Page 129 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

I rubbed a hand on the back of my neck. “Not intentionally, but I believe that somehow he found out, and then used that information to barter or even give it to the Hero’s Guild.”

“To what end?” The Alchemist turned back to me, their ever-present smile somehow sharper.

“That, I don’t know,” I ground out. But it’d crossed my mind that Pip was working for someone. Which brought me to another problem. “Lady Zaraiah is at the Spire.”

The Alchemist’s smile widened. “Yes. She’s been quite busy.” Their fingers drummed that maddening rhythm. “She wants you gone, Lord Blackrose. Permanently, I suspect. Do watch your back.”

“So you won’t tell me anything I don’t already know.”

“Because I have no new information to give you,” the Alchemist said. “Perhaps you should focus on what you do know. You cannot remain here indefinitely, hunting assassins and chasing ghosts through the halls. The fate of our world—quite literally—depends on your return to your task.”

Rage flared hot in my chest. How dare they dismiss this threat to Arabella as mere distraction? The voice surged forward. Kill them. One gesture, one thought, and they cease to exist. No more debts. No more obligations.

My hand twitched toward the shadows, magic crackling along my bones. It would be so easy. The Alchemist stood at the platform’s edge, perfectly positioned for a fall that would look like an accident. Or I could simply tear them apart, let the wind scatter the pieces across the Lawless Expanse.

Do it, the voice urged.

No. I forced my hand still. If I broke my word to the Alchemist, if I failed to repay this debt, the magical consequences wouldn’t fall on me alone. The magic would rebound onto Arabella, who owed the debt. And we needed the Alchemist’s knowledge.

“I’m not abandoning the search,” I said instead, each word carefully controlled. “I’ll be sending my most elite guards to continue the investigation. They’ll arrive within the week. I’ll be leaving shadow warriors as well. They’ll patrol the Spire, hunt for our missing traitor, and report back anything suspicious.”

For the first time since I’d known them, the Alchemist went completely still. “Shadow warriors that can operate independently at such a distance? That’s… that level of power shouldn’t be possible. Not even with your bone-carved runes.”

I smiled coldly. “I do have the Heirloom of Dominion, after all.” I let shadows curl around my fingers. “And thanks to our little ritual yesterday, I now have a rather convenient connection to the ley lines here. The nexus makes an excellent anchor point, don’t you think?”

The Alchemist was silent for a long moment, and I could practically feel them reassessing the threat I posed. Finally, they nodded slowly, as if they’d expected nothing less than my immediate exploitation of the power they’d helped me access.

“Very well. Your shadows may remain, though I expect them to follow the Spire’s rules of engagement. No killing without cause.”

“They’ll be perfect guests,” I assured them, the lie rolling off my tongue. My shadows would follow my rules, no one else’s.

37 Fail at Everything

(Except Wanting Her Forgiveness)

Kazimir

When I entered the kitchen a few minutes later, Thorne looked up from where he’d been sharpening one of his many blades. Wind battered the God Spire with relentless fury, and the ancient structure responded with a slow, stomach-turning sway.

Arabella stood by the window, cradling a cup of coffee. Nyx sprawled at my wife’s feet, her bulk consuming half the kitchen. Her tail coiled around a table leg, and those liquid silver eyes tracked my every movement. I was so tired that it took me a full two seconds to realize she was brilliantly pink now.

“Summon the Sky Serpent,” I ordered, tearing my eyes away from the dragon. “We’re leaving.”

“Any luck?” Thorne asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

“None.” I stalked to the counter and poured myself coffee. “It’s like Pip vanished into the void itself. Even my shadows can’t find a trace.”

Arabella didn’t turn from the window when she added, “Same here. I checked every gambling den and questionable establishment I could find. No one’s seen him.”

Her casual admittance that she’d gone searching by herself came as no surprise, but I had to quell the anger rising in me once more. I took a long drink before speaking again. “And the assassins?”

“Ghosts.” Thorne set down his knife. “Every contact, every informant—willing or otherwise—claims complete ignorance. Either they’re all lying with remarkable consistency, or—”

“Or whoever’s behind this has resources we haven’t accounted for.” I rubbed my temples. “Just like Zaraiah said.”

Arabella finally turned, and I caught the exhaustion etched in the lines around her eyes. She looked as tired as I felt, but still breathtakingly beautiful. The morning light caught in her hair, turning it to spun gold, and for a moment I forgot about assassins and missing spies and the voice in my head that whispered terrible things.

I wanted to cross the room, pull her against me, breathe in the scent of her hair. I wanted to apologize for the night at the Gilded Gallows, for trying to compel her, for being the kind of man who would even think to do such a thing. I wanted—