"Holy hellsgate," I breathed in utter wonderment, as we both swiveled around to face the enormous door. I felt like a small child against its looming height. The power originated from here, seeping through the slender gaps surrounding the door and sweeping against my skin, shivering my dress.

The wrought-iron door knob was molded into the shape of a leathery beast's head with horns and fangs and a forked tongue. As for the door, I couldn't make out the image painted on its front. A pattern of sorts. Most of the paint had been worn away over time, leaving behind a hint of blues and reds and dirty yellows.

Graysen's chest rose with a deep inhale and he expelled it on a wary note as he raised a fist and knocked on the door. It sounded ominous. We waited in the darkness, in the silence.

A sound behind the door, muffled footsteps, the rhythm ponderous. We drew back as whomever it was reached the door and the handle rattled, the beastly metal knob twisting around as it was turned on the other side. Graysen positioned himself close to me, and my fingers tightened around his in apprehension of what we were about to encounter.

The door began to open and a silver bell hanging above rang—ding, ding, ding—like it did in old-fashioned stores, letting the staff know someone had entered their shop. The door swung wide and power blustered outward like an unexpected gust of wind, making my hair fly, and my skirt billow and snap against my thighs. We were not whom the Horned God was expecting to see, because as he pulled the door open he began to say, "Did you forget something..." and the words faded away when he dropped his gaze and encountered us standing at the threshold. I craned my neck back to stare up, up, up.

Towering before us was a Horned God, almost as tall as the door. Honeyed candlelight backed his massive figure, edging broad shoulders. He was a blending of human and goat and a pinch of elemental with the thin wisps of smoke shimmering off his body. Balled in his hand was a rag that was stained dark green, almost black. Blood, I realized, maybe from a lesser creature.

I chanced a glance at Graysen, at the ghost of a smile, the awe and obvious recognition slackening his features.

So this was the Horned God his mother had befriended.

But did Florin remember Graysen?

The Horned God's long ears twitched, the movement scattering tendrils of smoke to curve around his enormous ram horns. "How did you get here?" he asked, in a deep booming voice, and the dreadful, grainy sound of it sent a shiver down my spine. Old. As old and menacing as the jagged black rock his lair was carved within.

Graysen let go of my hand to point in the direction we'd come. "From up there. From the market."

Surprise flared sharp and swift. Florin grunted, his eyes narrowing, the horizontal pupils dilating. From the wide flat nose downward, Florin's face was human with thick lips, chin, and jawline, but the upper portion of his face was goat-like with fur the same dark shade as his skin. His eyes were widely set apart with pupils slashed horizontally. Eyes that were blood-red. Eyes that sliced to where Graysen pointed up the stairs. And I swore I saw a fleeting flicker of wondrous possibility in his gaze when it returned to us.

Graysen and I remained where we stood, waiting with bated breath.

Florin squinted, his interest running along the harrowing edge of the wyrmbone dagger in Graysen's hand. He took a closer look at Graysen, languidly searching his face, and spoke carefully. "I've not had a visitor from the Houses for a long time. Who are you?"

Graysen bowed deeply, as was customary.

I did not.

I felt Florin's instant displeasure crackling through the air like thunder and I steeled my spine. He took a lumbering step closer and braced a hand on the edge of the door jam. Long, curved talons tipped his fingers, and he rapped them against the wooden frame in a slow irritated beat. Glaring down the length of his nose, the eyes fixed on mine glowed bright like burning coal. His voice was soft yet threatening. "You do not bow to a Horned God?"

Before I had the chance to answer, to tilt my chin up and tell him I bowed to none, Graysen spoke on my behalf. He straightened his figure and gestured to me, "Nelle Wychthorn from Great House," and then splayed his hand across his upper chest, canting his upper body forward slightly in a show of respect once more. "And I am Graysen Crowther."

Delight curved Florin's mouth into a wide smile as if his suspicion of Graysen's identity had been confirmed. "Curious," he murmured thoughtfully, sliding his sharp eyes slowly from Graysen to me. "A princess from Great House. And a fallen prince."

My startled gaze darted to Graysen's profile, tracing the arrogant line of his stupidly beautiful features. The imperious way he always held himself. I supposed that description was appropriate, given that the Crowthers once reigned over the Great House.

My fallen prince stashed away his blade in a whirl of indiscernible movement. "I believe you knew my mother."

