I held back a groan. I suspected this day would come. All the representatives of the Houses were present at the Wychthorns' temple when my brave little sister distracted Urstlo from Nelle, who was cracking under the pressure to keep her wyrm contained and hidden. Ferne had confronted Mistress Lyressa, who'd stolen her eyes simply because they were pretty, to redirect everyone's attention away from Nelle and toward her.

"They're saying if Mistress Lyressa was present at the car crash, then perhaps your mother was..." Mela rounded her eyes and pointedly let the words drift apart. She didn't need to say the word, other, I understood. The Houses were beginning to understand why my mother had been killed. "What they're curious about is how the rest of your family survived."

Fair enough. As decreed, any family harboring an other was annihilated. "The Horned Gods accepted her sacrifice for our lives. They owed us for the Final War." And everything else that came with it, when we'd regathered the survivors that had scattered worldwide and reformed the Houses. Our footsteps were light and our clouded breath wisped away as we made our way through the twisting tunnel. Mela heaved a sigh through her nose as she chewed on the corner of her mouth, deep in thought. A moment later she grimaced in apology, glancing at me beneath heavy lashes. "I didn't know about your mother."

I shrugged and whispered back, "No one knew." Until of course, someone did. Byron Wychthorn. And then he betrayed her to Sirro and my mother was claimed.

We rounded a corner and climbed a series of steps. The passageway grew taller and wider. Once again, the lesser creature's interest stirred. Yezekael turned his neck to shoot another curious glance over his shoulder. This time there was something else swimming in his gaze, something I wasn't quite sure how to identify. "What the fuck's up with you?"

"Which House are you from?" he asked in that strangely sandy-metallic voice.

"Does it matter?"

"Just whiling away my time. What harm could it bring to know?"

I flashed a menacing grin full of teeth. "House Crowther." My grin faltered and unease fell like icy flakes through my chest to settle in the pit of my guts. My spine stiffened at the spark of recognition shining in his eyes. I jutted my chin out in a churlish manner, my fingers tightening on my wyrm dagger in silent threat. "What?"

He twisted forward and a rusty laugh croaked from his throat. The gray feathers cloaking his body shimmied as his shoulders and wings shook, his laughter growing louder and more hearty. I knew he was baiting me, taunting me, firmly putting me into a position of diminished power. He knew I'd be needful, desperate to learn why he was amused at my expense. Though the longer he laughed the more I began to realize it was soaked in near-hysteria. The rusty sound died away and he muttered low, "Of course, he would ask you to find me."

Mela snarled, surging forward. Flipping over the dagger she'd palmed, she rammed the rounded pommel into his back, right between his wings. Yezekael cried out in pain and staggered forward, cursing and wincing. "What the hells do you mean by that?"

She shoved at him hard. He stumbled out of the tunnel we'd been traipsing down and into a cavern with a high roof and darkness surrounding us on either side. Mela and I quickly followed, stepping into the vast space, our men and women spreading around us like satellites orbiting a planet.

Yezekael stopped where he stood and turned around to face us. Though his long teardrop face was creased with agony, he still managed to level a sly look at me. "I can offer you more than what Sirro is willing to trade." White-ish magic glowed and crackled from the handcuffs binding his wrists. He spread his palms upward as if in offering. "If you let me go, I can give you anything you wish for."

"I've seen your nest. What's fucking left of it," I scoffed, rolling my eyes. The coldness of the cavern had my breath clouding. My boots scraped against the gravelly surface of the ground as I widened my stance, cocking my head sideways and scowling at him. There wasn't anything he could offer that I wanted.

"I have many contacts. Many treasures. Not all of them are gems and special finds. How about information? I have bought many secrets, stored them for safe keeping, sold them when need be." A feathered eyebrow rose as his smile grew more cunning. "Let me go and I'll tell you one about your moth—"

He stopped speaking—

My attention speared to my feet—

To the wet stones shivering on the rocky floor.

Adrenalin surged through my veins. Every muscle in my body screwed tight.

Beneath my boots, the ground trembled, then shook, then jolted. The rattling rock jarred through their soles and up my feet, ankles, and legs. The murmuring of our team died and was replaced by the deafening sound of shivering rock as we teetered and swayed.

A godsawful BOOM exploded in my ears. A second sound of cracking rock overhead had me ducking low. My sweaty hair swept across my forehead as I swiveled around to spy the path of a deep fissure cleaving apart the ceiling. A jagged crevasse ripped across the cavern's roof. I jerked backward, throwing up an arm as dust and chunks of rock, some as big as boulders, fell in streams, striking the ground below like off-rhythm drumming.

