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Her face visibly softens as she sighs.

It always works on her.

“I’m going to regret this.” She rubs her hands over her belly. “You have an hour.”

“Two?” I beg. “Two measly hours?”

“Fine.” She draws the bay window curtains closed. If Brutus notices, he doesn’t come into the shop to ask why. “Quill, if you do not have Rory back in two hours, I’ll have Brutus alert the hunters of her abduction.”

“Wait—” Quill starts.

I bump elbows with her. “Deal.”

“Go out back while she changes,” Cress demands, pointing Quill toward the door at the back of the shop. “And don’t forget to leave your gold.”

He does as he’s told without argument while Cress and I wait in silence until the back door eases open and shut behind him. My heart thunders as the sound of laughter, Death’s laughter, rattles throughout my mind—enough of that.

I’m as good as dead, anyway.

Better by the hand of someone beautiful than my sister’s.

Chapter 4

QUILL

Mere seconds after the dressmaker agrees to let Adelphi’s Sacrifice—Rory—leave with me, she banishes me outside while said curious little creature changes. I leave the promised gold, which is really just sand illusioned to appear as coin, on one of the many crates stacked beside the back door and slip into the alley.

Do you want to get out of here?

I don’t know what Rory wants from me, but if it helps get her away from the pregnant werewolf and any other prying eyes, I’m happy to oblige.

The air reeks of trash as I force myself to breathe in and out like all mortals do. A blanket of thick storm clouds covers the inky sky, blocking out the luminance of the waxing moon and smothering the back alley and the rest of the East Quarter in darkness. I’ve got Eivor to thank for that. Casting a glance around to see if I can spot his imposing form or a glint of steel, I all but trample his sire.

“I’m handling it, Risna,” I say.

Tonight, she’s taken the form of a slender black cat slinking from the shadows. She sits before my feet, tail flicking and taunting me as if to say, Are you, though?

“Shouldn’t you be surveying the perimeter with Carver?”

She hisses. There’s a glimmer of agitation in her narrowed, dark eyes. It’s a look I’ve been on the receiving end of far too many times to count. She isn’t thrilled with this plan, isn’t thrilled with this task.

None of my kindred are.

It goes against everything we’ve built our reputation on as the Mors Soluta. Renowned as we are, we do not kill innocents. We punish the guilty—slowly, viciously.

Risna claws at my ankle. I scoop her into my arms, knowing she hates being treated like whatever animal she’s shifted into. “I don’t want to do this any more than you do, Ris.” I scratch between her ears as she tries and fails to wiggle out of my arms. “But if I have to choose between a mortal woman and my kindred, I’m going to choose my kindred every time.”

She meows and nips at my finger, sharp fangs nearly drawing blood. I set her down, and the hair on the ridge of her spine stands on edge as she scampers away without a backward glance.

I’ll pay for that later.

I toe a cobblestone loose with the tip of one heavy, black boot. How long does it take someone to get dressed? As another minute passes, I edge around the corner of Gild the Lily to survey the square. At least two dozen mortals bustle about, carrying paper bags filled to the brim with whatever their coffers can afford—which is more than most if they’re shopping in the East Quarter. They rush in and out of stores as if they fear they’ll close before they have the opportunity to purchase whatever celebratory essentials they need for tomorrow’s rite. Curiosity pins me in place—how do the rites not sicken them? How can they stomach the ritual sacrifice of one of their own? And their ruler—King Joal, an ostentatious, gauche prick—preaches we’re the monsters at his weekly rallies. But these rites… they’re abhorrent, and I’m not the only creature who thinks so. A majority of the Seven loathes the lengths the mortal kings will go to gain more power simply because they fear what’s different, what’s other. If I could bring an end to the rites, I would. I’d⁠—

The sound of a door opening and closing behind me has me spinning around and plastering on a grin I hope will charm the unease off Rory’s pretty face.

She halts on the top step, dark hair spilling around her in tangled waves. Though she’s at least a foot shorter than me, she looms over me from her perch. Her heart pumps a wild, erratic beat in her chest. Is she riddled with nerves? Or bouncing with excitement? Did the seamstress realize what I am and warn her away from me? With her velvet cloak drawn around her and her bottom lip between her teeth, I consider the obvious: she’s having second thoughts.

No woman in her right mind would go into the night with a stranger.