“I don’t want anything to do with the High Court.” She was screaming inside, but her voice was even. “Just go—”

“Are you planning to help Bananach?” Devlin asked. “Will you give her your blood?”

“No. I won’t help her, or you, or the High Court.” Ani had spent her life refusing to give in to fear; that wasn’t going to change because of some genetic fluke that made everyone want her blood. She straightened. “You can kill me, but I won’t ever betray Irial.”

Devlin’s expression softened for a moment, too briefly to notice if she hadn’t been used to studying faeries who hid their expressions. The softness was gone just as suddenly as it had appeared. “I see.”

Ani shivered. He’d said he wasn’t there on Bananach’s orders, but he knew about her blood, knew that Bananach wanted it. She didn’t feel particularly inclined to stand around asking questions. Getting out of town sounded wiser by the moment.

“So if that’s all, I’ll be going,” she said.

She started to turn, but his voice stopped her: “I’m the High Court Assassin. Trust me when I say that running from me is not in your best interest, Ani.”

Chapter 17

Devlin waited to see how Ani would react. A sliver of excitement hummed inside him. If she ran, he’d chase. Despite an eternity of being bound to his sister’s court, he still hadn’t subdued that particular instinct. As the High Queen’s Bloodied Hands, he could sometimes let loose that urge with impunity, but that was business—with killing at the end of the chase. Chasing for pleasure, chasing Ani, was exceedingly tempting.

She didn’t run. Instead, she cocked her hip and glared at him. “Do you have any idea what would happen if you killed me?”

Bemused, he watched her face him with challenge clear in her every movement and word. “Tell me,” he said.

“Irial, Gabriel, Niall—they’d all be after you.” She had a hand on each hip, chin raised, shoulders back.

“You invite attack with that posture.” He gestured at her hands. “The footing is good though.”

“What?”

“Your feet. It’s a steady stance if I were to attack you,” he clarified. He wanted to train her. He’d tasted her blood: he knew she was well on her way to becoming equal to a Gabriel in strength.

“Are you planning on attacking me?”

“No, I’d like to speak with you. It’s a bit more civilized,” he said.

“Right. Civilized conversation after you track me, grab me, and suggest killing me. I guess you are High Court after all, huh?” She shook her head and glanced at her beast. It pressed its still-reptilian muzzle against her shoulder as she spoke. Whatever conversation they were having was locked from his hearing.

He waited.

“Fine… let’s talk.” She tensed, but other than that, her aggressive posture was unchanged.

“Come.” He turned and walked into the brightness of the street. He didn’t offer her his arm, didn’t wait to see if she followed.

He repressed all of those untidy things he felt, hid them away, and kept his expression stoic as he’d long since learned to do. It was foolishness, his urge to protect her, but he very much wanted a solution that didn’t involve Ani’s death.

Especially by my hand.

He walked through the streets, following the twists of the poorly laid-out city design until he reached the warehouse district. The few faeries who saw him would undoubtedly report his presence to Niall and Irial. Most faeries wouldn’t be foolish enough to carry the news to Gabriel, but would leave that to their king or former king. Hounds’ tempers were easily sparked and slowly quelled. Only a faery looking to be injured would deliver news of Devlin’s contact with Ani to Gabriel. As order keepers of opposing courts, Gabriel and Devlin didn’t mesh well.

Devlin paused at an intersection. Mortal cars raced by, and he marveled at the appeal of traveling in the tangled cages of metal. Much of the mortal world seemed unnatural.

Unlike Faerie.

He wondered, as he had for centuries, if he could adjust to living in the world of mortals. Bananach had. Many faeries had adjusted when the Dark King pulled them out of Faerie so long ago. Others sickened. Some died or went mad. Still others flourished. Devlin, for his part, felt too closed-in by the pace of it.

Too much information was always bombarding the senses: horns and engines, neon glows and blinding lights from signs, smoke and perfumes from mortals. It was jarring, and when it wasn’t, the peculiarity of visuals and weather left him off-kilter. It was a curious world where nothing but ice or water fell from clouds, where food tasted the same each time, where the climate was sorted by location and the spin of the planet. Faerie’s fluidity made more sense to him.

He paused. Across from them, a window was filled with brightly colored shoes. Cars were careening down the street. Voices clashed, and sirens shrilled.

“What are you looking at?” Ani was beside him then. She appeared tinier up close, or maybe she only seemed that way because she wasn’t radiating aggression. The top of her head was level with his shoulder; the edges of her garish pink- tipped hair brushed against his upper arm as she turned her head to look down the street.

A woman too thin to be healthy stood on the other side of the window looking at shoes; her face was illuminated by the harsh lights inside the store. She glanced outside, but her gaze flickered away before fully settling on him.