I could see through the inky blackness, right across the other side of the cavern and the large chipped entranceway to the tunnel where we'd been heading.

Whatever was coming for us was barreling down that tunnel.

Mela and I shared a look of horror as a violent quake shook the cavern and brought down more rockfall. Reflected in our gaze was the deep fear that a stone eater was hurtling toward us. Neither one of us wanted to face one of those serpents again.

Hellsgate!

I burst into motion.

There was no fucking way I was going to let Yezekael be killed before I'd delivered him to Sirro. The ground bounced beneath my feet as I slid in front of Yezekael.

My warband was already in motion, flanking me.

Petra and the Văduva whipped their swords free from scabbards, fanning out with their team to face whatever was careering toward us. Petra's orders punched through the cavern at a rapid pace, punctuated by Mela's, both of their yelling almost drowned out by the sound of quaking rock.

My fist clasped the dagger tighter and I forced myself to breathe easier, to slow my racing heartbeat, but to no avail. It skittered faster in my chest when a sudden wind stirred by immense power blasted out of the tunnel's entranceway. It rushed through the blackness like a wall of smoke. As if a storm had erupted below the earth, blowing a wicked tempest through the honeycombed catacombs. It roared across the cavern and slammed right into me, into us.

I staggered back, braced myself—

Leaned into the vicious gust.

When the quaking suddenly stopped—

And the wind died.

Utter shock had my eyes rounding and mouth gaping in astonishment when the person who'd caused the wild gusts of wind appeared.

Sirro strode from the passageway, stalking across the cavern toward us. Locks of black hair shimmied with the silver strands of power whipping fiercely round around him.

He was wearing light linen clothes, loose and wide-legged, more appropriate for sweltering climates than down here where it was ice-cold. His Familiar's kaftan billowed outward like a sheet in the wind. Threads of might surrounded her as if she was a blossom and they were petals furling inward to protect her for the night.

The fake light streaming from a multitude of flashlights stroked over Sirro's deep coppery skin, flattening the normally rich hue. The Văduvas pulled aside to create a thoroughfare and lowered themselves to kneel before him, bowing their heads. Even Mela had fallen to one knee.

But not me. Not the Crowthers.

I knocked a fisted hand to my heart, thrice, as was the tradition of the old ways, inclining my head, a quick dip of acknowledgment and respect, as Sirro moved through our ranks. All the Crowthers did, keeping our hands clasped to our chests, our fingers shaped into a horned fist. We didn't bow like the Văduvas. Bowing wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do if you were on a battlefield. Not that we were, but we weren't that far off, being down in the catacombs transporting a prisoner.

Mela stared up at me with big, round eyes, worried that I wasn't paying Sirro the respect as I should. But the Văduvas was a new House, in the way that all Houses were new compared to the long unbroken line of my family, and had no idea of the old ways, the really old traditions, that hadn't been seen since the Final War.

Sirro's amber eyes gleamed with admiration and memory as he stalked toward me with a smile curving his mouth. "I've not seen that for an age, not since I was last on a battlefield surrounded by your ancestors with Hamon and Draxxon."

Pride flowed through me, sparkling through my veins and gifting me a second wind of renewed energy.

Sirro's gaze shifted to fix itself upon Yezekael. But one heartbeat later, his nostrils flared and cheeks reddened. Dark hair flung sideways across his crown when his head whipped around, body following. He glared into the darkness, his expression utterly livid as he peeled his lips back from his teeth. "GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

The cavern shook and rattled with his roar. His might exploded outward to razor through the cavern. The ground quaked beneath my boots, shuddered through the catacombs, and almost knocked me off my feet.

I caught myself just in time, my body instinctively wanting to step quickly back. Instead, I bent into the storm of his wrath, my hair blowing around my face with the force of his rage.

Holy fuck.

What the hells was going on?

He's so prickly—the Uzrek chuckled in my head—And obstinate.

I blew out a pent-up breath. Let me guess, you tried to get inside his head. Part of me was slightly disappointed Sirro had noticed. I would have liked to have discovered what he was up to with Yezekael through the Uzrek.

As I am too, death-dealer. It would have been a lot easier to pick through his memories than ask him. He'd never answer me with a truth either. He enjoys being sly. The Uzrek made a snorting sound, half-annoyed, half-admiring. He blocked my attempt extremely well.

How? I thought the Uzrek would be able to pierce whatever wall Sirro would mentally erect against him.

Sheer determination—And the Uzrek chuckled again as if he delighted in the fight with the Horned God.

The whipping tempest died like a becalmed sea.

