I’ve heard you’ve pushed the ceremony date again. If bonding will solve this, why do you keep delaying?”

What game is Atlas playing? He’s refusing to bond to Apricia while simultaneously extolling the virtues of doing so. None of this makes any damn sense.

“I have my reasons,” Atlas says, evasive as ever. “Do you have any leads on where Lor is yet?”

“This all has something to do with her,” I say again. This is far from the first time we’ve had this conversation, and it definitely won’t be the last. “Tell me what’s going on. Why does she matter?”

Atlas rolls his shoulders before he takes a deep sip of his drink. “The less you know, the better, Gabriel. I’m doing this for your protection. I only ever have your best interests at heart.”

I ignore the colossal absurdity of those last statements as I press him further.

“But if I knew, I might be better positioned to help you. I wouldn’t be searching blindly.”

It’s the truth, but it’s only partly why I want to know.

What I really want to understand is whose side I should be on.

Atlas exhales a drawn-out sigh as though I’m the one who’s in the wrong here.

“Knowing why I need her won’t help you find her. Do you have any leads on where the fuck she is?”

I shake my head. I have thoughts and theories about where she might be, but something is keeping me from sharing that information with Atlas. A deeply rooted premonition tells me this is the right move.

Nadir came to the Sun Queen Ball asking about a missing girl. Worried Atlas was doing something reckless with Lor, I revealed her to Nadir, or at least I tried. Did he see the tattoo on her shoulder before Atlas threw him out of the palace? Was Nadir the one who took her? Why would he care about her at all? Why do I care?

Despite everything, my duty is to protect Atlas, not for his sake but for Tyr’s.

There were no clues left the night she disappeared, and I’m starting to wonder if she dissolved into mist. It wouldn’t surprise me if she somehow got herself out. Almost from the beginning, I was positive she was hiding something. And she proved she was resourceful when she made it through the Trials, even with help.

“You need to find her,” Atlas says. “The future of this kingdom depends on it.”

“Why?” I try again. “Why? She was a prisoner from The Aurora. Why does she matter?”

“Come on, Gabriel. You know by now she’s more than that.”

I clench my teeth at the condescension in the king’s tone. I’m this close to going over the edge and beating him to a bloody pulp. But that would be pointless. It would land me in the dungeons again, or worse. I shudder at the idea of Tyr’s fate, locked in a tower, never able to roam free. Just the suggestion dredges up too many memories I’d rather forget.

Thankfully, I’m saved from my murderous impulses when the door to the study slams open.

“Atlas!” Apricia spits as she storms into the room. Her long dark hair is peppered with streaks of gold, and she wears an over-the-top golden gown that is completely ridiculous given the hour of the day. “I’ve just been told you postponed the bonding ceremony again!”

Her voice is high and fever pitched, shrill enough to shatter crystal. It complements her face, which flushes red. Her eyes shine like she’s about to dissolve into a waterfall of raging tears. Why did she have to be the winner of the Trials? Literally any of the other Tributes would have been better.

“My darling,” Atlas says, the words infused with false warmth. “It couldn’t be helped.”

“Don’t ‘darling’ me,” Apricia says, raising a finger. “My father is furious!”

“Hmm” is his reply as he places his mug on the table with a clink.

“Answer me!” she practically screams. “Why have you delayed again?”

Atlas uncrosses his long legs and stands, approaching Apricia. He’s wearing his most charming smile, the one I know so well. I can practically feel Apricia’s panties melting at the sight. I have no idea how she can possibly still be attracted to him.

Atlas cups her face in his hands.

“My queen. I want this bonding to be the most momentous. Most significant. Most memorable one to ever occur in Ouranos. I want them to strum ballads about it. Immortalize it in the history books. I want the story of our love and our joining to be one generations of High Fae tell their grandchildren centuries from now.”

Apricia looks up at him with such tender hope in her eyes that I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

“You do?” she whispers, clearly on the verge of blubbering and ruining her caked-on eyeliner.

“You know I do. I want everyone to understand how much my love burns for you, my queen. How much this means to me and to Aphelion. You will be the greatest queen they’ve ever known. And that, my love, takes time to get just right.”

Atlas uses his thumb to wipe a tear escaping down her cheek. I’ve nearly bitten my tongue clean off from holding in a derisive scoff.

“I hope you can understand and give me a little more time to sort out every detail. I don’t want to leave anything to chance. Hmm?”

He tilts his head with an imploring expression, and I watch in fascination, always amazed at how Atlas can talk anyone into doing anything for him, often to their personal detriment.

