“That’s easy for you to say. You’ve been making people disappear for decades.” I’ve seen it firsthand.

Des looks at me like I’m cute and odd and exasperating all at the same time. “Have you forgotten all the terrible things that the fairy admitted to?”

Things like rape and coercion and murder and twenty minutes of other terrible deeds.

I take a drink and shake my head.

“And you still feel bad?”

Nod. The rim of the champagne flute rattles between my teeth as I play with it. “No—yes. Maybe?”

I killed fairies only a couple of nights ago; dooming a man to death definitely doesn’t top that. So it’s ridiculous to feel bad for this when I haven’t shed a tear for the poor souls I killed not so long ago …

I don’t know why I feel this way. Nothing makes much sense anymore.

Des leans his head against the wall, staring up at the stars. “The devil is in the details, you know. Those teeth and bones Typhus wore, he took each of them from his victims—some while they were still living, some shortly after they’d died.”

If that’s supposed to make me feel better, it doesn’t. My soulmate has pulled plenty of teeth of his own. He’s a bad man too. It doesn’t make him deserving of death—at least, not in my book.

“And all that borrowed magic?” Des continues. “The process is called cobinding, and though Typhus made it sound cavalier and impersonal, it’s not like that,” Des says.

I stare down at my fae wine. “Then how is it?”

“Remember those horcruxes in Harry Potter?”

I begin to smile in spite of myself. “Are you seriously dropping an HP reference right here, right now?” I ask, glancing over at Des.

“I have your undivided attention, don’t I?”

“And all my love.”

I mean, I knew he was soulmate material before, but this pretty much just sealed the deal.

Des’s face grows serious. “Essentially, when you exchange magic, you’re transferring more than raw energy. You’re moving a piece of yourself as well.”

That’s massively creepy.

“It’s not to be taken lightly. Most fairies, if they decide to do to such a thing, spend centuries picking out the right individual—even then, it’s a tricky business. Lovers quarrel, families divide, friends deceive. It happens. You can never fully guarantee that the person you share magic with will always be your ally.

“For a fairy to give away their power to a stranger—and in the Banished Lands, where the earth itself drains away a fairy’s magic shockingly fast—such an exchange is akin to suicide.

“Typhus did that to everyone there. By forcing him to return the magic he coerced from those fairies, you helped right a wrong.”

I take a ponderous sip of my wine. “Have you ever done it?” I ask. “Have you ever … cobound yourself to someone?”

The Bargainer gives me a look that should melt the panties from my body. “I bound myself to my soulmate. Would you say that counts?”

I smile into my drink. “Are you admitting that I have a piece of your soul?”

His eyes dip to my curving lips. “More than a piece, cherub.”

“Hey bitch, have a nice trip?” Temper asks the next day when she waltzes into the library where Des and I have spent the morning.

As soon as she enters, a dozen different paint brushes drift away from the enormous canvas Des is working on. He’s not nearly finished with it, but I already know what image he’s bringing to life. There’s the Flora Kingdom’s ballroom, decorated with a thousand blooming plants, and among it all, there I am, my black wings folded behind me, my hair twinkling with the night sky. I’m looking directly out at the viewer, my dark eyes looking troubled and impish all at once.

He’s capturing the night he put the stars in my hair.

I don’t tell the Bargainer that I get a little thrill looking at the painting, that for once I look like I belong somewhere.

“It was interesting,” I say, taking a sip from my mug of coffee. “Have fun in my absence?”

“I got by,” Temper says, her fingers running over a nearby shelf of books. “I went back to that tailor to get more fae outfits.” She smooths a hand down her outfit, and holy shit, why am I only now noticing what she’s wearing?

The gown—yes, my best friend chose to put on a gown before noon—looks like woven rainwater, each individual droplet glistening as she moves. Cascading down the skirt are what look like water lilies, the flowers artfully placed so that they hide all her incriminating bits. The neckline of the dress is so low that it plunges down to her navel.

It’s extra as fuck.

“Did you threaten the tailor again?” I ask. Last time we’d gotten fitted for outfits, she’d been a little huffy.

Temper clears her throat. “I call it incentivizing.”

Oh geez.

Temper’s eyes move to the painting, and she whistles. “Damn, Desmond, I didn’t know you painted.”

He lifts a shoulder. “When I’m restless.”

Malaki comes in right then, his imposing frame filling the doorway. Immediately, my eyes hone in on the hickeys ringing his neck. He could’ve removed them—it would only take a pinch of magic—and yet, there they are. In fact, not only did Malaki not remove the hickeys, he’s also pulled his hair into one of those girlie little buns, further displaying them.

Someone should tell him hickies were only cool in middle school.

When Temper catches me staring, she waggles her eyebrows.

I bite my lower lip to keep my laugh in check. Joke’s on her because every day she strings this fairy along, he’s less likely to let her slip through his clutches. And Temper does not do commitment.

“So?” Malaki says, taking a seat next to Des, his bronze eyepatch catching the light. “How was your visit to the Banished Lands?”

Temper sits down next to me. The sleeve of her dress brushes against my arm, dampening a patch of my clothes.

“All the tomb’s enchantments are still in place, there’s no sign of forced entry, and yet the body is gone,” Des says.

I suppress a shiver at the memory of that empty tomb. For the last month, Galleghar Nyx has been gallivanting about.

“How is that possible?” Malaki asks.

Des rolls a paintbrush between his fingers. “The best information we got was that a shadow retrieved him.”

Malaki’s brows furrow. “A shadow? Is this the Thief we’re dealing with?”

“Probably,” I say.

He curses. “Of course the two worst fairies in the world have decided to team up.” He shakes his head and rubs a hand over his eyes. “How the hell did this happen?”

“The fuck if I know,” Des says, throwing the paintbrush aside. “Are you in the mood for a bit of reconnaissance?”

Malaki’s face is grim. “This has to do with your asshole father?”

Des inclines his head.

The general’s eye glitters. “I’d love nothing more.” His friend’s scarred face and eye patch look a little sinister in the light.

The Bargainer begins to smile. “Good. I’d like you to meet with some of our old connections back on Barbos. Tell them that the dead king has risen, and anyone who has knowledge of his whereabouts will be handsomely compensated.”