I take a sip of my merlot then nod. “He was incredibly wise. A good king to our people, and a good father to my brothers.”
Her brows knit together. “But not to you?”
“He wasn’t good or bad when it came to me. He was too busy being king and training Caiden to succeed him, so he didn’t have time for me. My brothers were fifty and fifty-five years older, so they shouldered the male role model responsibilities where I was concerned.”
She reaches across the table and settles her hand over mine, giving it a little squeeze.
“I do have one good memory of him,” I say, brushing my thumb over the top of her knuckles. “I was around fifteen, I think, and I was in our training room, practicing my sword skills. My brothers had cut out early. My father came in, looking for Caiden. I told him that he’d left and expected him to do the same, so I turned around and continued to practice. He took me by surprise when he offered advice on my stance. I made the correction, which pleased him. And then he just…stayed.
“He continued offering instruction and eventually picked up a sword and sparred with me. We were in there for hours, and I soaked up every minute like the desert soaks up the rain. At the end of the day, he told me that I was a natural-born warrior and that if I kept training, someday I would be the best. It was the first time I’d ever felt seen by my father.”
“Is that why you dedicated yourself to mastering so many fighting styles?”
We lean back as a waiter sets our desserts in front of us—creme brûlée for her and chocolate hazelnut cake for me—and tops off our wine glasses. I wait for her to take her first bite, watching her lips close around it and drag along the silver spoon. Her lashes sweep down as a soft moan escapes from the back of her throat, making my cock twitch behind the fly of my suit pants.
Needing to keep things PG—at least for now—I answer her question and hope my voice doesn’t sound as strained as what’s in my boxer briefs. “That’s exactly why. I figured if I had a natural ability—one prominent enough for my father and the Night Court King to comment on—I might as well hone it. Fighting is the only thing I’m good at.”
“I think I can confidently say it’s not the only thing you’re good at.” Taryn peers up at me coyly, letting the tip of her spoon tease her lower lip. “I mean, with all your knowledge of knots, I bet you’d be excellent at sailing.”
Little minx. She laughs, her husky voice twisting up my insides even as I laugh with her. I’ve discovered she’s genuinely funny. Once she stopped guarding herself with me, her true personality started coming through a little at a time, and she’s constantly surprising me with humorous one-liners I didn’t expect from her. I’m glad we’re doing this scavenger hunt together, because I’m thoroughly enjoying getting to know her.
“What about you?” I ask her. “Do you have a favorite childhood memory?”
Her mouth curves up in a soft smile as her eyes get a faraway look. “I do. When I was nine, my father took me on a trip to the Cindercrest Mountains to see the Scorched Sky.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s similar to the Northern Lights of this realm, but it only happens once every millennium in Tír Tairngire. It’s said that as the goddess of fire, Brigid sets the night sky ablaze as a reminder of the day she gifted us with her power.
“The entire Summer Court celebrates with a huge festival, but my dad said he knew a better way to experience it, so I pestered him until took me, which I’m sure was his intent the whole time.”
She smiles to herself as though remembering the moment, and the nostalgia makes her eyes shine. “We flew up to the highest peak and laid on our backs, watching the violet flames undulating across the sky like a fiery sea. It felt like we were so close that I could touch the magic if I stretched my arm up. We stayed like that for hours, taking it in while my father told stories of the gods and the creation of Faerie.”
“That sounds amazing.”
Taryn meets my gaze, her smile growing wider. “It was. When it was over, I was so disappointed. I said, ‘The fire is gone.’ But my father replied with, ‘Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it isn’t there. You must believe that it is.’ Then he cupped my face in his large hands and said, ‘Believe in your fire, Taryn, and you can do anything.’ I never felt closer to him than I did that night.”
Listening to her, I have a sense of coming home that shouldn’t be possible. I’ve never been to Faerie, and I never will be. That right was stripped of me long before I was born, and ironically, the person who did it is the mother of the female sitting across from me.
Clasping my hands in front of me, I lean in slightly. “Do you believe in fate or destiny?”
Taryn chews on the corner of her lower lip and seems to contemplate the question carefully before answering. “I don’t like the idea of events happening that are out of our control. I’ve always believed that bad things are preventable with the right choices and good things are achievable the same way.”
I sit back, vindicated someone else thinks rationally like I do. “I completely agree. I’ve never subscribed to the idea either.”
“Except now I’m not so sure.”
It takes me a second to process her words. “What makes you say that?”
“You read the same letter from Moira that I did. ‘When Luna casts her shadow without Rhiannon’s consent’ was the eclipse that wasn’t supposed to happen. She said it was the night when destinies collide, and it happened when you and I were touching my Armas at the same time. That’s a little hard to ignore, don’t you think?”
