20. Nora

20

NORA

T he wind is brisk, a sharp whip against my cheek.

I wait outside the iron-spiked gates of Silas's palace, realizing that autumn has begun to pack up shop, and winter is rounding the corner with a flurry.

My nose gets a brief reprieve from the cold as I flick on my lighter, the flame burning through the end of the cigarette I've got pinched between gloved fingers. The sharp scent of smoke usually calms me, but lately, it's been a reminder of the burned rubble we left across the Veil.

In some moments, it's a good thing, like fresh coal thrown into my fire, but in others, it's a heavy weight on my shoulders.

"Silas will arrive shortly. I suggest you finish that before he gets here," a deep voice calls.

I close my eyes, already feeling the migraine pinch across the side of my skull. A fake smile spreads across my cheeks.

" Wrath ."

"Pride."

Wrath doesn't smile back as he greets me. I don't think he was partial to me before I came into power, but afterwards, it became clear I'm not his favorite.

He isn't mine either.

His steps are silent as he approaches, dressed in his standard three-piece black suit with a gray wool overcoat—much like mine—and a flat cap to match. It's all freshly pressed; straight creases cut the center of each leg of his trousers. Even his oxfords shine as they peek out from the hem of the pants.

I take a final drag of my cigarette before dropping it on the pavement and stomping it out with my boot. I barely smoked through a quarter of it, but Wrath isn't Envy, and I can't push him the same way I can the other Sins.

Luckily, we aren't left in awkward silence for long. Shadows merge together in the empty space before us, silky tendrils of night that are tangible enough to skim your hand through.

"Evening," Silas says as he materializes from the darkness.

Silas is dressed even warmer than us, with a fur-trimmed jacket over his suit. It's an interesting choice in outerwear, but it matches his personality. He claps his hands together, the sound a muted thud given the leather gloves he wears.

"We don't have much time to waste. There's a storm coming."

I peek at the sky. There's not a cloud in sight.

"Storm's on the other end," he says, as if he can read my mind. He turns to Wrath. "You good?"

Wrath nods before grabbing my suitcase and disappearing into a swirl of shadows.

"You may be sick after this," Silas says.

The six words are the only warning I get before Silas's hand falls on my shoulder, and I'm thrust into the void.

Darkness swirls around me, a hundred shades of night that I never knew existed. I've been shadow-walked plenty of times before, but there's something different about Silas's shadows—something dangerous lurks within them.

As quickly as I was plunged into it, I'm yanked out, tripping over my feet and blinking at the bright white landscape. A wet chill soaks my knees and forearms.

Snow, untouched and sparkling, surrounds us for miles, blurring into a mass of white-dusted evergreens and mountains whose peaks are hidden by clouds.

"You'll have time to gawk at the views later. Follow me," Silas says from behind me.

I stand, whacking the snow from my legs and coat. Silas is already striding through a path cut in the snow and leaving me behind.

He calls over his shoulder, "It's a short walk from here. Apologies for the trek through the snow, but there are ancient wards around the area that block us from landing too close."

Snow crunches under my boots as I follow, the cold already soaking through the leather. Ahead, a shadowed cavern yawns open in the side of the mountain; its entrance is unnervingly black, and I recognize the telltale shimmer of magic.

"You brought me to a cave?" I deadpan. "This isn't the creative end I assumed you'd think up for me, Your Majesty. I have to admit I'm disappointed."

He laughs—a throaty chuckle that echoes across the mountainside.

"You continue to surprise me with your honesty," he says, wiping an unshed tear from his eye. "And please, call me Silas." He sweeps a hand out in a grand gesture towards the cave. "Welcome to Mount Bramble, where the berries in spring are delicious and Court secrets are plentiful year-round."

Passing through the outer barrier of the cave feels akin to traveling between the realms. The magic clings to me like glitter, a faint dust that shimmers before sinking into my skin. The inside of the cave is surprisingly warm, the air thicker here than outside. The shadow barrier keeps heat in as much as it keeps people out. The rounded walls are smooth, and my leather-tipped fingers drift over the gray rock as easily as they would marble; it's as if someone shaved and polished them.

Our steps echo as Silas leads us down the natural hallway.

When we reach the end of the path, punctuated by a set of large iron doors, Silas turns to me.

What kind of stronghold has he brought me to?

"What lies beyond these doors is accessed by only a select few members of the Court. I hope you will use the utmost discretion about what you see here when we leave," he says with a seriousness that strikes my gut.

"I understand."

Like a child, his mood shifts from serious to carefree in an instant. He shoots me a mischievous smile.

"Now to show you all the goodies," he says and throws open the doors.

They open to a large underground cavern.

No, that doesn't do it justice .

The right word escapes me as we step onto a small landing that overlooks a vertical tunnel carved into the mountain stone. It stands maybe fifty feet wide and five stories tall, with three going up and two going down from our vantage point.

