“Hmm. What do you think it could be?”

Her brows drew together. Whatever thoughts whirred behind those spellbinding eyes killed her appetite. She pushed her plate away.

Curiosity hammered him.

Her gaze grew distant, and all of a sudden he felt as if he were sixteen again, strangling inside to know her mind was elsewhere—to know she didn’t find him interesting enough to stay engaged with him.

He’d solved mysteries of the godsdamned universe, but her mind was forever unknown to him.

Magic cleared the dishes and refilled her cup. “I don’t have to ask if you’ve enjoyed yourself,” he said to reclaim her attention.

Facing him again, she said, “The wine and food were excellent.”

But not the company? “We’re not without comforts in hell. Still, you must despise it here.”

She shrugged her pale shoulders. “The atmosphere is improving, so that’s a plus.”

“Because the ash is settling?”

“It’s more than that. I don’t know how to explain it. I got a sense of misery and ruin. Death. Now that sense has lifted.”

Because of changes within me?

“How long have you been king of this realm?”

“A new position. Goürlav, my brother, died recently.”

“Were you close?”

“We were at one time.” The worse Goürlav’s appearance had become, the more he’d closed himself off—despite Sian’s efforts over the ages. “He and I were fraternal twins.”

“I don’t see how he could die. Was he as strong as you?”

“Stronger.” Goürlav had become known as the Father of Terrors—because eventually his very blood began to spawn monsters. Will mine? “He lost a death match to a powerful vampire.” Sian had considered vengeance, but the fight had been fair.

“Why would he enter one?”

Goürlav had led Sian to believe that he’d neither wanted nor needed friendship, creating his own solitary lands. After giving up the search for the hellfire, he’d abandoned Pandemonia, leaving the realm running as if it were a clockwork factory. Yet apparently he’d been lonely enough to seek a companion. “He intended to win the hand of a young sorceress, one who’d volunteered to wed the victor.” Regardless of who—or what—prevailed.

Sian shook his head at the absurdity. He felt huge and ungainly next to Calliope’s small perfection; what in the hells had Goürlav been thinking?

Loneliness must have driven him into that death-match ring. My twin died because he was hideous—yet still yearning.

Sian’s gaze took in Calliope’s fine-boned face. My fate as well?

At the end of Goürlav’s life, few would have looked at his gruesome appearance and believed he’d once been a gentle soul with a dream of peace and commerce.

The bloody betterment of all elven- and demonkind!

Changing the subject, Sian said, “I’m surprised you haven’t asked me anything about the Møriør. If you hail from Sylvan, you must have heard much about my alliance.”

“From my earliest memories. You’re the bogeymen that bring about the end of the worlds. Fey children have nightmares about the savage hell demon, the fire-breathing dragon, the bloodthirsty vampire, and more. Especially the fey-slayer.”

“Did you have nightmares as a child?”

“You think they ended just because I grew up? Now my nightmares have come true. I’ve been captured by the hell demon and imprisoned in his lair.”

“I haven’t wet my ax with a Sylvan’s blood in millennia. And our archer doesn’t slay your kind indiscriminately. He only kills the royals from Queen Magh’s line.”

“Why?”

“He vowed to stamp out her descendants. Saetth is Magh’s son, and the rest of his kin are like him—evil and vicious. The whole tainted root needs to be destroyed. The worlds will be a much better place without those degenerates.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m to believe Rune only kills royal fey? And only those guilty of viciousness? Is he so infallible as judge, jury, and executioner?”

“Yes, you’re to believe that. There’s little about the fey that he doesn’t know.”

“I read in the Book of Lore that you and your alliance fought the ice demonarchy recently, laying waste to their whole army. Is that true?”

“No. Only four out of our alliance actually fought them.” Allixta had twiddled her thumbs with boredom, her magic unneeded in that conflict.

“According to the book, the archer shot a shock-wave arrow that turned bones to dust. Across the battlefield, demons writhed on the ground like worms, never to regenerate. You were no less deadly, taking out battalions with your ax.”

“That demonarchy was attempting to awaken a malevolent god who once tried to bury all of Gaia in ice. But none of you are old enough to remember that. The Møriør are.” If those demons had succeeded, the apocalypse would be a lot sooner than any in the Lore expected. “We warned them what would happen should they stand against us. We always warn them.”

She tilted her head, as if she didn’t know whether to believe him.

“What else have you heard about my alliance?”

“Rumor says Orion the Undoing can detect weaknesses in everything and everyone.”

True. “Is that the rumor?” Sian would never give this female information that wasn’t commonly known. And he’d reveal no weaknesses—history wouldn’t repeat itself—but then, the Møriør had very few. “Our leader’s powers are unimaginable. Any who challenge him are doomed to failure.”

“The Møriør’s base is supposed to be a dimension that moves through space and time.”

“It’s called Tenebrous, and that’s no secret.” The war room in Perdishian—Orion’s black-stone castle there—had a wall of glass through which one could see worlds flashing by.

“Many believe the Møriør’s dragon can incinerate an entire realm.”

Also true. “King Uthyr is a long-term visitor here at the castle.”

Voice scaling higher, she said, “Do the others visit often?”

“They rarely travel to Pandemonia,” he told her, noting the relief in her expression. She should be afraid of them. But . . . “You are currently with the Møriør who poses the greatest threat to you.”