Chapter 3

Chapter Three

PIPER

Piper leaned back into a stretch, her legs bent at the knee and feet under her butt. Tired muscles complained as her thighs went taut.

“What really bothers me,” she said with a huff, “is how he acted like I shouldn’t have even gone downstairs to see what was happening.”

Bent backward in the same stretch, her uncle arched his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling up toward his shaved head. His skin glistened with moisture from their sparring session.

“Inserting yourself into a violent confrontation was dangerous,” he pointed out reasonably.

“Yeah, I know. I should have backed off when they started fighting.” She wrinkled her nose. “But I wasn’t wrong to go investigate. There were no other consuls around to intervene, and I am an apprentice.”

Calder lifted his eyebrows higher. Her father and uncle were identical twins, but they were easy to tell apart. Quinn always looked angry, while Calder looked perpetually amused.

“What about the last time a situation got out of your control? Or the time before that?” He slanted a look at her. “When have you ever backed off or had a consul take over?”

Scowling, Piper sat up and stretched her legs out in front of her, reaching forward to grip the arches of her feet.

Calder mirrored her. “More than any other apprentice, you need to be cautious when there’s the possibility of violence. You know that—you admit to knowing that—but you always do the opposite.”

She gritted her teeth, no logical rebuttals jumping to mind. What point was there in explaining that running away from every daemon who growled at her would only reinforce her father’s lack of faith in her capabilities?

“Inside this house, you have the Consulate rules and your father’s position as a shield, but you can’t rely on that. You’ll always be at a disadvantage, so you need to be smart, not brave.”

Jaw still clenched, Piper began another stretch. Everything came back to her “disadvantage.” Unlike every daemon and every consul, she had no magic.

All consuls were haemons—half human, half daemon. They looked entirely human but inherited magic from their daemon parent, giving them the power to stand up to their supernatural relatives.

For whatever stupid reason, Piper hadn’t inherited any magic. She technically didn’t have a daemon parent—her mom had been a haemon as well as her father—but that still added up to just as much daemon blood or genes or whatever as any other haemon. Piper should have inherited something . Both her parents were perfectly capable of wielding magic, yet here Piper was, a magic-less aberration unfit to live in a Consulate, let alone become a consul.

Not interested in hearing more reasons why she was unfit for the only future she’d ever wanted, she changed the subject. “When are the delegates arriving?”

“In about an hour.” Calder angled his legs into a split. “While the meeting is ongoing, you’ll need to stay?—”

“—upstairs,” she grumbled. “Yes, Father already told me.”

“We don’t know how long the arbitration will last—hours, maybe days. There are centuries of bad history to get past to reach any kind of agreement. We’re reserving all the guest rooms in the basement for the delegates.”

Piper’s lips quirked down. “What about the other daemons already staying the night?”

“Most of them have left. I’m not sure what Quinn’s plans are for any remaining.”

The current guests had left? The Consulate always had at least a few daemons spending the night. Had something happened to make them want to leave? Like, say, a notorious mercenary telling them to get lost like he had to Ether and Ozar?

A mercenary who might or might not know about the secret meeting tonight?

A chill rippled through her, and she sat up to rub her arms. Glancing at Calder, she opened her mouth, then closed it again. She didn’t have proof of anything, and she didn’t want to be accused of “inserting herself” into another controversial situation.

“Are you expecting any trouble?” she asked instead.

Calder used his right elbow to pull his left arm across his chest in a shoulder stretch. “From the delegates? Unlikely. Your father and I will be attending the meeting, along with two other consuls, and Consul Owen will be manning the desk all night.”

He accompanied that last detail with a knowing look at Piper, and she wrinkled her nose back at him. Seemed like she wouldn’t be able to sneak downstairs to attempt any eavesdropping— which was a shame because she’d love some actual details about this supposedly legendary artifact that daemons had been warring over for centuries.

“What about… other trouble?” she asked, skirting around any reference to a certain mercenary. “Outside interference, maybe?”

Calder switched his arms to stretch the other side. “Quinn leaked several fake locations and sent the rest of our consuls to them as decoys. The delegates themselves should also dissuade any would-be troublemakers who actually figure out where the meeting is happening.”

She didn’t find his last point reassuring. Even if other daemons would hesitate to attack the delegates, that didn’t mean the delegates wouldn’t attack each other—while her father and uncle were in the same room.

She and Calder finished their stretches in silence. Piper stared broodily at the wall of weapons across from her, everything from swords to throwing knives to a few guns. If she had magic, if she were a “proper” apprentice, would her father still insist she wasn’t capable of defending herself and shouldn’t be involved in consul business?

