She’d raked her gaze over him. “You’re the dark fey everyone’s talking about, an assassin like me. Rune, right? I’m Natalya.” Another long look. “Where have you been all my life, gorgeous?”

In the past, he would’ve deemed this female heavens-sent for him—before Josephine had claimed his heart, his mind, his body, his fucking dreams.

When Natalya had propositioned him—“A little secret between two banebloods”—he’d simply said, “Josephine is everything.”

At that, Natalya had stopped eye-fucking him, and they’d spoken about the few others of their kind they’d met. She suspected he was the oldest living of them all. Not the firstborn, but still the oldest.

Was that why Orion had sought him out so long ago? Perhaps his liege hadn’t thought Rune less because he was a halfling; perhaps Orion considered dark fey to be a species unto themselves.

With Rune as their primordial.

The idea had shocked him, but he’d still managed to talk up Thad, emphasizing how powerful the young man was becoming. Once fully transitioned, Rune had assured Natalya, Thad could withstand any poison. . . .

Rune was glad to have gotten that meeting out of the way. With an unknown out there, he never would’ve been able to convince Josephine he was hers alone.

Soon his mate would feel confident in him. Soon she would wake to find him here, and he was . . . nervous.

She hadn’t spoken about him, and he still couldn’t fathom what he’d say to her. When he needed his silver tongue most, it’d deserted him.

How to express his regret for the past? How could he tell her his hopes for the future when he didn’t know what that future would entail? My liege might have murdered your mother, your entire world. Rune had come no closer to a decision regarding Orion and Apparitia.

She turned on her back, her hair tumbling over her pillow.

Her scent soothed his uneasiness, until it was replaced with a weary relaxation. He hadn’t slept in eight or nine days.

Outside, the night darkened even more, but the room was warm and comfortable. Gods, he’d give his bow hand to be able to sleep next to her once again.

He watched the rise and fall of her chest and imagined lying with her in his glen as a breeze washed over them.

His lids grew heavier, and he leaned an elbow on the edge of the bed.

Even a Møriør needed to rest once in a while. Maybe he’d close his eyes for ten minutes. . . .

SEVENTY-TWO

Rune was in Perdishian. He thought. Perhaps he dreamed?

If so, this reverie was the most lifelike he’d ever experienced.

He stood at the glass wall, gazing out. He breathed in air that smelled like cold stone and metal. His ears twitched with each of the stronghold’s groans as it moved through space and time.

Orion joined his side. His eyes were obsidian, as obscure as usual, but Rune had never seen this visage before. The male stood only a few inches taller than Rune. His hair was as black as space. His face was pleasing with sharp cheekbones and even features.

Rune couldn’t determine which species Orion imitated today.

They watched worlds pass in silence. Finally, Rune said, “I need to speak with you.”

Without turning from the view, Orion intoned, “Speak.”

“I failed to assassinate the Valkyrie. And now I can never kill her.”

“Thousands have tried. None would have succeeded.”

Rune faced him. “Then why dispatch me?”

Orion kept his gaze ahead, as if scanning for something. “We fail; we learn. Unless we fail to learn.”

Should Rune tell him about Apparitia? Surely this was just a dream. Maybe his subconscious was rehearsing for this very conversation. In any case, Rune had trusted and believed in Orion for ages. By suspecting the worst, Rune would not only be doubting his liege; he’d be doubting his own judgment.

Rune would choose to believe . . . in himself. “My mate hailed from Apparitia.”

Orion turned his head. “You want to know if I destroyed it. What do you think?”

“I think you didn’t.”

The black of Orion’s eyes glimmered a strange, wondrous color. A hint of the being’s satisfaction?

Good, then. Rune had been right, could feel the truth. Then he frowned. Was that color a clue to Orion’s ancestry?

No, no, that couldn’t be right.

“Ever loyal archer.” Orion gave the subtlest nod. “You could have taken the hybrids and run.”

“I trust in this. In you. In our mission.” To save the worlds.

“In time, your mate will look into my gaze and know the answer for herself.”

“But there’s more. I can’t harvest information as I have in the past—because I will never be untrue to her. Already threats arise that I can’t contain.” Nïx had said her warlocks were working to keep the Møriør out of Gaia. Warlocks were notorious for sacrificing nymphs to old gods. But Rune’s informant pool was now gone.

Orion faced the star-shaped table. “How many wolves sit among us?”

Rune frowned again. “One.”

“How many witches?”

“One.”

“Archers?”

One.

Orion had never called him anything but archer, even when Rune had possessed no skill. Rune had worked for millennia to become the best bowman in all the worlds—to be worthy of the name.

Yet even after he’d become the best, he still hadn’t become the archer.