Chapter 8

"You seem… in low spirits," Caius observed, blowing out a ring of smoke and watching me critically. "You sure you don't want some?" he asked, holding out the pipe for me to take.

"You know I don't smoke before work."

"You also don't usually seem so miserable before work, though you probably should be, considering the circumstances. I can't think of anything more miserable than your job."

In the past, I might have disagreed with him, but the in-between was increasingly miserable by the day. Probably because the moment I stepped into the darkness, all I could think about was Tallulah and the memories we'd shared there.

What was she doing right now? Was she thinking about me?

It was pretty unlikely.

Until the missing ex-Hunter was found and returned to the realm, Tallulah's focus would undoubtedly be solely on her friend. It was selfish of me to even dream that she'd have spared me a thought since that day by the river when she'd ended… whatever it was that we'd had.

"Why'd you even come over?" Caius groused, glaring at me. "I didn't see you for weeks, and then you finally come back and you're terrible company today. It's not like you to be so… emotional."

"No, I suppose not," I agreed mildly. There was never space for me to have any emotions that inconvenienced him, but Caius didn't want to hear that. Long before Roan had sprung an underhanded challenge on Caius, I'd been the unwanted shame of the family, expected to stay out of sight and never complain about the life the goddesses had granted me.

Caius was fifteen years older than me. I doubted we'd exchanged more than a handful of words before his self-imposed exile. Only when he was alone and humiliated, then was I considered worthy of his company.

"It's really no wonder you're in a foul mood, lingering in the darkness for all of your waking hours. I don't know why you do it. It won't make them respect you, you know."

"I would never be so bold as to expect that."

I'd been putting this visit off, but I was glad I'd come here. For a brief moment when I'd woken up this morning, I'd entertained the notion that it was unfair that Tallulah wasn't mine. That I couldn't keep her. But Caius was the harsh dose of reality that I needed: I would never be anything more than I was now. That I'd even come as far as I had was solely because I was willing to subject myself to conditions that no other member of the Guard would accept.

If only I hadn't naively had hopes, if I hadn't foolishly gotten attached to her, I wouldn't feel so crushingly disappointed.

"I hear Roan is being primed for a junior position on the Council of Shades," Caius said bitterly. I blinked in surprise. I couldn't remember the last time I'd heard him speak Roan's name.

"How did you hear that?"

"One of my customers. I hear more than you think, you know."

I waited to see if that was a pointed remark and that he'd heard something about my life, but no follow-up was forthcoming.

"You're better qualified for a seat on the Council of Shades."

Caius shot me a look that could freeze shadows. "Obviously, I know that."

"Well, why not put yourself forward? Holding the family seat isn't the only criteria. Your education is better suited to it, as is your temperament."

Caius had his flaws, but Roan was both arrogant and lazy, and seemed to grow more so with each year that passed. His only redeeming feature was that, deep down, I suspected he knew how unqualified he was.

"It's pitiful how na?ve you still are after all this time," Caius said with a heavy sigh, shaking his head before returning to his pipe.

I stood quietly, taking his words as a dismissal and silently excusing myself from his home. I'd tried. Someday I would learn not to bother.

Caius didn't run away from me. He didn't reject my presence outright like most Shades in the realm did. I should be grateful for it.

At least the visit with him had bridged the empty hours between waking and starting my shift—time I'd once spent with Tallulah. When the captain wasn't so busy with tracking down the missing ex-Hunter, I would request a meeting with him to discuss adding a couple of extra hours to the beginning of my shift. In the absence of having anything else going on, it seemed wasteful not to.

Today wasn't that day, though. I exchanged a nod with Captain Soren in the in-between as he and his mate headed for the human realm where they'd been monitoring the uncertain situation. At least, the captain's mate had more muted scents than the others who'd come here from the human realm. The scent of ex-Hunter—sad, happy, or otherwise—was playing havoc on my emotions lately.

I headed in the opposite direction from the duo, walking one of the several preplanned routes I had, though I selected one at random each day in case anyone was watching my movements. Unfortunately, this one took me past the spot I'd always brought Tallulah to, and I did my best to maintain my quick pace as I passed it, not allowing myself to linger in the suddenly oppressive darkness.

I'd never struggled with it before. In the past, I'd found the emptiness freeing. It was expansive, unlimited potential. It was space and time and possibility.

It was nothing. And nothing had been enough for me. It had been all I'd expected from my life. But I suspected that I'd met everything, and now I was struggling to find contentment in goddamn anything.

I shook my head, focusing on my surroundings. There was no point moping over Tallulah any more than I already had. She'd ended it. She'd wanted a safe way to explore intimacy between herself and a Shade, and I'd provided her with that.

It was enough.

The memories were enough. The in-between was enough. And for a Shade like me, enough was all I could hope for.

With the exception of a group of shithead kids I'd had to chase off, the in-between had been quiet. Almost eerily so, though it had been this way for days now. The realm seemed to be holding its shadows, waiting warily to see if the missing ex-Hunter would return or whether she'd stay in the human realm—whether by her choice or someone else's. For all the royal couple's apparent calm about the new way of filling the energy stores, the realm as a whole was less confident that we wouldn't imminently starve to death if King Allerick didn't allow us to travel to the human realm again soon.

