The ambling gait of the Horned God, with the clatter of his cleaved hooves on stone, resounded in the room ahead of his reappearance. Florin's attention was arrested by the roadkill I'd brought with me. He headed straight to the writing desk and eagerly peeled apart the burlap sack to reveal the squished opossum. Closing his eyes, he sighed softly. "I haven't had something as delicious as this since your mother last visited."

As a child, I'd watched wide-eyed as my mother peeled apart a croissant while Florin dragged a manky dead squirrel from a drawer beneath the workbench. He'd chopped it up into pieces and then stuffed it inside the soft, flaky pastry.

Snagging the roadkill, the Horned God shuffled over to the workbench and dragged a heavy wooden chopping block closer. He tossed the flattened opossum onto its gouged surface, and reached for a vicious-looking cleaver, wrapping his taloned fingers around the handle. He raised it upward ready to strike.

"My mother..." was all I was able to say, my voice cracking. There was so much bottled up, so much torment, so many questions that I needed to unpack and ask. I dropped my gaze to my boots and toed the ground, pushing back against the sorrow.

Clearing my throat, I tried again. "Did my mother visit you the day she..." and again the words got stuck in my throat. I glanced upward, bleak misery clouding my chest. Florin was staring at me along his broad shoulder. His eyes glowed with pity. He nodded, the ringed ram's horns bobbing gracefully with the gesture.

"I didn't know that would be the last time I'd see her." He turned his attention back toward the chopping block, lowering the cleaver to poke the squished opposum about absentmindedly. "I didn't know what had happened to your mother, not for a while. She always visited once a week, sometimes more. And if she couldn't see me, she'd let me know in advance. But when she failed to turn up the following week...and then the second...and by the third week..." He stopped fussing and yanked the cleaver upwards. His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. He brought the cleaver down, fast, hard. The strike split apart the roadkill and struck the block of wood, ringing through the air. His rage and hurt vibrated like a sonic wave, shooting through the warm room, guttering candles and sweeping over my skin like a cold, brisk breeze.

He continued talking while chopping up the roadkill, turning it quickly into thin strips of leather and mangy fur. "In my line of work, though my customers are my kind, it's unusual for them to be aware of what's happening within the world of Houses. That's Sirro's domain. It was in the third week that I learned about your mother's death as a result of a car crash."

"We let the Houses believe that's what had happened. It was close enough to the truth and easy to swallow." We couldn't afford for the Houses to know my mother was other, or they'd work against us and sow discord. Nor could we afford for the Horned Gods to distrust my family or suspect that we knew she was still alive. Back then it was assumed that all others claimed by the Horned Gods were slaughtered. Trusting no one, and keeping our machinations in the shadows, was our only advantage.

"That's what Sirro said," Florin gritted out, giving one last whack to the roadkill.

I blinked, my entire body jolting with a crack of startlement. I shoved off the doorframe, untucking a hand from my pocket and flipping it up. Back the fuck up. "Sirro?"

The cleaver was tossed onto the workbench with a clatter, candlelight striking off its keen edge, the blade marred with bits of matted fur sticking to it. "Sirro came looking for something amongst my rarities."

"Did he know that my mother used to visit you?"

Was this purely coincidental? Or had he known?

"If Tabitha was ever here when a customer arrived she'd hide out the back in my private residences. It's warded. But out here," he made a thoughtful hum as he glanced about his office, scanning it, his gaze bouncing from the feather dusters to the writing set. "Tabitha's stamped all around here. You wouldn't know unless you knew what you were looking for."

"What was Sirro after?" What the hells had brought the Horned God to Florin?

"He was looking for something. A curiosity that once belonged to the Great House, back in the time when your family ruled. A gift given to that mortal wife of Konrad's."

I stiffened. "Posey? What kind of gift? What was it that he was after?" I assumed whatever this gift had been was stolen from my family when the Houses acted against us, ransacking our treasure trove and slaughtering my ancestors.

Florin's gaze sharpened like those black talons of his. "The item isn't important. Sirro's sly. Seeking something from your family got us talking about recent events. About your mother's supposed death in this car crash late one night. How she was found out as other by the Great House and in turn claimed by our brethren. Sirro was feeling me out for information. Subtly. He wanted to know if I knew of these Horned Gods. If I knew of anyone amongst us that might have claimed Tabitha."

Hope was a slender flame but it burned as bright and hot as a scathing bonfire.

My mouth parted eagerly before I remembered myself.

And before I was able to shut my mouth, Florin raised an arm, presenting his callused palm outward to stop me. "Before you ask, no, I don't know who took Tabitha. I'd never encountered those Horned Gods Sirro claimed accompanied Lyressa."

