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His mouth snaps shut, and he runs the hand that was just wrapped possessively around her waist through his ink-dark hair. “The kindred are going to lose their minds.”

The kindred.

He means Quill’s family, bound not by blood but by loyalty, who call the Shore of the Damned home.

“You can’t tell them,” she says softly. “What we discuss in this room stays in this room. If word gets out that I’m even entertaining the idea of asking Winny to meet with you for whatever godsforsaken reason⁠—”

“The ‘Fates’ will seek revenge against us?” I ask mildly, recalling the ridiculous story I read in Warnings from the Wicked, the book I’ve pored over for months. “I’m Riven Thaelon. Do you think I give a fuck?”

Carver’s eyes flash in warning. “Fix your tone, Riven, or I’ll⁠—”

“You’ll do nothing,” Arkyn growls from the darkness pooling in the corner. Avaline yelps, and a grin coils across my face at the sight of Carver’s stiff shoulders. My sword catcher steps forward, swarmed by his shadows. He’s showing off, but it’ll cost him. Even from here, I catch the slight tremor in his hands, the brief hitch in his stance—signs no one else would notice. The blight ravaging the Fae Isles is eating up our magic. His shadows flicker as he reels them in, and not a beat too soon.

Baring his teeth in a slash of a smile, he says, “Harming one of the Seven may be punishable by death, but if you lay a finger upon my king, there will be nothing left of you for the Seven to condemn.”

I watch as Avaline and Carver take in the bruising still lingering across his face, the former’s gaze drifting over to the purple slowly fading across my knuckles. I tuck my hands into my trouser pockets, hiding my shame.

“There’s something wrong with the Fae Isles, isn’t there?” she asks, not unkindly. “That’s why you both haven’t healed yet… Something is affecting your magic.”

Neither Arkyn nor I replies, and our silence is damning.

Her face becomes lined with worry. “Your people… are they suffering?”

They are, but they don’t know how badly yet.

I nod, near imperceptibly.

“All right.” She lets out a long breath. “I’ll help you.”

“But certainly not for free,” Carver adds, sharing a conspiratorial glance with her.

“That’s right,” she says, hopping off the crate and standing up a bit straighter. “And I want a supreme’s promise, not a bargain’s mark.”

A supreme’s promise isn’t like a normal bargain—it’s ironclad, unbreakable until the matter is resolved or one of the two parties dies. Why is she asking for this? Does she not trust me? Or is she protecting herself and her interests? Either way, there’s no turning back once it’s made.

“Why not a bargain’s mark?” Arkyn asks from where he leans against the wall.

“Because I cannot afford for my supreme to know I’m making deals with other supremes,” she purrs, studying her nails.

She’s smart to ask this of me. Any hint of disloyalty could put her in real danger where Tallis is concerned.

“Before I agree,” I begin, “I must know what promise you intend to take from me.”

“I want you to back me should I Challenge Tallis for her seat on the council.”

“Without any requirements,” Carver adds, grinning and running his hand up and down her arm.

I swallow, stomach tightening.

Black hell. What is she planning?

I briefly wonder if her doe-like eyes and soft smile are really just a mask to hide the cunning little vixen at her core.

“A seat on the Seven?” I force myself to chuckle. “My, oh my. That’s brave, Avaline. Tallis would have your head if she ever found out you requested this from me. You both know how dirty she played with Quill on his quest to become vampire supreme.”

“Speaking of… I’ve already received his promise to support me when the time comes.” Her brown eyes twinkle with pride. “This would make confirmation number two.”

My brows lift at that. To initiate a formal Challenge against a supreme, a creature needs the backing of four of the seven supremes. For Avaline to allegedly already have one, and likely a second with this request… I could be standing before the future nymph supreme.