Page 120 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

I’d started the search for Pip at the Gilded Gallows two nights ago, following the same cold trail that had led nowhere. No magical signature, no physical trace, nothing but Arabella’s certainty that she’d seen him. And her truth-sense didn’t lie. Which meant someone was using magic powerful enough to fool even my detection spells. The Pip I’d known had possessed no magic of his own—he’d been a servant, nothing more. If he’d suddenly acquired the ability to hide from me, someone had given it to him.

The question was who.

The timing bothered me. Arabella spots Pip at the Gallows, and two days later, professional assassins try to kill her in a restaurant? I had enemies everywhere, though, many of whom had tried to assassinate me on multiple occasions. Could the two events be unrelated?

Sure. And I could sprout wings and start shitting rainbows.

We moved through the corridors like ghosts. Arabella stayed close by my side—not quite touching, but near enough that I could feel the heat of her presence. The distance between us felt both necessary and unbearable.

Thorne brought up the rear, his hand never straying far from his weapon.

And Nyx… Nyx continued her erratic phasing practice, leaving a trail of minor destruction and confused residents in her wake.

“She’s getting better at it,” Arabella murmured as Nyx extracted herself from a wall sconce. “The phasing, I mean.”

“She’s also developing an impressive talent for property damage,” I said, watching the dragon shake plaster dust from her wings.

Despite everything, Arabella’s lips twitched. “She hasn’t exploded anything yet.”

“The night is young.” At least the dragon’s antics were helping distract me from the roaring in my head.

We reached the lower market levels. The shops were mostly closed at this hour, their wares locked behind warded gates and protective spells. A few establishments catered to the nocturnal crowd—a poison dealer, an information broker, a shop that sold curses by the dozen.

I spread my senses wide, searching for any trace of unusual magic. Nothing. Just the usual background hum of a thousand competing enchantments, layered protections, and illusions designed to hide everything from contraband to murder.

Nyx phased into a narrow alley, and this time she actually managed a clean entry and exit. She solidified near a dark stain on the cobblestones and began sniffing at the ground, her tail swishing.

Arabella moved toward her, and I followed automatically, unable to help myself.

“Anything?” I asked roughly.

Arabella shook her head. “Just old blood. Days old, at least.”

I crouched beside the stain. A quick test confirmed it was human, but beyond that, nothing useful. The Spire saw violence daily. This could be from a simple mugging or a complex assassination. No way to tell.

We continued the search, moving through the levels methodically. Thorne checked doorways and alcoves. Nyx phased in and out of shadows, investigating spaces too small or too warded for us to access easily. Arabella used her magic to sense for recent disturbances, her truth-sense alert for any hint of deception or concealment.

And I fought a losing battle with the thing in my head.

Every time Arabella moved too far away, the fragment screamed. Every time she came too close, it screamed louder. When she used her magic, the ancient presence surged with a hunger that made my runes burn. When she looked at me with concern—because of course she could sense something was wrong—it twisted that concern into a weapon.

She knows. She suspects. Destroy her before she can act against you. Or claim her so completely she’ll never dare—

This was why I’d wanted to hunt alone.

“Kazimir.”

Her voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. I looked up to find her watching me with Nyx pressed protectively against her side. The dragon’s silver eyes tracked my every movement.

“What?”

“You’re bleeding.” She nodded at my clenched fists.

I uncurled my fingers, noting the crescent-shaped wounds where my nails had broken open the wounds from earlier in the evening. “It’s nothing.”

She took a step closer, and the fragment roared. “Something’s wrong. Is it your runes?”

“Not here,” I rasped, unable to meet her eyes. Gods, I loved her. And gods, I needed her to listen. Whatever rift was between us right now was a good thing. I needed her to keep her distance.