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“Bring my daughter to the treatment room,” he said.
“Yes, sir.” The captain gave a salute and turned.
“Captain?”
He faced Nero. “Yes, sir?”
“I haven’t dismissed you.”
“Apologies, sir.” The young man’s face paled as he no doubt remembered the consequences from the last time.
“I expect your discretion, as usual.”
He gave a curt nod and replied, “Of course.”
“Good. Ensure the room is prepared, and the proper precautions are taken, then summon the Scientist. You’re dismissed.”
ChapterOne
Leaf rolled out the worn map of Elphyne on his desk and studied the marks he’d made over the past decade. He’d traveled from corner to corner, tracing the last known steps of Jackson Crimson. The elf who pioneered their magic system had died centuries ago. Finding accurate information was as impossible as finding a djinn in a storm.
He scrubbed his face and ignored the rough stubble scraping his calloused hands. He ignored the disgrace of his dirty battle leathers. He ignored the inner voice telling him to forget this obsession and return to his duty—to clean the taint on the Well.
Raised voices outside his window made his elf ears twitch. He ignored that, too. With the taint and the war between the Seelie and Unseelie, fae acted like the world was ending. If it wasn’t an argument or hot tempers flaring outside on the Cadre’s training lawn, it was the libertine sex between Order of the Well Mages and Guardians. They’d stopped caring about decency years ago. And with the Prime disappearing for months on end, it was almost like she wasn’t here.
Maybe he’d care more if Aleksandra was around to lead her people… or, at the very least, reveal how he could relive Crimson’s memories about the prophecy. But she was harder than a pixie to pin down.
Maybe he’d care more if he wasn’t the next in line to face the Well-blessed and mated firing squad. His lips twisted in disgust. Mating with a human now—even a powerful one—would be a waste of time. Whenever he contemplated the idea, the aversion in his gut made him sick to the bone. He was aware of his hypocrisy, considering his mission to reveal the prophecy also stole time from his immediate duty. But his urges to unlock Jackson Crimson’s memories and the whole, unredacted prophecy were harder to resist.
Gritting his teeth, he shut his ears to the argument on the lawn. He smoothed the crumpled map and searched for the location of his latest lead—ruins from the old world. Few monuments still stood after the Nuclear Fallout and the return of the Well shifted the land formations. But with this particular—
“You promised this wouldn’t happen!”
Leaf’s gaze snapped to the window. That was Clarke’s voice. He strode over, pulled the curtains aside, and peeked into the darkness. Like an apparition, she stood on the lawn in a long white nightgown, facing off with three Sluagh Guardians from the Cadre of Six.
Curious.
The Six had an agenda of their own. A decade ago, all stood in the council chambers for the first time. Legion had liaised with Leaf over the prophecy, and he revealed that Maebh had to be unmade to clean the taint. But since then, they’d kept to themselves.
No one was interested in preserving the state of this world. None except Clarke and Rush. Both had been a thorn in Leaf’s side, demanding he continue with his duty to find his mate and prepare for the battle Nero would likely send their way.
She’d foretold it would be faekind and humanity’s final chance to prove themselves worthy of being custodians of this land.
Intelligence from Crystal City said their military airships were complete and sitting in their harbor, almost as though they waited for something. But that same tension in the air sent Leaf in another direction. He couldn’t explain or quantify it but knew he must follow his instincts.
As Clarke’s tone and pitch elevated, Leaf rolled up the map and stored it in his leather travel satchel. He spent a few minutes cleaning himself and then donned a less filthy battle uniform. The kingfisher-blue piping represented his team leader status for the Twelve. Shade had always been after his role. Perhaps Leaf should hand it to him.
Just as he slid on his boots, the door swung open, and in stormed Clarke. Bare, dirty feet beneath her gauzy nightgown matched the grubby hem. Leaf’s gaze trailed up and took in her messy red hair, the unlaced and gaping collar, and dirty fingernails. Had the woman been gardening in her sleep?
Her blue eyes locked on him with fiery resolution. “Leaving again?”
His brows flicked up. It was humorous how she thought she had a right to know his whereabouts and plans. He bent over and tied his bootstraps. Ignoring her glare, he strolled to the wall by his dresser, collected his baldric, and carefully strapped the belts around his torso. Flexing his back, he ensured he had movement where the scabbard rested between his shoulder blades.
His long hair caught, so he slipped his hand beneath his nape and tugged it free.
Clarke huffed as he sheathed his sword,Reckoning. Something about pushing her buttons appealed to him. She was so quick to fire. Almost too easy, really.
When he collected his travel satchel, she lost her battle with sense and yelled, “You’re such a stubborn asswipe, you know that?”