At the top of the cavern is a massive, pointed skylight. Made of large panes of stained glass, it paints a rainbow of colors across the neutral-toned stone canvas. Below, the bottom of the circular cavern hosts a few round tables. A handful of fae sit there, studying next to piles of thick tomes. Behind them, rows of bookshelves continue under the cover of the lowest level.

My head shakes at the sheer size of the place.

"How?" I whisper.

"Generations of stubborn Royals committed to their contingency plans," Silas quips from my side. "Myself included."

He leaves it at that and leans his back against the railing, arms crossed. The position makes him look like a puffed-up cat, with the fur-lined coat collar pushed up to his chin.

Part of me has the sudden urge to push him over the ledge.

Would he shadow-walk himself to safety? Or would he spread his wings and glide down to the lowest level?

Maybe he'd simply fall to his death.

Silas studies me studying him, the corner of his rose-colored lips twitching up.

"Come," he says, pushing off from the ledge. "I'll show you to your room. Your bag will be there already."

We turn towards the stairs and climb up the stone spiral. My blood unfreezes, and warmth seeps back into my flesh. I unbutton my coat, shuck it off my shoulders, and tuck it over my forearm.

"Everything better be as I packed it," I mumble under my breath.

"Wrath may be thorough, but he isn't a thief," Silas chirps in front of me.

We climb past the first level, then the second.

"Will we be seeing much of him during this trip?"

"He is integral to what I have planned for us, so prepare yourself to be in his presence more than you're used to," Silas says. He peers over his shoulder with a glint in his obsidian eyes. "Robbie really is much nicer than he seems. We'll get some liquor in him, and he'll loosen up."

I blink.

Is that Wrath's name ?

I imagined him as more of a Bartholomew, or something equally stuffy. Robbie is a child's name.

"I didn't come here to drink and make friends," I say.

Silas tuts, "Don't be such a grouch, Nora."

We crest the third landing, turning down a narrow hall. It's lined with burning torches, rather than electric sconces, which cast the space in flickering shades of amber.

I guess they can't fit an entire mountain with electricity.

We stop in front of a wooden door, carved with swirling lines that knot together in symmetrical patterns.

Silas shucks his jacket off, revealing a sharp pin-striped charcoal suit. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a metal key, holding it out to me.

"This one is yours. I'm next door and Wrath is one past mine," he says, pointing down the curved hall.

I take the key and our fingers brush, though they're both covered in winter gloves. He doesn't flinch. He simply lowers his hand back to his side, unfazed.

"Get settled, then meet us at noon for a debrief in the library. It's on the bottom level with the big green doors," he says. "You can't miss it. But even if you do, each floor is a circle, so you can keep walking till you pass it again."

"Understood," I say.

I expect him to leave, but he remains, waiting like a puppy who's expecting a treat. My lips stretch into a formal, tight-lipped smile.

If he thinks he's getting my thanks, he'll be sorely mistaken.

"I can manage from here."

Silas frowns at my dismissal of him.

"If you need anything, you can give either one of us a knock. There aren't Royal staff here, just a few of Wrath's security, the scholars, and a cook who only cooks. So, everything else is on us," he says. I give him an awkward thumbs up, and he snorts. "See you in a bit, neighbor ."

I wait until his steps fade around the curved hall to enter my room. Locking the door behind me, I toss my jacket onto the small table situated in the entry and sink into the nearest chair. It's a wide-back lounger upholstered in rose-pink velvet placed next to the hearth.

With a passing glance, I scan the room I've been given. It's small, but cozy. The ceilings are low and made of rough-hewn stone. The walls are decorated with pink-toned tapestries, likely to keep the space warm, and the simple four-poster bed sits in the far corner with pale fabric tied to each post. A dark archway stands next to the bed, leading to what I assume is the washroom.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, then sigh at the failed attempt to block the pounding against my skull. I'll have to take a hot shower, if this place even has running water, to dull the pain before I head back downstairs to meet with Silas.

His behavior unnerves me—the way he regards me as a friend in one moment, then casts out commands in the next. It alludes to a game that only he knows the rules to.

Our deal requires us to place faith in one another, to share each other's secrets. It's a risk on both our parts.

The reward will be worth it. That is, if I can keep the two of them close enough to help with Patience, but far enough away that they don't notice the cracking mortar holding together every half-truth I've ever told.

When I walk into the library, my nose is assaulted by deep notes of mildew, dust, and cedar. It's a distinct mix of scents that I expect from an ancient cavern that books call home.

My gloved hand skims over the leather and clothbound tomes as I glide through the rows searching for Silas and Wrath. I turn a corner and exit the circular maze of books, stepping into the open area at the center of the mountain complex.

Silas stands over a round table scattered with papers and pictures while Wrath lounges in a chair next to him.

"Ah, Nora, good. You didn't get lost," Silas says, quickly glancing my way and waving me over.

His attention falls back to a photograph on the table, silently pondering it and scratching his jaw. Wrath glares at me, not hiding his distaste for my presence. Both men have gotten rid of their outerwear and suit jackets; watch chains dangle from their vest pockets, though Wrath's is gold and Silas's silver.

