I was still reeling at the Hangman's Noose draped down my back, that I hadn't noticed the dressing room's door opening once more. It wasn't until Lila breezed around me in a flutter of ivory silk that I realized she'd returned.

And with company.

Sheer tulle swished against my legs as I twisted around to watch Kenton stroll inside. Like Caidan, he wasn't exactly dressed for the heat. He might have taken off his jacket, but over the top of his lightweight shirt, he wore a waistcoat. Maybe I'd strike a bit of luck and all the Crowthers would topple over with heat stroke and die on me.

He spoke to his aunt in a deep, brusque voice. "Zielenski's waiting for us. Jett and Caidan are still working the room."

I huffed a cold laugh. Folding my arms over my chest, I popped a hip out. "Working the room? Are they sliding up and down stripper poles to earn a bit of pocket money?"

There wasn't even a twitch of his lips or a vexed narrowing of his eyes to indicate he'd heard me. It was as if I were beneath his notice. Valarie at least frowned at my quip before stepping away. She headed toward the tall rack of leather cloaks to speak to Lila in the corner of the room. Turning her back to us, she spoke to the younger woman quietly.

Kenton sauntered closer to me with the indolent air of a mountain lion. His skin shimmered with perspiration at the base of his throat where the striped shirt was unbuttoned. At the very least he'd rolled up his sleeves, revealing inky black flames and the flourish of Ukkenskrit wrapping around his powerful forearms right down to his wrists. Slipping a hand into the pocket of his pants, he widened his stance. Yellow light stroked the short locks of black hair as he angled his head sideways while perusing my appearance. It was an efficient glide of his gaze, nothing sexual, just noting the details. No, Kenton wasn't interested in me that way. I may as well have been a block of wood for the way he examined my figure.

However, when his gaze locked onto the ghastly message tied around my throat, it could have been a necklace of diamonds or a choker of rare pearls with the intensity he stared, the way his gaze caressed the coarse fibers twisted together.

Finally, his eyes lifted to meet mine

He was stoic. Unreadable. Much as he'd always been.

However, when his attention skipped away to whoever lingered behind me, his dark violet eyes flared wide with shock.

A brush of air swirled against my side, stirring my skirt, as someone stepped to my side. When I glanced sidelong I found Penn standing there. My skin tingled with surprise and comfort when her warm fingers looped around my hand.

Penn stared right at Kenton in challenge.

I wondered once more, how Penn had come to arrive at the Keep. And what had she earlier meant by—it's complicated?

I knew deep in my soul that Kenton loved Penn desperately.

Maybe they couldn't be together because of their differences in rank. But more likely because she was from the world of mortals. From what Graysen had shared with me about his ancestor Konrad marrying a mortal, Posey, he'd brought ruin to their Great House. And his family line had almost been annihilated one storm-swept night. I was sure the Crowthers would be reluctant to tempt history to repeat itself all over again.

Kenton stood exactly like Penn, deathly still and rigid.

Penn might have been small and delicate but right now she seemed like a giant. An iron warrior forged by fire. The message she communicated to Kenton, though silently, was loud. She was the Crowther's last offering to the Witches and a reminder that they couldn't go through with it seven years ago She'd obviously become important to them, to him especially. Perhaps compassion had stayed their hand.

And here she was, standing beside me because she didn't agree with what the Crowthers were doing.

For a brief moment like a meteor burning through the atmosphere, I saw past the facade Kenton presented to the world. Emotions chased one another swiftly across his features as his gaze bounced between Penn and me. Bleak guilt haunted the desperation, uncertainty and deep disquietude. He shielded himself from Penn by stepping back abruptly and ducking his head. Feathery locks slid over his forehead as he rubbed the back of his neck and squeezed his eyes shut briefly. He sucked in a deep breath, tension entering his limbs and hardening his jaw as he straightened, his hand falling to his side. His voice was gritty and oddly vulnerable when he gestured toward the dressing room door. "Go home, Penn."

She remained where she was. Her fingers tightened around mine.

My heart kicked with worry when I realized Penn's stand-off had caught the attention of the elder Crowther. Valarie twisted away from Lila and strode across the room toward us, stabbing a hand toward the door. "Leave. Now!"

Penn flinched at the ruthless, cutting tone.

