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“Great,” I fume. I lick the rim of the jar before setting it in the sink. “Not only did we fail at retrieving the book, now we’re stuck here until we locate it.”

“The book wasn’t there?”

“No.” I yank a mug with hand-painted flowers from the hanging tree beside the stove and nearly knock the entire thing over. I need to get my temper under control. “Not in the heights, nor in the depths.”

“Where else would they keep forbidden books in this city?” she muses, massaging her shoulder. She catches me watching and stops. “It’s nothing.”

“If you say it’s nothing, it’s something.” I narrow my eyes. “What happened?”

She groans. “I don’t want you to worry.”

“Were you hurt?”

“Only a little.” Reluctantly, she pulls down the collar of her shirt to expose golden skin, welted with a fresh scar. “Carver and I had to… disarm a few guards who realized he wasn’t Lord Percy. One of them got lucky and ran a sword through my shoulder. If I were going to be of use to the plan, I had to feed.”

“That’s my fault,” I say, pouring the now simmering blood into the mug for Rory. “I cut corners with my illusions and ran the risk of not casting one upon him for fear of needing some later.”

She shrugs, then winces. “All part of the job.”

This mission, though, is not part of the Mors Soluta’s job description. This is nothing more than a selfish endeavor for a bastard fae king and his half-blooded brother.

In the living area, Rory’s curled up on the couch, a throw blanket neatly placed over her. Carver stands before the fire, eyes fixed on the tarp fastened across the window, moving softly as if it were breathing. And Eivor… Eivor’s messing around with the crossbow I took from Vivvy.

I don’t even know why I took it, beyond not wanting her to have it anymore.

I hand Rory the mug and settle in beside her. I strip her of her boots and wet socks, one by one, then her feet are nestled in my lap.

Risna perches on the arm of the couch, chewing her lip. “Tell us everything.”

So we do. I tell them of the depths and its endless stacks of restricted books, but not the one we required. Rory speaks of her vision, how she narrowly saved my life once again with her power and her blood. We share how we escaped with the crossbow Eivor’s currently toying with and our lives and how I’m not the first vampire to compel Vivian Alarie, and I likely won’t be the last.

A bolt looses and lodges itself in the ceiling. “Shit.”

Eivor sets the bow aside as Carver pinches the bridge of his nose and says, “Remind me again why I let all of you back into my house?”

“Let me get this straight,” says Risna, ignoring him. “Mihal compelled Vivian to hunt Rory?”

“So she says,” Rory says grimly, smoothing her hands over the blanket. “We just need to find the fucking book, so Quill can secure Riven’s vote and rid us of Mihal entirely.”

“She has a point,” Eivor agrees. “What’s the book called again?”

“Refracted Knowing Whims,” answers Risna. “Riven claims it’s written by someone named G. Halethorne.”

“Keyword there is ‘claims,’” drawls Carver. “We can’t forget the fae are tricksters.”

“That’s it!” Rory jolts upright, nearly sloshing the blood out of her mug. “The fae are tricksters.”

“Yes, Rory, I just said that.”

Her eyes are fever bright as she takes a large gulp of her drink and sets the mug on the side table. “What if we’ve been looking for the wrong book?” She climbs to her feet and paces across the fur rug, her excitement palpable. “If the fae are so tricky, why would he outright give you the title and not make this even harder for you?”

“What are you saying?” I ask.

“I’m saying what if the title Riven gave you isn’t the title at all? What if it’s a riddle or… an anagram?”

“Sounds like something he’d do,” Risna mutters. “Fae bastard.”

Rory crosses to the desk in the corner and retrieves a pad of parchment and an inkwell. She dips the quill and begins scrawling across the page. My kindred and I scramble to loom over her shoulder, peering at the riddle she’s solving with every cross of a letter, every rearranging of a letter. And there, as clear as crystal, may be the true title of the book that Riven’s after: