When she reaches the bottom, she hops off the ladder and glares at each one of us. “Let the record show that I am not happy about this.”

“You could’ve waited for us above,” I say.

“I’m not going to wait in some random jungle while my friends hunt a bloodthirsty king. This shit is my jam.”

Aww, she said friends, plural. Someone’s learning how to play nice with others.

Des’s eyes sweep over us, and then he turns and begins striding down one of the tunnels. How he knows which to take is beyond me.

Overhead tree roots cling to the curve of the ceiling, illuminated by orbs of light that bob along above us. Small, fae creatures scurry along the roots, one pausing to hiss at the air in our direction, like it senses something is off. But it doesn’t see us.

“What is this place?” Temper asks, staring at one of the orbs of light as it softly bounces among the tree roots.

“The Angels of Small Death used to use tunnels like these to move sensitive goods,” Malaki says, his voice rumbling.

Ironic that the authority they once hid from is now the criminal they’re after.

I glance at our surroundings with new eyes. Des and Malaki must’ve worked within these tunnels for years, moving illegal items, hoarding treasure, and hiding from the king’s men. The whole thing is so surreal to me—this place and all of the lives Des lived long before he was mine.

He was always ours, my siren says.

I stare at the Bargainer’s broad back. I know he’d say the same thing.

The tunnel seems to stretch on for an eternity, and the farther we go, the more my skin prickles. Maybe it’s the close quarters, or the darkness, or being underground—or maybe it’s the man we’re after, but something just doesn’t sit right with me.

Des stops, putting up a hand. “Galleghar is just ahead,” he breathes.

Reflexively, my hand goes to my dagger.

Des begins walking again, and mechanically, I follow him.

Up ahead the tunnel opens into a room, but I don’t see just how massive the chamber really is until we enter it. We must be beneath a hill, for the ceiling arcs high above us. It’s as big as some of the palace ballrooms I’ve been in, though this one lacks all of the beauty and refinement of those fae palaces, the walls here made of plain packed earth. It’s a room meant to store a warehouse’s worth of goods. At the moment, however, it’s mostly empty, save for a few bags of gold.

Well, a few bags of gold … and an undead king.

Across the room Galleghar sits in a throne of sorts. It’s the saddest sight, seeing him slouched in that silver chair, as though waiting to hear the grievances of an audience that never comes.

His storm-grey eyes are turbulent as they stare off into the distance, and I get a chill, looking at that nefarious face which is so similar to my mate’s.

He can’t see us. The enchantments really did work. We’re standing right in front of Galleghar, yet we’re utterly invisible to the tyrant king.

Floating in the air in front of him is a piece of unrolled parchment, and at his side is a meal—both which he appears to have forgotten about.

Is this what he does all day? Hide and ponder and plot?

My eyes move over the room again. There’s a honeycomb of entrances and exits into this chamber, and I have no idea how I’m going to figure out which one to take when we leave.

A worry for later, once Galleghar is ours.

It seems so easy. He’s right there in front of us. All we have to do is pluck him from his knock-off throne, slap a pair of iron cuffs on his wrists, and take him back to Somnia.

Maybe it would’ve played out that way, but we’ve only taken a few short steps towards him when the air around us wavers. Just as it does, I feel the enchantments dissolving away.

Pretty sure that wasn’t supposed to happen.

In an instant, Galleghar’s eyes dart to us. I catch the flicker of surprise in them, but then his face breaks out into a cold, malicious smile.

“My ill-begotten son, we meet again.”

Chapter 32

“And you brought friends,” Galleghar says casually, his eyes flicking to us.

I suddenly feel awkward standing here, like the four of us are some gang of supernatural Avengers. Only we’ve been caught with our pants down.

Not how I imagined this interaction unfolding.

Des saunters forward, slipping his hands into his pocket. “I never thought I’d see the day where you were the one living in the caves, and I the king,” he says smoothly.

Ooooh, burn.

One of Galleghar’s hands fist, but that’s his only reaction. The piece of parchment floating in front of him rolls up and sails softly onto the floor next to the bags of gold. In one of the darkened hallways leading into the room, I see a flicker of movement.

Is that Des’s darkness? Something else? It’s impossible to tell.

The undead king crosses one leg over the other, raising his eyebrows as his gaze moves over us. “I’m sorry, am I supposed to be frightened? Two slaves and a petty criminal with a title—oh, and my scheming son.”

This asshole. All his atrocities aside, he must’ve been a real prick to be around.

“How are your wings feeling?” Des asks. “Still broken?”

Galleghar stares up at him, settling deeper into his seat. “I imagine you remember the feeling. Your wings snapped like twigs beneath my touch.”

I’d almost forgotten the injury Des sustained back in the Flora Kingdom; so many terrible things happened that night.

“Your throne is cute,” the Bargainer says, continuing forward. “I gave my servant’s daughter one just like that—only I believe it was a little bigger.”

Damn. Fairies don’t fuck around with their insults.

Galleghar’s eyes narrow. I’m waiting for his retort when he disappears.

My siren surfaces in an instant, making my skin glow.

Galleghar reappears in front of Des, fist cocked. The Bargainer vanishes just as quickly, flickering into existence behind Galleghar. Des slams a booted foot into his father’s back, knocking the fairy down at my feet.

My soulmate puts a foot to his father’s throat, his hand reaching for his shackles. “Is that all the fight you have? You’re making this too easy.”

“Why fight when the odds are so unfair?” his father rasps out.

Des tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. “You said yourself that we were just some lowly slaves and criminals; no match for the great Galleghar Nyx.”

A child appears in one of the doorways leading into the room, distracting me from the faceoff in front of me. The little girl looks absurdly out of place—until I see her eyes. All that anger, all that malevolence—she must be a casket child.

From the other doorways another few children appear, followed by soldiers with glazed eyes, their uniforms bloody.

Sleeping soldiers.

“You didn’t think I was talking about myself when I said the odds were unfair, did you?” Galleghar wheezes, smiling in spite of his windpipe getting slowly crushed.

Some of the children begin to bare their fangs, while others start to growl. The soldiers methodically grab their weapons.

The soldiers are coming from all directions, their bodies filling the doorways all around the room.

Des glances at the new additions, and his boot digs in a little harder. “I’d say the odds are still stacked against you, old man. But you’d only know that if you didn’t live in a cave.”