But I couldn't think about that.

If I thought about feeding, I thought about Tallulah. Every path led me directly back to her.

I'd already hung around beyond the end of my shift, but I couldn't put reality off any longer. I made my way back to the portal, hoping there would be some warm food left at the barracks tonight and that no one would cower in horror at the sight of me, but an odd scent had me veering right. Something—someone—was in here. Someone who didn't belong, and who hadn't been here ten minutes ago when I'd passed this spot.

"Show yourself, by order of the Guard," I called out, calling my shadows to my palms, trying to place what the strange smell was. It almost smelled like a Hunter, but there was an astringent, sterile overtone to the scent that I'd never encountered before. With a muffled noise of surprise, I stumbled back, realizing I'd almost stepped on them.

Shit.

Shit.

Here was the missing ex-Hunter. Lying, seemingly half-dead, on the cold ground of the in-between. How could I have missed her earlier? No, it was impossible. Not with the strange scent clinging to her. Surely, I would have noticed that.

I scooped her up as gently as I could, alarmed by just how cold to the touch she was, before jogging through the portal, yelling for help before I'd even fully stepped foot on palace grounds. How had she gotten there? The portals were still closed on the human realm side, I'd have felt a disturbance if the Hunters had activated them again. Right now, the in-between was only accessible to a Hunter if a Shade was guiding them.

While I liked to think that no Shade would be so callous as to have dumped her in the in-between, alone and frail, I couldn't rule that scenario out. Nothing else made any sense.

The palace staff scattered to alert the necessary higher-ups while I brought her to the Healers' wing, following their guidance to deposit her on one of the empty beds before I was ushered out of the room so they could warm her up.

I regretted not bothering to learn her name, but I'd never paid attention to any of the Hunters who'd moved here except for Tallulah.

Were we even equipped to care for a sick Hunter? What did Shade healers know about healing humans?

For a brief moment, time itself seemed to stop as Tallulah rushed past me and into the room, the other ex-Hunter who lived in Elverston House following close behind. My chest felt tight at the sensation of being so close to Tallulah and yet so far away. She hadn't even seen me.

What if she forgot about me? It was only a matter of time, I supposed. The idea was agony.

"You did good," Verner said gruffly, startling me out of my reverie. I hadn't even noticed him arrive. "Where was she?"

"Right outside the portal. There was no movement from the portals on the human side, though, and no Shade with her. It was only luck that I found her," I added, slightly shamefaced. "She hadn't been there a few minutes earlier."

Verner frowned—an odd look on the usually peaceful Shade. He'd never been afraid to walk into my general vicinity and speak to me, though I wouldn't say we were friendly.

"The whole situation is strange. Are you up for relaying these developments to the king? He's at the trial…" Verner trailed off with a grimace.

"Of course," I agreed, taking Verner by surprise. It was pretty well known among the Guard that I didn't do anything outside of monitoring the in-between. I didn't usually have to.

But the idea that Tallulah would walk out of that room, look right at me and not acknowledge me at all was frankly terrifying. My already-fragile ego wouldn't be able to stand that blow.

I'd rather deal with the horrified looks and uncomfortable avoidance of every Shade at the realm who was attending the trial than that.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." I was already jogging away. Even with my limited social interactions, I'd heard about this sham of a trial, and it would definitely need to go on pause now.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the Elders didn't agree. My message was passed on by the guard at the door, but I wasn't even allowed to set foot in the room. The Curia was off-limits to a Shade like myself.

I wandered back through the empty halls, feeling oddly deflated. It wasn't like I cared about things like politics or the running of the realm, anyway. I just stayed in my self-imposed prison, doing my job, and ignoring the fact that I was a malformed pariah to the best of my ability.

The distressed scent of the ex-Hunters reached me in the halls, and I picked up my pace, jogging to meet them, to see if there was anything I could do to help.

It was a whole contingency of them, but I only had eyes for Tallulah. And this time, she was looking right back. In the muddle of smells and emotions, I couldn't tell what she was feeling, but her blue eyes were plenty expressive, even without a scent to draw on.

She was sad. Tallulah looked at me and felt sad.

That idea was intolerable.

How had this all gone so terribly wrong?

"This is Evrin," Tallulah murmured, making introductions for the benefit of the other ex-Hunters. They didn't respond to my name with any indication of familiarity, which was what I'd expected, but it still stung. "He was the one who found you in the in-between. You were right outside the portal, you know. So close."

Fuck me, her voice was as rich and decadent as the sweetest syrup. If I closed my eyes, I could have sworn that I felt it dripping down my throat.

But I doubted anyone would have appreciated me bringing that up right now. So instead, I filled them in on the situation at the Curia, and stood aside as they rushed in, unobstructed by even the Elders' most loyal guards, because here were people who mattered.

They were the voices who would mingle with the royal family's, and shape the shadow realm for decades, maybe even centuries, to come. Even the ones who didn't seem to relish the role of policy-shaping diplomats had the power to change everything, simply by virtue of who and what they were. I'd be lying to myself if I pretended I wasn't at least a little envious of having that much sway.