She could wield every weapon on that wall. She was even more skilled with her bare hands. But knowing twenty different ways to break someone’s arm wasn’t impressive, not when a single blast of magic could knock her ten feet across a room.

There was no training or study she could undertake that would give her magical power. All she could do was devote herself to combat training and become so unassailable that it wouldn’t matter whether she had magic.

She and Calder left the sparring gym soon after. With most of the consuls playing decoy and their daemon guests gone—or evicted by Ash—the hall was eerily quiet and empty as she headed upstairs to shower.

Less than an hour later, she was dressed in tight black jeans and a dark purple corset-style top that laced up in the front, her hair was tied up in a high ponytail, and she was leaning against the railing at the top of the stairs.

Six daemons were gathered on the marble floor of the foyer below, accompanied by Calder and two other consuls. So these were the delegates. Piper leaned farther over the railing, burning with curiosity.

Two willowy women with wildly curly chestnut hair a few shades lighter than their umber skin stood side by side. They wore flowy pants patterned in beige and brown, as well as fitted tops that wrapped tightly around their throats but left their toned arms bare.

A man and a woman dressed in black stood on the opposite side of the foyer, positioned at the base of the sweeping staircase. They both had olive skin, dark eyes that might’ve been purple—it was difficult to tell from where Piper stood—and long raven hair tied at the back of their necks.

The last pair was in conversation with Calder. They were both blond, one older, the other young and extremely handsome—broad shoulders, ochre complexion, aristocratic features, tousled hair the color of sunlit honey, and green eyes so intense she had no trouble seeing the vivid color.

Both blond daemons wore dark red with gold accents. The cuts of the clothing were unfamiliar. Most daemons visiting the Consulate tried to blend in, but despite being in glamour, all six delegates had taken the opposite approach: they were obviously and blatantly not from this world.

The Consulate’s double front doors swung open, and everyone turned toward the incoming pair—the final pair of delegates.

Black cloaks, rail thin builds. The slightly taller one pushed his hood off, revealing pale, ashy hair tied back from his equally pale face. His skin was strangely thin and tight, as though it’d been suctioned against his skull.

The daemon faced the younger of the delegates in red. “I wondered who your queen would send. Should I bow?”

The question was heavy with sneering sarcasm.

“No need,” the younger daemon replied, his voice as melodic as it was scathing. “I’m sure you do enough groveling in Asphodel.”

The cloaked daemon twisted his lips—and a hand landed on Piper’s shoulder.

She barely managed not to shriek in surprise. Whirling around, she found her father standing behind her, his expression flat with disapproval. She quashed a guilty expression. She hadn’t disobeyed him; she was staying upstairs as ordered.

Quinn drew her away from the railing and the terse group below, shuffling her toward her bedroom.

“The meeting will begin shortly,” he said in a low voice. “Calder or I will check in with you later. Stay upstairs at all times.”

She nodded, distracted by the deep lines of stress around his mouth and creasing his forehead. He’d added a black suit jacket to his dress shirt and slacks, and she wasn’t sure if the dark clothing was making him seem paler than he’d been a few hours ago. She hadn’t seen him since Consul Wade had called him out of his office for something urgent.

“All but two of our regular guests have left,” he continued. “Once the meeting is underway, Consul Owen will escort them up here to the spare bedrooms.”

“Up here ?” she repeated disbelievingly. As in, the second floor, which was reserved for consuls and forbidden to all daemon guests?

“Just for one night, Piperel. Consul Owen will be stationed at the front desk. He’ll periodically check on them and handle any issues. You ”—Quinn put heavy emphasis on the word—“will remain in your bedroom. There’s no need for you to interact with them.”

She pressed her lips into a thin, rebellious line.

“I need to join the delegates.” Quinn dipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a small black cube. “Hold on to this for me. I forgot to put it in the safe.”

He set the item on her palm—a tiny velvet ring box. She peered at it curiously. Since he was still watching, she tried to force it into the pocket of her jeans, but they were too tight. With a shrug, she stuck it down the front of her shirt and wedged it between her breasts.

Quinn looked momentarily appalled before recovering his composure. “Keep that with you until I check in with you later tonight. And stay?—”

“—in my room. Yes, I know.”

He gave her a final, oddly searching look, then turned on his heel and strode toward the stairs. She watched until he was out of sight, absently adjusting the ties on her top. The rumble of voices from the foyer rose in volume as he joined them.

She turned, looking down the hall toward her bedroom. An uneasy weight sank through her. Two guests had remained at the Consulate—and she could guess with uncomfortable certainty which two daemons would be spending the night up here with her.