Including his own brother.

Including me.

When Lor lost her shit on him in the throne room after the fourth Trial, it was so satisfying to watch. I wanted to stand up and cheer. Finally, someone saw through his charm, even if it took her a little while to get there. It makes me even more suspicious about who or what she is.

“Okay,” Apricia finally says with a sniff. “I understand. It’s just that I want to bond with you so much.”

“I know, my dear,” comes his smooth reply. “And I do too. It’s my greatest desire, but I refuse to proceed until everything is as perfect as you are. Understood?”

She nods slowly, and he releases her face before he plants a soft kiss on her cheek. “Head back to your rooms, and I’ll come see you later. I’ve ordered some of those fancy pastries from Auren’s for you.”

Apricia’s eyes light up. It’s a little pathetic how easily she’s bought.

“Okay,” she says, somewhat mollified, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Will you have supper with me?”

“Of course,” Atlas says. “I just need to finish talking with Gabriel and take care of a few tasks.”

“And will you…” Apricia’s eyes dart to me, but she must decide I’m not worth censoring herself for. “Stay the night with me?”

Atlas gives her another patient smile and taps the tip of her nose. “You know I want to, but we agreed to wait until after the bonding, didn’t we? Please don’t bring this up again.”

She nods, her momentary buoyancy deflating like she’s been stuck with a thousand tiny pins. “Of course. Right. I’m sorry.”

With one last lingering look at the king, she turns to leave.

As the door falls closed, we both watch her.

Then Atlas whirls on me, a hard expression on his face.

“Find Lor, Gabriel. Now. I don’t care what you must do. Find her, or I can’t be held responsible for what happens next.”

With that, he spins away and strides for the exit before he pauses and looks back at me.

“I’ve also received word that Erevan is stirring up shit in The Umbra again. Deal with it.”

Then he slams the door behind him, leaving me staring after him alone.

I slam the glass onto the filthy countertop, a slug of fire whisky burning down my throat. A random elbow digs into my spine, and I toss a glare over my shoulder. It goes entirely unnoticed. Far too many people are stuffed within these rickety walls, and it’s so crowded that I can barely move or hear myself think. But the seedy, worn-out taverns of The Umbra are ideal for picking up the snippets of gossip and possible information we so desperately need.

A loose-knit cap disguises my hair, and generous clothing hides any hint of my curves. At a quick glance, I appear like a man barely old enough to grow a beard.

This place is a dump. A row of grimy windows filter in weak sunlight while a few feeble sconces attempt to make up the difference. The floor is so sticky that I’m considering burning these boots.

I signal to the bartender for another drink. He’s low fae with silvery skin, a thatch of bright green hair, and a cocky smile. He wears nothing on top but a scant leather vest, revealing a chest stacked with glistening muscles. The view, at least, isn’t the worst.

“Same again?” he asks with a lazy half smile, and I nod, feeling a set of eyes burn into the back of my neck from across the room. Looking over my shoulder, I glimpse Nadir sitting in the corner with his arms crossed so tightly I’m surprised he hasn’t crushed a rib. Even under his hood, I sense the disapproving scowl on his too-beautiful face.

He’s pissed the bartender is flirting with me, even though he’s flirting with everyone, and I wish this High Fae prince would just calm the fuck down.

Has he become more possessive since that fateful night in the Heart Castle when I lost my calm and screamed that I’d never belong to him? The memory makes me wince every time it leaks into my thoughts. Which is a lot.

My magic lurches under my skin, reminding me of what it wants. Like I need the hint. Like Nadir doesn’t already occupy my head and my heart and spirit, and I can’t shake him loose. But I refuse to let on how much he continues to affect me.

Nor can I admit that maybe I regret drawing that line in the sand.

But I can’t lose sight of my purpose, and I refuse to put up with his territorial Fae bullshit.

Under his cloak, he’s dressed in his usual black, though he’s opted for something a little less polished than his standard suits, with a tunic and casual pants. It doesn’t do anything to make him look any less devastating.

I sigh, accepting the glass the bartender lays in front of me and tossing the contents back as I attempt to tune out Nadir’s presence and tune into the surrounding conversations.

We all arrived in the city about a week ago and have been piecing together the current landscape in Aphelion, intending to infiltrate the Sun Palace without attracting attention from Atlas. While we expected this to be a simple matter of sneaking inside—relatively speaking, of course—it seems we’ve landed in a roiling pot thanks to the upcoming bonding ceremony combined with the unrest stirring in The Umbra. Nadir wants us to be careful and take our time before making any moves we can’t take back.

