Must be Uthyr, one of the Møriør. If he was visiting, would the baneblood archer show up here too?

She rubbed her hand over her chest. After her dream of the fawn, she’d had yet another nightmare about the fey-slayer.

The dragon took a mouthful of lava and spurted it up like a fountain.

Dragons. Swimming in lava. Of course.

This demonic world was foreign to her, but by all the gods, she would figure out how to survive here until she could escape.

She would adapt. She always did. When she’d been cast into the mortal realm with only a bag of clothes and a Book of Lore, Lila had been as good as doomed.

Until she’d figured it the fuck out.

She’d learned to live without luxuries and order and servants. Without knowing where her next meal would come from. Without any promise of safety.

Fearing human detection, she’d learned to accept her loneliness and pour her energies into educating herself.

At fifteen, she’d finagled a way to buy the one tool she’d coveted: an ID. After that, she’d set about exploiting weaknesses in the mortals’ financial and social structure to pay for her education.

Just as Lila had promised Saetth, she flourished with every hardship she survived, like the fire vine that grew with each cut—

Her eyes went wide. That’s it! Suddenly she knew how to defeat the vine.

She laughed at the solution, stamping her feet. By not defeating it at all. . . .

EIGHTEEN

Sian’s spies had returned with their first cursory report on Calliope, leaving him with more questions than answers.

In the ten days since her capture, his curiosity about his mate burned ever hotter. His gaze fell on the hand mirror. Want to see her.

He considered his addiction to watching her a major failing. Over the last few nights, he hadn’t slept, just gazed at her even when she slumbered.

Once she drifted off, nothing could wake her. And she had an active dreamlife, her expressive face evincing emotion after emotion, her limbs and ears twitching.

Was she dreaming about her past life? Would she ever admit if she were?

He succumbed to the need, snatching up the mirror and summoning the scene in the tower. He raised his brows at the sight.

She was talking to two spiders that seemed to be following her around the central courtyard. Fascinating. Was she no longer afraid of them?

She crossed to one of the walls and reached toward a fire vine. Then she . . . pressed her palm against it!

Why would she burn herself? To trick him in some way! To get sympathy?

She gritted her teeth against the pain. Then she did it to her other hand. To the backs of her wrists as well.

His instincts screamed to protect her. Even from herself.

She paused, eyes watering, then repeated the process. When tears spilled down her cheeks, he tensed to trace there and demand answers—

Realization struck him, and he stilled.

“Immunity.” She was building up her tolerance to the vine, so she could escape down the side of the tower. Torn between the need to kiss his ingenious mate and the urge to throttle her, he muttered, “You clever girl.”

He found himself almost pulling for her. Yet a wave of his hand imbued her ring with a confinement spell. As long as she wore it, she could never leave the castle.

She burned her forearm in vain. “Motherfucker fuckity fuck!”

His brows rose. Definitely not the language of a princess.

Calliope had gotten inside a Møriør hold; a spy would not be this desperate to get out of one.

Damn this thread of hope. Even if she proved true in this life, she hadn’t in her last. He could never trust her. The day he’d lost his horns he’d lost forever any hope of a future with her. A traitorous voice whispered, You grew new horns.

Unsettled, he traced to the River Styx to find Uthyr basking in lava again, backstroking with his wings. His golden eyes were heavy-lidded. —There is nothing like Pandemonian lava. Demon, if you could bottle this . . . — He sucked in a mouthful and spurted it into the air. —How is Calliope?—

Sian paced the stony riverbank. He kicked a black lava rock—cold and crumbling like his heart—into the river, watching it melt. “She’s doggedly trying to escape. And scratching slashes on the wall for each day of imprisonment.”

—Not typical spy behavior.—

“My thoughts as well.” He couldn’t hold in what he’d seen her do. “She was purposely making contact with the fire vine, burning herself to build immunity.” His tone held a note of pride.

—So she can climb out of the tower! Your mate’s a cunning female. And you thought her stupid.— Uthyr lifted his scaled brow. —I wonder how else you’ve misjudged her.—

So did Sian. “My own spies have returned from their first foray into her background. Apparently the Magic Kingdom is a gathering place for mortals. Calliope worked there for years as a face character, whatever that is.”

The contents of her apartment were sparse and gave scant insight into her personality—aside from the books stacked against every wall from floor to ceiling. The subjects ranged from introductory Japanese to Sumerian artifacts.

If she liked reading, then Graven’s Tower of Learning would leave her agog. Pity she’ll never see it. “She was abducted from her place of employment by the Sorceri bounty hunters.”

The hunters he still owed. Though Sian disliked having a debt hanging over him, he wasn’t looking forward to a bout of hell manipulation.

He’d have to put himself into a trance, envisioning the changes he would make to the lands—but he’d actually be forcing his own consciousness to expand.

Such an undertaking would deplete his life force in a way it hadn’t been in ages.

If Calliope could enliven his mind and combat his stupefying boredom, she might be worth that price.

—No wonder your mate is so indignant. She likely had a life she was enjoying. A career. Maybe even a lover. It seems Nïx is playing with you both.—

Sian gnashed his fangs. “My mate had a . . . fiancé.”

Uthyr cringed. —That’s less than encouraging. What of her family?—

“I believe she has none. No blood ties were uncovered on Earth.”

—I pity young Calliope. Cooping up a fleet-footed fey is beyond cruel.—

Her species loved to run. Did she miss it? What would she give for a bout of freedom?