Anger slashed through my veins, setting my heart to pound faster. I was about to bellow at the vicious woman when Kenton's brawny figure spun toward her, nostrils flaring, mouth pinching into a hard line of fury. "Aunt Valarie!"

His aunt arched an eyebrow and met his thunderous glare with one formed from ice as if saying—She shouldn't be here. There was a beat of silence, a battle of wills before she turned back to Penn. Her tone was considerably softer and polite when she said, "Your duties here are over. A car is waiting for you outside to take you home."

Penn hesitated for a long moment before acquiescing with a deferential nod. Squeezing my fingers, she let go and marched past Kenton. He watched her cross the room and, at the threshold, her fingers curling around the edge of the door, she delivered him one last look. This one brimmed with disappointment. She shut the door, and with her absence, Kenton loosened a weary sigh, his body sagging slightly. Inwardly I chuckled at him locking his hands at the back of his neck, his gaze lost in the loops of wool beneath his shoes as he paced back and forth. Penn was doing exactly as I'd hoped. Sabotaging his resolve.

"Kenton?" Valarie urged gently. His gaze snapped up. He unlinked his fingers and dropped his hands to his hips as he stopped pacing. The hem of the black lamé dress flicked about her knees as she stepped closer to brush a hand over one of his shoulders, smoothing the shirt and his emotions. "We need to do this."

"I don't like it. Not this way—we're better than this."

"It needs to be done."

Kenton tipped his head up to the ceiling and expelled a heavy breath. He gave a sharp nod. When his gaze lowered and met mine that impenetrable wall came up.

Unease struck my skin like a rainfall of icy snowflakes.

What was about to happen here?

I fidgeted anxiously with the translucent panels of lace in my skirt as I glanced at the door, shifting nervously in my high heels. The moment I stepped outside, whatever machinations the Crowthers had set into motion would be underway.

Yet there was no other option but to face it head-on, even if at first I had to be dragged out of this room kicking and screaming. And my pride would never allow me to do that. Rancor inflamed my blood. Tulle grazed my fingertips when I picked up my skirt and stalked around both Crowthers, snarling, "Let's get this fucking charade over with."

Lila was our guide once more. She escorted us from the dressing room back into the grand avenue with the ribbed vault towering overhead like the throat of some enormous otherworldly beast. We made our way deeper into the Emporium to a staircase that took us up to the third floor and into the hive of industry. This was the beating heart of the brothel where the servants ran the business so efficiently that it maintained the illusion of smooth waters.

We proceeded down a cavernous passageway with pointed arches and clustered columns. A fake golden light spilled across the stone floor from high up, seeping from behind stained windows, the masonry decorated with elaborate tracery of stone dahlias.

A convoluted noise of chittering conversation, footfall, a metallic whir of wheels, and the distant sound of bellowing voices resounded against the walls as servants flowed down the avenue, bustling about their duties. Crates of wine coated with spiderwebs were being transported on trolleys, pushed by servants moving in the same direction we were heading. A few were dressed like Lila in elegantly layered dresses that brought an image of ancient Rome, as they swept down the passageway escorting those that were other. The kind who were here to service those attending the Emporium. Barely dressed courtesans with more glistening skin showing than not.

And a different kind of other was being herded toward the foyer and elevators at the other end of the passageway. Mood-enhancers. Peacefulness radiated off them, and I found my own body and mind responding, relaxing, my limbs softening. I fisted my hands, rebelling against their aura, embracing the sting of nails digging into my flesh, the sharpness cutting through my mind.

Ahead of me, Lila's blue tresses swayed with her elegant gait. I followed behind and when the delicious smell of roasting meat and pungent herbs rolled out from one side of the passageway, my stomach grumbled in yearning.

My pace slowed with my inquisitiveness. I peered through the archway where the kitchen was positioned in an open room. My gaze landed right on an enormous spit carved into the stone wall. It was from a bygone era and oversized to accommodate the gigantic roasting carcass, bigger than a cow. My stomach pitched. It wasn't an animal, but a lesser creature with big pointed ears, tusks, and spikes running down its spine. Its cooking flesh sizzled and fat spat as it was turned slowly on a spit, low flames burning beneath it on a bed of charcoal. The chef cringed, shying away at the banks of blazing heat. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with a cloth he fished out of the pocket of his short-sleeved uniform, before leaning in to baste the beast's charred flesh with buttery herbs.

