Page 163 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

Real blood. Red and hot and—

It was my blood on the floor and she was saying, “Hold still, darling.”

I realized she was moving, speaking words in a language that predated the kingdoms. A portal began to tear open, reeking of sulfur and old magic.

No. NO.

“No!” I lunged forward, shadows racing to seal the portal, to trap her here where I could finish this—

She stumbled backward through the tear in reality, clutching her wounded shoulder. Our eyes met for one frozen moment—mother and son, creator and creation, betrayer and betrayed.

I blinked and she was gone.

The portal snapped shut, leaving me alone on the rooftop with nothing but the echo of my rage and the scent of her blood on the stones.

I stood there, chest heaving, shadows in chaos. My hands were shaking again. My whole body was shaking.

The shame of letting her go was worse than the rage. Worse than the pain in my bones.

The scrying crystal burned against my ribs where I’d tucked it into an inner pocket. I could contact Arabella. Tell her… what? That I’d found my mother? That she’d orchestrated my betrayal to a demon? That I’d had her and let her escape because I couldn’t stop being seven years old?

That my mother had killed hers?

No. That conversation required me to look my wife in the eye. To be present enough to handle whatever came after.

Not while I was still bleeding emotion all over a Kheldvar rooftop.

Pathetic.

Let Amaryska hide behind Solandris’s walls and think herself safe. Let her believe the portal had saved her. Because when I finally got my hands on her again, there would be no portals. No escape. No blinking between ages while she slipped away.

Only the reckoning she’d earned with every scar she’d carved into my bones.

I raised my hand—still shaking, fuck—and tore open a portal back to where Thorne waited. Then we’d go to Skyspire.

Time to stop being seven years old and start being the Dark Lord who would burn the world to ash if that’s what it took to get revenge.

The portal swallowed me, and I left my mother’s blood drying on the rooftop behind me.

A promise. A threat. A preview of what was coming.

47 Achieve Maximum Capacity

(in Chaos and Cargo)

Arabella

The next few days blurred together in a series of increasingly absurd kidnappings. We’d rescue a family, get them settled on the Sky Serpent, then sail off to our next target. Each “rescue” came with its own unique challenges.

There was the merchant family where we had to wait twenty minutes for their elderly grandmother to finish her bedtime prayers. The healer who insisted on bringing her entire herb garden. The blacksmith’s apprentice who turned out to have six siblings, three dogs, and a pregnant cat.

“This is getting out of hand,” Vex observed as we watched the apprentice’s family board the ship. “Lord Blackrose is going to have thoughts about this.”

“Kaz can cope.” I was tired, sandy, and somehow had feathers in my hair from an earlier altercation with another aggressive bird. “Besides, he’s probably having similar issues.”

“You think the Terror of the Western Realms is negotiating with roosters and helping pack toys?”

“No,” I admitted. “He’s probably just knocking everyone unconscious and sorting it out later.”