One of the soldiers smiles at me. “Welcome to Avalon.”

Chapter 15

For all the Day Kingdom’s opulence, Avalon is a ghost town. The city streets are all but abandoned, though there’s still the lingering, unholy scent of dark magic. But there are no bodies and no blood—the unpleasantries of battle have been moved to the outskirts of the island.

Even when we enter the castle proper seems abandoned, our footsteps echoing in the cavernous space.

I glance around, looking for servants, aides, nobles, soldiers—anyone—but we’re seemingly alone.

The group of us enter a grand ballroom, the air touched with the lingering smell of blood and burnt magic. I glance up just as a shadow leaps from the golden bannister high above us, swooping down in front of me and Des.

The fairy lands hard, a fist to the ground. The wings at his back are unfurled, his white feathers tinged with gold. He looks the angel to Des’s devil.

It’s only once he lifts his head that I realize I’m staring into the face of Janus Soleil, the King of Day.

His hair shimmers and his bright blue eyes shine like topaz. It would be easy to confuse the Day King for an angel. He is everything the paintings have made angels out to be.

His pointed ears be the only tell that he’s something else entirely. Well, that and the hard, cunning gleam in his eyes.

Janus doesn’t have blood on him, but I would stake money that he killed dozens of those burning soldiers.

The Day King’s expression eases. “Desmond Flynn, I’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival.” His eyes move to me. “Callypso,” he says, his eyes guarded as he nods at me, “good to see you again.”

His cool reception reminds me that not so long ago I accused him of kidnapping me.

Janus had a twin, a twin who died. The first time you met him, you were really meeting me.

It was the Thief who’d captured me after all, the Thief who wore the face of Julios, when he snatched me from Des’s backyard.

The Green Man had been dead when the Thief wore his body. Julios had been dead when the Thief wore his body. And that red-headed soldier, the one I interviewed, she had mentioned being lured away by her dead brother.

Holy shit.

I sway a little as a pattern begins to form.

“Callie.” Des’s voice cuts through the screaming in my head.

My eyes move to him.

“What is it?” he asks softly.

My eyes move from his to Janus’s. “The Thief of Souls can wear the faces of the dead.”

The three of us find a secluded place to talk—correction, more secluded. Honestly, the whole thing seems unnecessary. There’s no one left in the palace to eavesdrop.

We don’t end up striking a conversation again until we’re securely in the Day King’s private quarters. By then Janus’s wings are put away, but his fierce expression remains.

As for what he or Des think about my little revelation, it’s hard to say. Neither of them looks surprised, but then again, fairies seem to have really good poker faces. But if I assumed we were going to talk about it in private, then I assumed wrong. Neither king broaches the subject again.

I mean, I know I’m no Sherlock Holmes (don’t tell my clients that), but this is something, right? Right?

Janus ushers us to a cluster of chairs. Resting between the seats is a small table with a decanter and a set of glasses.

Well, at least there’s booze. I could use some booze.

I take a seat, my attention drifting to a vivid mural on the wall to my left. Half of the image is painted in gold, the other in black. On one side is a golden man, rays of light emanating from his body; he holds his kneeling enemy by the throat. The captured man wears shackles on his wrists and ankles, and everything beyond him is painted in the inkiest of blacks.

“Do you like it?” Janus asks, sitting down across from me. He reaches for the decanter between us, pouring the liquid into three glasses.

I stare at the mural. What am I supposed to say? That the painting is just something to look at? That the most fascinating thing about it is the cute little loincloths each man wears?

That would go over super well.

“Uh, yeah,” I say.

“It’s called the Banishment of Euribios,” Janus says, handing me a glass filled with emerald liquid. He hands another to Des. “It depicts the fight between Brennus, the God of Light and Order, and Euribios the God of Darkness and Chaos.”

There’s a beat of silence, then—

“I thought Fierion and Nyxos were the gods of light and dark?”

Janus pours himself a glass of the same liquor. “Fierion and Nyxos came later, after the Otherworld was formed. These were the proto gods—the ones creation was born from,” he says, turning his gaze to the wall. “This captures the moment Brennus defeated his foe and banished him to the far corner of the universe. This is the moment the Otherworld came to be.”

I tap my finger against my glass. “What about the Mother and the Father?”

“They, too, came later. They were the children of these first gods.”

“This is all vastly fascinating,” Des cuts in, “but perhaps we can get to the point of the visit?” He lounges in his seat, glass in hand, his legs splayed out.

Janus drags his attention from the mural. “Do my stories bore you, Night King?”

“Yes,” Des says flatly.

The corner of Janus’s mouth lifts. “Fine. Onto the bloody battle.”

“I saw you dealt with your enemies the old-fashioned way,” the King of Night says, bringing the dark green liquor to his lips.

The Day King raises an eyebrow. “I hear yours are still living.” He leans forward. “Tell me, Flynn, how did you manage that?”

Des’s eyes move to me, a hint of a devilish smile on his face. “I didn’t.”

Janus follows his gaze. “Your human stopped an army?” Only now does the Day King truly study me. “Pray tell, how did that happen?”

I narrow my eyes. Fairies as a whole think humans are beneath them. Even though I’m a siren and now a fae one at that, in many fairy’s eyes, I will always be a coarse mortal.

“Cherub, perhaps you can give Janus a demonstration?”

I hesitate. I don’t know what the penalty for glamouring a king is, but back on earth, that shit was a no-no.

Janus takes a sip of his drink, watching me over the rim. “Seems your mate is not up to the task,” he goads.

You know what, fine.

I set my drink aside and uncross my legs, rolling my shoulders back and letting the siren wake.

She stretches out like a cat basking in the sun. I feel my scales ripple to life along my forearms, and my wings itch to manifest.

As soon as my skin brightens, Janus sits a little straighter, his gaze drawn to me.

I rise to my feet, power rippling through my veins.

“The great Day King,” I say, my voice harmonizing. “So very cocky. Stand for me.”

Janus’s brows furrow as he rises to his feet. “What are you doing?”

I step up to him, taking his drink from his hands and tossing it aside. The glass shatters against the mural, spraying emerald liquid everywhere. “Giving you my demonstration,” I say. “That is what you wanted from me, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he says softly, quizzically. His gaze is pinned to mine.

I can sense his rising magic. It thickens the air, smelling like sandalwood and blazing like the sun.

There’s one thing that fairies exert particular control and restraint over. One thing that will truly prove my power.