Florin inclined his head, and his mouth slashed into a vicious grin. "Sticky Fingers," his deep voice rumbled. "You're all grown up."

My eyebrows shot upward. Sticky Fingers?

Graysen rubbed the back of his neck, ruffling the wavy locks, looking decidedly sheepish. "I took to thieving at an early age," he murmured to me in way of an answer.

Florin pushed off the doorframe and took several steps back. Candlelight and shadow slid over his black downy fur and skin with its blue undertones, and the sleeveless cloak formed from deep emerald feathers fluttered with the movement. "So your memory has returned," he surmised.

"Parts of it, not all," Graysen replied.

For a long moment, Florin hummed deep in thought. When the Horned God next spoke he stared right at me. It was almost a purr. Almost a challenge. "Enter, if you can."

Graysen and I shared a look, a glancing touch of our hands in reassurance.

Graysen strode in first.

And I followed next.

I swore I caught a flash of something spearing through Florin's eyes, astonishment, curiosity, as he watched me stride into his domain. At what? That I could enter his lair?

My perplexion at his reaction was torn away as my gaze caught the wooden sign hanging high up inside with its silver lettering engraving the grains of wood: PURVEYOR of RARITIES.

And what a magnificent lair it was.

There was a sparkle-like iridescent aether shimmering in the air. Rugs and silks lined the floor and walls like opulent oil paint. Candelabras burned throughout the room casting honeyed light from fat beeswax candles. And the store itself was set up just like the kinds of gift shops I'd seen pictures of online, curiosity after curiosity leading you through a maze of tables and shelves cluttered with a collection of oddities. But here, in Florin's place, I felt like a small child with the oversized shelves and tall tables towering all around me, displaying his wares. I stopped beneath an enormous stone statue of Brangwene, his leathery wings were spread out and curving forward, the warlord's severe expression hewn with aggression, his fist grasping a war-hammer.

Graysen came to a halt nearby, and he shrugged the backpack from his shoulders, swinging it around to his front. His hands were a haze of speed as he unbuckled the straps and unzipped it. He shoved a hand inside and fished out the burlap sack and the paper bag filled with croissants. Dumping the backpack to the ground by his boots, he said, "If I remember right, my mother claimed these were your favorites." He gave the Horned God a peek inside the burlap sack and Florin's eyes lit up. He licked his lips with eagerness. "Ah, dead opossum, delicious."

This is why Graysen had scraped roadkill off the asphalt?

A squashed opposum and a croissant? My mouth twisted with revulsion.

Florin noticed. He frowned as he lumbered closer, and his shadow was a shroud folding over me as he leaned down. His grainy voice rumbled, "Did you think I'd be eating people, Miss Wychthorn?"

I gulped, twining my hands together at my middle. "Well, it's what Horned Gods rather like doing, isn't it?"

He made a huffing sound of amusement and disagreement as he straightened. "We're not all like those you've met in the collective. Some of my brethren live outside of it too. And quite a few of us don't have a taste for raw flesh."

"Oh..." was all I could summon as a reply. Though the Horned Gods were cloaked in mystery it came as a surprise to learn that.

Graysen shifted his stance, rolling the burlap sack up he tucked it under an arm, his other hand clutching the crinkled bag of croissants. "May I speak with you in private?" he asked Florin.

This was such a different side to him. It was fascinating. He was so polite and formal with the Horned God.

"I'm sure you have plenty of questions you want answers to," Florin replied, gesturing with a sweep of his taloned hand toward what appeared to be an office near the back of his store. He ambled toward it, silvery light glancing off his huge gnarled ram horns. I rose up on my toes, leaning forward. From what I could see of the office, the dim room was furnished with oversized chairs, and a large stool sat in front of a workbench. My nose wrinkled as I detected a foul odor faintly washing out from within the room.

Graysen strode over to where I stood. He tucked a wild lock of hair behind my ear, and his hand drifted lightly down my neck to linger at the base of my throat. The barest touch left a trail of gauzy heat to bleed through my skin. He ducked his head, dark waves of his hair sliding forward. The breadth of his body provided us with some small privacy. He spoke to me quietly. "I'm not sure how long I'll be. This could take a while."

I hitched a shoulder, feigning casualness. "That's okay. I'll just wait out here for you."

"Don't go getting into trouble," he warned with a serious glint in his eyes, a tap of his thumb on my throat.