Amya has eyes and ears everywhere, and they all confirm Atlas still has scouts and spies searching for something. Or someone, in this case. And that he’s doing so with increasing regularity, becoming less and less discreet, suggesting he’s growing more desperate. That knowledge could work for or against us, but we’ve yet to determine which. The one positive is that he appears so confident about his dominion over Aphelion that he isn’t searching within its walls. Still, I tug down on my hat because I’m not taking any chances.

How I wish I could storm up to the palace and demand an explanation, but the Mirror has to be my first priority. That and getting my magic back.

My glass is empty again, and I stare at it. The tavern’s conversation focuses on increasing worries about the low haul counts from The Umbra’s fishing nets and traps. Catching sea life is one of the few ways the low fae can pay for their needs, and their concern throbs through the atmosphere like a gathering storm.

Amya’s spies have also determined that Atlas postponed the bonding ceremony yet again, but that news has little impact on The Umbra. I understand why. What difference does Atlas’s bonding to Apricia make to any of them? The citizens of The Umbra’s interests are centered on finding food and supplies while working around Atlas’s oppressive laws.

As I wait for the bartender to notice my empty drink, warmth at the back of my neck has me casting another quick glance at Nadir. I try to resist but can’t help how he draws me in. My locked magic has been going wild since I denied him, and it’s furious with me.

He’s watching me and doesn’t try to hide it. Leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed, he’s glaring at everyone around him while somehow making it feel like I’m the only one in the room he sees.

While no one appears to recognize him as the Aurora Prince, he carries himself in a way that definitely draws attention. This is no downtrodden citizen of The Umbra.

Thankfully, he’s not the only noble who darkens these corners. Dozens of Aphelion High Fae nobles traverse the streets, eating at the restaurants, drinking at the bars, and frequenting the brothels.

I’ve heard that elves and pixies are an especially alluring delicacy for the High Fae, and it’s not hard to see why. They’re all stunning with their soft, pearlescent skin and curvaceous bodies. I’m not sure what their treatment is like, but I’ve been assured they’re at least paid well for their services. Not that it matters when you’re low fae in Aphelion, since living in one of the nicer, more affluent districts is forbidden for their kind.

I’ve thought constantly about the low fae I saw in The Aurora. Which is worse? Being conscripted to Rion’s mines or living under an illusion of freedom, confined by Atlas’s rules? I fume at the way Atlas lied to my face about this, too. He’d outright said the people of The Umbra were free to leave at any time, but conveniently failed to mention they aren’t actually allowed to buy a house or property anywhere else in Aphelion.

Was anything he said to me real? What I wouldn’t do to get in a room alone with him and force him to reveal every scheming, lying thought in his head.

I scan the bar, finding Tristan in another far corner, conversing with a group of dwarves. Amya and Willow are in another quarter of The Umbra, seeing what else they can pick up. I don’t like Willow being so far away from us, but I know Amya will protect her.

“Lor?” comes a voice, and I flinch, my gaze sliding to the corner of my eye.

Callias, Aphelion’s most-coveted-stylist-with-a-very-long-cock, stands a few feet away with his hand on the bar. “Is that you?”

Keeping my focus on the glass between my hands, I pretend to ignore him, hoping he’ll think he’s mistaken me for someone else.

“I know it’s you,” he says, coming closer. “That silly hat doesn’t fool me.”

Still gazing into the depth of my glass, I mumble, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He scoffs and then bends down so his mouth is next to my ear.

“Nice try, Tribute. What are you doing here?”

Finally, I glare at him. “Shhh. Keep your voice down.”

He rolls his eyes and straightens up as I look away. While I continue staring into my glass with my shoulders hunched, hoping no one has noticed, I hear him ordering a drink for himself and another for me. A moment later, two more glasses thunk onto the counter.

We drink in silence. Nadir’s eyes burn me from the other side of the room, and he’s probably less than a second away from storming his royal Fae ass over.

“You going to talk soon?” Callias asks casually as he turns around to face the room and leans against the bar. He’s just far enough away that anyone watching might not immediately pick up on the fact that he’s addressing me. “Or should I go outside and get Gabriel?”

“What?” I ask, and then press my mouth shut. Shit. Gabriel is here, too?

“That got your attention,” Callias says with a smirk.

“He’s here? Why? Why are you here?”

“I saw him wandering around. He’s hard to miss, with the wings and all. And can’t a Fae come to The Umbra for a drink on his day off? I