Sirro swiveled around slowly to face Yezekael. His face was still deeply grooved and twisted with rage. I hadn't ever seen him ruffled like this before, never seen him lose that polished veneer of composure. But here he was prowling toward Yezekael, angered, more than angered, he was pissed the fuck off and it was all directed toward the lesser creature. It was a living, breathing thing, his wrath.

Yezekael stumbled back, throwing up an arm to shield his face and to keep Sirro at bay. He cowered before the advancing Horned God. "I yield, Sirro," he heaved, gasping for breath.

"I do not care!" Sirro bellowed.

It was a blur of movement. A spearing of rage.

His threads of power shot out like a volley of arrows.

They snapped around the beast's body, his throat, and shoved against him hard, sending him soaring backward through the air. He flew past men and women standing or kneeling, and slammed violently against the cavern's wall.

The creature's scream of pain tore through the chilly air.

"Who did you sell the information to?!" Sirro roared, the words spitting from his mouth with rage. "Was it Lyressa or someone else?"

Yezekael's face screwed up in agony. He cried out once more as Sirro's power jerked him forward and then pounded him against the wall—

A second time—

A third.

Threads of power wrapped around a wing—

Silvery strands slunk through the scarlet feathers—

The crack of bone snapping, the high-pitched scream of agony wrenched from Yezekael's throat, curdled my blood. I watched in wide-eyed horror as Sirro's silvery strands hummed and shivered while they dragged the lesser creature by the wing like a broken bird.

The Horned God squatted down, wrapped a fist around the creature's neck, and yanked him closer. "Who came to you with her secret?" Sirro whisper-hissed. His voice had dropped so low, so quiet, that only I could hear him. "Who sold it to you? Who was the one to betray Tabitha Crowther?"

What...?

The world fell apart around me.

My hand loosened its hold on my dagger and it fell, clattering upon the stone floor.

It felt as if I'd been standing on something as insubstantial as a cloud and now I free fell.

My heartbeat began to thunder in my ears so loudly it drowned out everything else, even Yezekael's denial as he shook his head.

Florin had revealed earlier that Sirro was suspicious of Lyressa, and I'd held a slim shred of hope that his reason for sending me to hunt Yezekael had to do with my mother. Learning from the Purveyor of Rarities that Sirro had been trying to find out who had stolen my mother the moment she'd been abducted was astounding. But hearing it spill from the Horned God's mouth was mind-altering.

Something is coming!—the Uzrek warned.

I didn't hear him the first time. My mind was tripping and stumbling over my thoughts. I was trying to collate everything I'd known to be true and sort it into a brand-new order. I was stunned and paralyzed by what I'd just heard Sirro say, what he'd demanded the lesser creature answer.

My gaze darted between the fury etched upon the Horned God's face and the terror carved into Yezekael's who shook and gasped for breath.

This creature knew of my mom.

That's why Sirro had been hunting him.

He had sold my mother's deepest secret to another.

SOMETHING IS COMING!—exploded in my head, shocking me back to the here and now.

I blinked—What do you mean?

Exactly like last time, death-dealer! They're swifting in on a hunt!

Holy shit!

In the darkness of the cavern, pops of brilliant golden light erupted all around us before fading into darkness, as those things I'd defended Nelle against began to arrive with ghostly fingers of swifting winds stirring their robes of ivory.

Hellsgate!

The Văduvas were stumbling to their feet. Their reactions were delayed, caught completely off-guard that something terrifying was swifting in. But my warband had already drawn their weapons, shifted into a defensive position around me, and centered themselves, ready for battle.

My wyrmblade sang a note of death as I unsheathed it from my spine, spinning around and arcing it over my head. I roared a warning. "CHILDREN OF THE HARBINGER!"

No one, but Sirro I suspected, could see them in the darkness. But I could. We were surrounded by those strange tall warriors, their faces hidden behind papier-mâché masks. They outnumbered us and were armed with something more deadly than savage swords. Crossbows with bolts that were loaded with magic that crackled and fizzed and, much worse, were fashioned from the Gestelt Tree.

Shit, shit, shit...

"GET DOWN!" I bellowed, throwing myself at Mela just before a weapon was unleashed that roared through the air, screaming with speed

It struck the wall behind us—

And detonated.

Blazing fire lit up the darkness. Searing heat scorched my face.

A cloud of shrapnel, of chipped stones, exploded—

The blast radiating outward with massive energy—

The impact struck Sirro, sending him flying backward, spiraling through the air—

Dust and stone rolled outward like a heavy sandstorm, enveloping us in dirty air and darkness—

And then all hells broke loose.