"I'll try not to," I grinned wickedly back.

His stupidly beautiful mouth curved into a broad, beaming smile and he pulled me in for a quick, sweet kiss that had my toes curling in my annoying shoes. A second later, he left me there to saunter after Florin. Their retreating footsteps were muffled by rugs in rich swirling colors, and I began to lazily wander through Florin's shop as if I were already bored. I gave them one full minute before I covertly glanced over my shoulder to check the office. Graysen stood with his back to me, leaning a shoulder against the office's door frame, blocking my view of the Horned God. Urgency strummed in my blood, and I tried not to jitter. Cold perspiration erupted down the length of my spine as my heart pounded a frantic beat.

I had no idea how long Graysen would take up the Horned God's time.

I had to find the mites now.

***

With every footstep carrying me toward Florin's office, suspicion cooled my blood. There was one question sitting on my tongue that demanded to be asked. An imminent answer I needed to taste.

Florin ambled deeper inside the long narrow room while I stopped at the threshold. Uneasy, I shifted my weight from foot to foot, my fingers kneading the brown paper bag and coarse burlap sack. I was impatient and desperate to ask about my mother, and it was so fucking hard to remain silent and respectful awaiting the Horned God to acknowledge me. Florin had a balled rag in his hand, dampened by dark green blood. He tossed it into the fire blazing in the soot-stained hearth. In a hiss of steam and a spray of sparks the material caught fire, melting, blackening, and shriveling up.

Florin turned around slowly. I craned my neck to look up at him, swallowing hard. All the fine hair on my body prickled. The Horned God towered above me, framed by the surrounding black rock carved into the likeness of a thick tangle of ivy crawling up the walls and ceiling. There was a flower amongst the ivy, chiseled with their starlike petals. Larkspur, poisonous and deadly. The wavering candlelight didn't quite reach all the way up into the ceiling. Shadows curled around his huge ram's horns, the tufts of black fur on his forehead, and deepened the grooves in his face. In the thin veil of darkness, his eyes glowed a violent red.

His hard gaze scanned my face. Assessing. Contemplating. Calculating. With every second that dragged by in silence, my patience began to fray. Until it snapped completely. I hissed an annoyed breath and tipped my chin up in challenge.

His smile was slow and sly. "So, Sticky Fingers," his deep voice rumbled, "what do you want to know? I can see all those questions tumbling around in your head. I can feel the need to voice one of them desperately. So why don't you ask it of me?"

There was no fucking point dancing around what needed to be said. The Horned God's might trembled in the air, swirling dust motes and eddying the heat waves rolling off the fire. He could obliterate me with a vicious strike of power, easily swat me down like an annoying fly, but I didn't care. Neither did I bother to soften the caustic edge of my tone. I glared directly into those blood-red eyes and I almost snarled, "You knew my mother's secret. You knew she was other. Did you sell her out?"

Instinctively, I slid my boots across the stone floor to widen my stance. My fingers inched toward my hidden dagger, and I braced myself for a world of pain. I wasn't expecting the delighted laughter that thundered from deep within his chest and shook his entire body, the soft emerald feathers in his tunic shivering with his amusement.

Florin braced a hand on an enormous work table that spanned half the length of a wall and leaned downward. His mouth pulled into a genuine grin that showed a sliver of sharp teeth. "I can see why your mother used to say all her children were born from a storm. There's a tempest raging in those black eyes of yours."

"And you didn't answer my question," I gritted out, refusing to be thwarted.

"I knew Tabitha since she was a young girl. I could have revealed her truth to my brethren any time I chose during all those years."

I pressed on. I needed to hear it. I needed to make sure he was telling the truth. "Did you tell anyone that she was other?"

He straightened his spine. "No. I did not."

I could taste his honesty on the tip of my tongue. Relief loosened the strain and tension in my body. I puffed out a pent-up breath and sagged a shoulder against the doorframe. Pushing the curls of long hair off my brow with my forearm, I voiced a question I'd had since my memory had unburied itself. "How did a child of the Houses, a mere servant, meet and befriend a Horned God?"

He rapped his talons slowly on the workbench, rap, rap, rap. The wooden surface was nicked and scarred and worn with time and abuse. "I've known your mother since she was a child. I first met her when she snuck in here to steal from me."

"Little thief, I remember you calling her." I shot him a grin I didn't quite feel. Not yet.