I knew that. Sirro would have already found my mother if Florin knew of these Horned Gods. And just like that, my hope was dashed like glass against jagged rock.

But it didn't put an end to my inquiries. I was here for a purpose and I was still going to fucking tease it out of Florin.

"Do you believe that Lyressa isn't aware of who they are?"

"It's possible, she doesn't. Our world is vast and secretive, even from each other," he replied as he turned around and headed to the writing desk. His tunic flared wide and the feathers shifted like seagrass beneath the ocean. "Or it's simply a case of old-fashioned lying."

I shifted my weight onto one hip. My hair slid across my forehead as I angled my head and frowned. "But Sirro believes her." A few weeks back when I'd met him at his private residences, I distinctly remember he wouldn't question one of his own kind.

Florin picked up the paper bag of croissants from the writing desk and collected a delicate scallop-edged plate from the mantle piece. It looked strange clasped in his large hand, the coarse black talons stark against the off-white china. "Maybe it's safer for Sirro that Lyressa thinks he believes her... Maybe it works to his advantage that she believes she's gotten away with it." He shot me a sly look that spoke volumes. "Maybe he's still hunting her, waiting for her to falter."

The ground felt as if it had tilted and swayed beneath my feet as if the stone had turned into a rogue wave. This was fucking huge. A seismic mind shift. I knew Sirro was fond of my mother. I knew he'd offered us the Alverac five years ago and it had allowed my family to claim Nelle. But none of us had ever been sure that he'd done it to help us, or if there had been a darker motive, one that Nelle recently suspected. If there was anything I knew about the Horned God, he was a vast abyss of secrets and personal agendas. But this, right here, what Florin insinuated, was that Sirro had been hunting my mother's abductors from the very get-go, and was still hunting them.

Florin carried on speaking. "For some reason, it was necessary for Lyressa to hide their identity, not from you but from my kind. From Sirro himself."

A cold sensation like icy fingers slithered down my spine. "Why?"

He rounded his gigantic upper body downward so his face leered closer to mine. His half-beastly face was dappled with sinister shadows and grooved with menacing lines. "That is a question that has plagued me for the past decade, as I'm sure it has for Sirro."

For a long moment, as I craned my head back to stare up at him, turning the information over in my mind, the only sound in the office was the crackling and popping from the fire. The gauzy orange light danced across the hearth, shimmering across the stone floor and creating ghoulish shadows on the ivy and larkspur walls.

What the fuck was Lyressa holding out on Sirro?

Florin strode over to the workbench and placed the plate down. He pulled out the pastries from the brown paper bag and sliced apart the croissants with a talon. Buttery crumbs fell like snowflakes to scatter across the plate and chopping block. A small handful of dead opossum was stuffed into the croissants and he grinned, licking his lips, wandering over with the plate of treats to the coffee table and placing his meal on its polished surface.

I gave him a shrewd glance. I'd felt his sorrow at losing my mother like a draping of cold miserable mist, but there was also confidence radiating from him. Faith, I realized. Perhaps faith in Sirro. But as for me, I still remained uncertain.

Florin glanced up when I asked my next question. "Did you know what my mother was doing that day? If there was any place or person she might have visited beforehand or intended to after she visited with you?"

He frowned lightly. "Why do you want to know?"

Because that day in the city wasn't sitting well with me. Especially since learning about the lightning strike at the Monarch Tower.

I hitched a shoulder. "Just curious."

The Horned God turned away and strode to the fire. Goopy green liquid bubbled inside the small black pot and chunks of dead things were spat up from its depth, I spotted flies and a rat's tail, only to disappear beneath the roiling surface. He bent over and ladled the chunky concoction into a large teacup he retrieved from the fire mantle. "Cup of tea?" he offered.

What the actual fuck?

Tea?

My stomach churned at the thought of drinking that horrible-looking shit, and I fought the urge to gag. "No,"—fucking—"thank you."

He straightened and took a sip of the goopy green liquid, smacking his lips and grinning in pleasure. And then another while drifting to a large armchair. He placed the cup of tea down on the coffee table and settled his huge frame into the chair. The wood creaked and groaned and he squiggled a bit to get comfortable against the fluffy cushions. Leaning forward he snatched up a roadkill croissant. "She arrived with the scent of the lake lingering on her clothes." He shrugged. "She often visited the lakeside before coming here. She was fond of endlessly prattling to gardeners about flowers and plantings."

"Did she stay long with you?"

"A few hours. She soothed my aches. And she'd bought something for us to eat for lunch. Though she didn't have much of an appetite. She looked rather peaky."