The scratch of a chair against the stone floor echoes through the library as a man gets up from the table next to ours. He slides his reading glasses into his pocket and walks away with a book tucked under his arm.

It registers that Silas didn't clear out the library. A few others linger between the shelves and at the tables, all dressed in similar black robes.

"Who are they?" I ask, nodding to the few fae with their noses tucked between the pages of their own books.

"Researchers," Wrath answers.

My lips tip into a frown. He doesn't continue.

"Not going to elaborate, are you?"

A smug little smirk spreads across Wrath's face. He stays silent.

"I know we believe Patience to be the same man, but I am curious…" Silas taps the photograph on the table. "Do you recognize him?"

I lean on the edge of the table, peering over the photos.

One is an ancient sepia-toned square of a young woman with hair cropped into a flouncy pixie cut. She's mid-laugh, her head thrown back and mouth open wide, and behind her, you can barely make out the faint outline of translucent wings. Underneath her photo is a simple label scrawled in ink: Oonagh .

The Seelie Queen.

Below her photograph is a group picture with her and seven others at a banquet, all holding up glasses of wine and spirits and dressed to the nines. It's a mix of men and women, but some of the faces are crossed out with large black x's.

A weight settles in my stomach, the dropping of an anchor in the sea.

Though the photo is grainy, I can make out a few details: a smile that doesn't reach his beady eyes, a suit that's of an older fashion, and two-toned hair, a clear sign of aging.

He's younger in this photo than I remember him to be, but the sharp nose and cheekbones are the same as the day he ruined my life.

Patience.

Where did they get these photos?

It's a silly thought, because we weren't always cut off from the Seelie Court. I know the stories from my father. The two Courts were far from friends, but we still had customs where we joined together as one realm. Such as the Solstice celebration in late December, when fifty years ago, Silas's parents were murdered and he cemented our realm's divide.

"This one," I say, tapping on his face.

This man tried to steal me from my parents, and when he failed to do that, he killed them. Now, he continues to poke and prod at my life as if it's some kind of plaything for his amusement.

I am one person, but the lives of my people are not toys to be played with.

"See, I told you," Silas says to Wrath.

Wrath grunts.

"Where did you get these photos?" I ask.

"This library holds records of both Courts going back thousands of years," Silas says.

A ghost of a smile graces his lips, and his eyes focus on the wall of books behind us, as if they're replaying memories he can't pull away from. It's a look I've seen in the mirror a hundred times before.

"My parents were excited when photography was invented. They documented most of the Solstice events they attended and any other Court functions they thought worth preserving." His smile grows. "And some that probably weren't worth preserving. There are boxes of pictures from my youngling days in storage. Ones that should never see the light of day, let alone be discovered by a curious researcher wandering the archives."

"You should keep them somewhere else then. Or burn them," I say.

"He craves the attention too much to do that," Wrath mumbles.

Silas whacks him on the back of the head, causing Wrath to mutter an ouch .

"Well," I drawl. "Now that we know we're talking about the same man, what's the plan?"

"Patience is old guard," Wrath says, crossing his arms over his chest. "Been in power longer than the queen. It's a miracle he's still active in any capacity, but we can't underestimate him."

"He's a very strong healer. And like his House's title, he doesn't shy away from playing the long-con. He's smart, perceptive." Silas's vulpine eyes slide over me. "Same as you, Nora."

I avoid meeting his gaze, instead I watch my fingers tap dull thunks against the wooden table.

"Again, where does that leave us? Stop being vague."

"Our plan only works if we get three things right." Silas points at me. "Number one: you. You're our sniper. We just need to refine your shot."

"Meaning?"

"Use your magic to plant the seed of death within him so that it blooms without your presence."

I shoot him a deadpan stare.

"Like poison?"

"Yes, but even poison leaves a trail. Your magic won't." There's a devious little tilt to his lips. " If we manage to do it right."

Silas paces around the table, one hand behind his back and the other holding up two fingers.

Such a showman.

"Number two. We have to figure out a way for you to touch him without him realizing."

"I'm a decent pickpocket, but if he's as smart as we think, he'll see the sleight of hand from a mile away," I say.

"Which is where I come in," Wrath says. He's got a dead-eyed, shark-toothed grin plastered across his face. "I'm working on a solution. I hope you're not too attached to those gloves."

"Not particularly," I grate between clenched teeth.

"And that brings us to number three. You and Patience need to be in the same room." Silas plants both hands on the table and leans forward, tongue in cheek. "If we can check off one and two within the next four weeks, then number three won't be an issue. That part is on me."

"This is my final formal warning that I don't think it's a good idea," Wrath says, standing. His spine cracks as he stretches, arms raised above his head and head bobbing to the side. "I think we have a good thing going. Is it truly worth the risk?"

The two men have a silent standoff, silently communicating much like Josie and I do. A beat passes between them, then Wrath heaves a defeated sigh.

"Fine," he says, turning away from both of us. "But don't be pissed when it blows up in your faces and I say I told you so."