My gaze skipped ahead. The rest of the kitchen was in full swing. Members of the brigade worked quickly and efficiently tossing sizzling vegetables, coating the meat with frothing butter, and stirring bubbling pots on the commercial stoves. The air was noisy with frying and spitting, a flurry of knives chopping vegetables, and orders being shouted from the head chef. A silver bell rang, ding, ding, ding. An order for a waiter to take the food away from the service area.

Then cool air washed out to soothe my hot skin from the other side of the avenue. I turned my head to glance at two wide doors that were propped open so a line of servants carrying silver cloches and another pushing a service cart made their way out of the room.

When the doorway had cleared I realized I was looking inside a cool room. I practically slowed down to a crawl curious to see what was going on inside of it. Shock punched my gut, twisting it mercilessly. There were several bodies, human, with hooks embedded into their ankles, and they dangled upside down like a carcass of beef or pork. The corpses were hairless and their bodies, in various shades, from cream to a light tawny color to deep copper and rich black, held a sickly gray-blue note from the cooler. The body hanging closest to me was missing half his buttock.

The pantry chef finished slicing a sliver of human flesh from the loin of a corpse and slid it onto a metal plate, the slices arranged like sashimi. The waiter swept away and another took his place. "What's the order?" the pantry chef asked.

"Three slices of Papua New Guinea shoulder blade. And one pound of Aotearoa, Morocco, and Italian thigh."

My stomach roiled and I kneaded my middle as I gagged, swallowing back the bitterness surging up my throat and scorching it with acid. I knew that those Horned Gods attending the Emporium ate mortals like snacks but it was another thing seeing it. I flinched to hear a rapid heavy thwacking sound from somewhere out of sight as if someone was butchering a corpse with a cleaver.

My glimpse into the inner workings of the Emporium vanished when the cooler was left behind as Lila led us to a series of elevators—a strange modern touch to the ancient building. There were several service elevators that the servants entered, pushing their serving carts, no doubt filled with body parts, and trolleys loaded with wine. Instead, Lila took us in another direction to twin elevators in an area more refined. One elevator was huge, industrial, and with excessive height. It wasn't built for us, it was built for the Horned Gods. The other was human-sized. The metal doors slid open and we entered its depth of rosewood and polished mirrors. I affected boredom as if this was just another dull day in the company of the Crowthers, pointedly ignoring their reflection in the walls. However, my nerves were starting to fray with worry. We glided up, up, up right to the very top of the building. I steeled myself for what was to come. I had no idea what awaited me on the other side of the mirrored doors. We came to a gentle stop and the doors parted with a soft whoosh.

It was the wall of warmth that hit me first. It was hotter than inside; the baking heat of the afternoon in Ascendria trapped inside a bubble. We stepped into a half-open foyer. The awning overhead stretched long into the swirling shadows beyond and was braced by slender pillars. The only lighting was cast from tall candelabras and fat candles dripping wax in splatters on the ground. Stone pedestals supported ancient statues carved of naked lovers entwined together, eyes closed, mouths gaping open in ecstasy. Leafy climbing flowers twined up the walls, around stone and pillars, lending the open foyer an air of softness. But it was the man standing there awaiting our arrival who arrested my attention. Commanding in his presence. Heightening the threat of the Emporium. His gaze lingered on Lila before sliding to me.

Zielenski.

There was a casual sophistication about Zielenski's attire of an emerald green so dark it was almost black. He didn't stride up to us to greet us either, he remained where he stood between twin pillars and waited for us to reach him.

He had a first name, but no one had used it in a very long time. He was simply known by his family name. He'd lived here from the age of 16 and taken over ruling the Emporium several years later after the death of his great uncle. There was no leaving the position unless you were in a casket. And if Zielenski didn't marry and have children himself, one of his brothers would select one of their own offspring to take Zielenski's place, just as their father had done with them. Ruling the Emporium wasn't a position any parent would want for their child. I couldn't imagine the anguish his father would have felt having to choose which of his children would be the heir to this place.

As I approached I noted the relaxed line to his tall frame. The eyes staring back at me were a smoky green and fringed with golden lashes. Though he seemed rather suave there was a ruggedness to him too. Brown locks of hair were swept artfully across his forehead and scruff lined the strong jawline. He was a merciless businessman mixed with the looks of a charming scoundrel blending with the air of an assassin.