I cocked an eyebrow, expectantly.

Florin continued, answering my silent question. "I thought at first she wasn't feeling the best. But I think it was more to do with meeting someone for afternoon tea—"

"At the Monarch Tower?" I interrupted in a rush.

He blinked. "Yes, that's right." Taking a big bite out of the croissant, he practically inhaled it. He chewed noisily and I cringed at the sound of crunching dead opossum.

My ears pricked. Behind me, I heard the patter of soft feet. Nelle had kicked her shoes off and was slinking around barefooted.

I casually retreated to the threshold of the doorway, taking up as much space as I could, while Florin continued to make murmuring sounds of pleasure as he ate and slurped at his fucking gross cup of tea. I slightly readjusted my figure when he glanced over, trying to peer around me.

"Do you know who she was going to meet?" I asked him. "My mother was wearing something formal that day. The kind of dress she'd wear if she was meeting someone high-ranking." I gestured to my neck, flicking my fingers as I scrambled to explain. "And a necklace... A jewelry set that had had sentimental value to her."

He wiped the flaky crumbs from his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ah, your father's gift to her. The one fashioned out of yellow diamonds."

"Yes. She wore it for him on their wedding day." Along with other family occasions. It just wasn't a set I remembered her wearing when she attended House Gatherings.

Florin slowly smiled. And it was a cruel slash across his face. "Your mother wasn't afraid to make a statement," he rumbled, pride lacing the words.

I cocked my head, wondering why he'd said that. Why it started to scratch at something that was a vague suspicion in the back of my mind?

"Why else would Tabitha be wearing a statement piece like that?" he asked, and then he answered his own question. "To remind someone else that she was married to your father."

That was exactly what I had suspected yesterday. That the yellow diamond necklace was a message. But to whom?

Florin finished the croissant with a second bite.

And dread slithered through my veins. "Who did she go to meet that afternoon?"

He finished his mouthful before speaking. "The Szarvas woman."

I took several hurried steps forward. "The Szarvas woman?" Who the hells was that? My mind speared to the Szarvases. They were a Lower House and hunters of lesser creatures. Their hunting field was the Hemmlok Forest on which their estate sat. I ran through the family members. Marton and Hira ruled the House as Head and Matriarch. Could he be referring to Hira? Or could it be one of their unmarried daughters who were nearer my mother's age and still lived with their parents?

Florin sighed and it was full of regret. Guilt riddled his expression and he rubbed his thigh anxiously. "Your mother liked to chatter. I wasn't the best listener," he confessed. His eyes flared wide and his gaze went distant as if he were staring into the past. "When she really let loose with her chattering, her voice became like the drone of bees and my mind would wander. I'd hardly take in anything she said." He propped an elbow on the armrest of his chair and flipped a hand this way and that in time with his words. "The Szarvas Woman this, the Szarvas Woman that, that's all Tabitha referred to this woman as. Whomever she was, she caused your mother some anguish over the years."

A cold sensation pooled in the bottom of my gut. "What do you mean?"

His gaze sharpened and slid to mine. "The Szarvas woman's affection for your father."

It was a solid slap of incredulity across the cheek. "Why was Mom meeting this woman?" I breathed. Had my father not been faithful to my mother?

But Florin's gaze had slid to the side of me and his mood changed swiftly. Blood-red eyes darkened with anger. His simmering rage was a whirlwind of scouring sand flaying my skin.

I shifted directly into his line of sight, my heart erupting into a stumbling pace at the menace thickening air.

The Horned God's gaze snapped to mine and narrowed. "Move," he hissed.

I knew exactly who he was focused on. And that feral side of me, possessive and protective, silently snarled back

He stood, his tall carriage bringing his fierce gaze well over my head. A low threatening rumble rose in his throat as he moved forward fast. I bounced on the balls of my feet, loosening my limbs, shifting my weight, readying for whatever he was going to do to me.

Shit, shit, shit...

"Out of my way," the Horned God gritted, nostrils flaring.

I remained where I was.

"NOW!" he roared, charging at me like a bull.

His fury exploded in a savage blow.

A furious ball of crackling magic smashed outward. A forceful fist of darkness slammed into my shoulder. Ferocious. A wrecking ball of power. I was sent reeling sideways, stumbling. I flowed with the direction the blow sent me spinning. A twist of my shoulders and I got my feet underneath me. I shoved a foot back, righting myself, pushing forward in a surge of speed, chasing after Florin as he stormed out of the office.

He turned to glare over his shoulder, a sour curl to his mouth as he snarled, "She reminds me of you, Sticky Fingers."