I take my time thinking about that and how to respond. “I’ll admit that I’d been helping your brother look for you for months by the time I had your Armas. But it wasn’t until I held it for the first time that my need to find you was so strong that it became a compulsion. I never would’ve stopped.
“Whether I was being influenced by some kind of spell imbued in the necklace or because our paths were meant to cross, I can’t say. I believe my grandmother saw certain events happening that are now coming to fruition. I’m just not sure what all of it means yet.”
“Well, Mr. Cynical, there’s only one way to find out,” she says, pushing her chair back and rising. “Let’s go solve us a riddle.”
Smiling, I get to my feet and gesture in front of me. “After you, my lady.”
SIXTEENTARYN
I’ve frequented lots of huge cities that cater to a robust night life—New York City, Tokyo, Paris, and dozens of others—so I assumed Vegas would be more of the same. Just another metropolis lit up with billions of LEDs like digital fireworks on a perpetual loop.
I was wrong.
Although I made it a point to stay far away from Vegas until now, I had a healthy respect for what the Night Court accomplished. It wasn’t enough for them to simply adapt and thrive in the barren land they were banished to. They rebuilt their kingdom from the ground up. And instead of isolating themselves from humans, they seduced them with a neon empire of debauchery and used them to achieve wealth and power.
Before the exile, the court-born power all Dark Fae possessed was called the Yearning. They could invade your mind and uncover all the wicked, depraved thoughts you kept secreted away—everything from the smallest of vices to the most debased of sins—then they’d implant the overwhelming urge to act on them.
The energy here is its own entity; a living, breathing thing that seeps into your pores and burrows into the darkest shadows of your soul. It fosters an environment that encourages you to shatter your own inhibitions and ignore your better judgement. The Darks have the same power here as they did back in Faerie, and they do it all without the benefit of magic.
It’s fucking brilliant.
“Ready?”
“Ready,” I say with a nod.
As we walk toward the massive hotel, we use the glamours that make us near invisible to humans. No one is paying us any attention, yet it doesn't stop Finn from staying on high alert, looking around like he expects Edevane to pop out at any second. I hope he fucking does. I want a chance to end that motherfucker.
Our current mission is inside the Bellagio, a hotel and casino modeled after a resort town on the shores of Lake Como in Northern Italy. Ironically, I’ve been to the real one several times in the past. In fact, I’ve been to most, if not all, of the real places the Vegas hotels are modeled after.
Stepping through the revolving doors of the Bellagio Hotel, we’re immediately enveloped by opulence: the cool, lily-scented air, the polished marble floor echoing under my heels, and above, Dale Chihuly’s glass sculpture blooming across the ceiling. The grand staircase to the left glints with gold filigree, while the murmur of conversation of guests milling about and clinking glasses from the Petrossian Bar adds a soothing hum.
Approaching the Conservatory and Botanical Gardens, I’m drawn in by a kaleidoscope of colors and the vibrant sounds of nature. The entrance is framed by towering floral arches, an explosion of roses, sunflowers, and ivy that form a living gateway.
Inside, the theme “Majesty: The Grandeur of Nature” comes to life with stunning artistry. Massive peacock sculptures made entirely of flowers display their feathered splendor, each petal meticulously placed to capture the brilliance of real plumage. Water cascades from an ornate fountain into a crystal-clear pond, surrounded by lush greenery and delicate blossoms.
The air is perfumed with the intoxicating scents of jasmine and gardenia, mingling with the earthier tones of moss and fern. Visitors wander through this botanical paradise, their faces lit with wonder, and as I step farther in, the sheer beauty and tranquility of the scene envelop me. The whimsy of it reminds me of Faerie, and a pang of homesickness I haven’t felt in ages hits me out of nowhere. Drawing in a slow breath, I push the unwelcome feeling away.
“Here we are,” Finn says. “Skies of glass where flowers bloom. That’s half of the clue solved already. What’s the rest of it again?”
“‘Loosened stone is parchment’s tomb. One is done with petal fire, two then three unearth the spire.’”
“Any ideas on what any of that means?”
“None. I guess we should start with looking for anything resembling a loose stone.” He arches a brow at me that says he doesn’t think I could’ve suggested anything more basic. “If you have a more profound idea, Einstein, feel free to share it with the class.”
“As a matter of fact…” He scans the room for several seconds like he’s hoping the answer will jump out at him from one of the displays. Finally, he turns to me and says, “Yeah, I got nothing. Let’s do your thing.”