Rather than leaving, which would have been the sensible thing to do, I headed for the elegant lounge bar on the upper floors that overlooked the Pit—a popular drinking spot for sociopaths who enjoyed overseeing the suffering of others. It was a favorite haunt for the most morally depraved members of the Guard—the ones the captain hadn't weeded out yet—and I usually avoided it, but I couldn't quite face the idea of leaving yet. I wanted to at least be close to Tallulah physically, if nothing else.

"Evrin!" Roan called out the moment I stepped foot in the dimly lit, glossy bar. "What brings you here?"

I did my best to hide my grimace as I crossed the room to meet my brother, carefully keeping my distance as I greeted him. He knew that my lack of horns wasn't some type of contagion, but the few other Shades sprinkled around the bar might not, and Roan had a reputation to protect. I was surprised he was speaking to me at all—perhaps he was deeper in his cups than I'd initially thought.

"I was nearby. Thought I'd get a drink. It's been a long day."

"I'm not surprised," Roan said with a booming laugh. "Given where you choose to work. Unless you've changed stations?" he added hopefully.

"Still in the in-between."

"Ah. Well, come. Sit. Let me buy you a drink."

I thought about objecting, but Roan had inherited the entire family estate and all the wealth that had come with it. He could buy me a drink.

"What brings you here?" I asked, wondering if Roan's Council training was further along than Caius's words had led me to believe.

"They're training me up for a junior position on the Council of Shades," Roan replied dismissively, confirming my theory. "Or rather, I'm competing for one. I have to attend these things now—you know, put in an appearance, do my part. I find it all very tiresome."

"How terrible," I deadpanned, though the sarcasm was entirely lost on Roan. "Shouldn't you be in there, then? Watching the trial?"

"Nobody will miss me if I take a few minutes to myself, will they? It's not like I'm the one on trial," he laughed.

To Roan, that he was treated with such deference and given jobs and titles he didn't deserve was simply to be expected. He'd challenged for the role of heir—after weakening Caius with a goblet of wine laced with liquid silver—and he'd won. And Roan treated his privilege with all the respect that someone who'd never had to honestly work for anything was capable of.

"How is Caius?" Roan asked, his casualness seeming slightly more forced now. "Have you seen him?"

"No," I lied. Caius went out of his way not to be seen by anyone from his old life, and I would respect that choice. Given where I chose to spend the majority of my time, I could hardly judge him for it.

"An unfortunate business," Roan mumbled. It was so like him to awkwardly brush off anything that made him uncomfortable that, for a brief moment, I actually felt like we were brothers again.

That feeling quickly disappeared as Roan began recounting all of his many blessings and successes in life, as he was wont to do whenever anyone gave him the opportunity to speak. At least he was easy company—Roan was so content to hear himself talk that I wasn't obligated to add anything to the conversation. It was a good distraction from my own unsettled thoughts.

Though, the sadness in Tallulah's eyes and scent when she'd looked at me continued to haunt me. Why was she sad if she'd been the one to end it? Perhaps she was worried she'd hurt my feelings. Tallulah was a compassionate person—she would hate the idea of upsetting someone. I should have reassured her more that I was okay, but I'd been in too much pain to give her those words at the time.

"I really don't have any desire to work with the Council of Shades," Roan sighed as I reminded myself to pay attention to the conversation—as one-sided and dull as it was. "But it's the right thing to do. Respectful, you know. Of the family name. You have no idea the pressure that comes with the role."

Roan wouldn't cope for a moment being in my position, but it would be a waste of time pointing that out to him. Then again, Roan had never had to adapt to adversity. Maybe he would have coped just fine in my position if life had been a little less kind to him.

"I have a daughter. Did I mention that?"

I startled, blinking at him in surprise. "Since when?"

"She's a few years old," Roan replied with a dismissive flick of his hand. "Three or four, perhaps? She lives with her mother for now. Undoubtedly, she'll move in with me when she's older as the heir to the estate."

I took back all the compassionate thoughts I'd just had. With every year that passed, I understood Roan less and less.

"You don't feel as though you're… oh, I don't know. Missing out on her childhood?"

Roan laughed, looking at me as though I'd said the most outrageous thing he'd ever heard. "What's there to miss out on? She doesn't do anything yet. I'd forgotten how dire your company was when you were very young, always following me around, begging for attention. It annoyed me then and it annoys me now when Vivia does it. Best that I not have anything to do with her until she's more interesting."

I would do anything—anything—to be a father. It would never happen for me. Shade females only slept with me if they weren't superstitious, and they were verydesperate. It was an infrequent event, and the chances of conception were already low between us. And Tallulah was done with me, though frankly, she deserved a better prospect for the father of her children than me.

Roan had been given everything—and what he hadn't been given, he'd betrayed his own brother to get—and yet it wasn't enough for him to feel any kind of happiness.

It made me look back on my experience with Tallulah in a less devastated, more grateful light. I didn't want to be filled with resentment over the one part of my life that had ever brought me joy.