Fear pressed a chilled hand above my heart. My breath thinned and quickened. All the fine hair on my body rose. How long I stood there gaping at Jett, I had no idea. All my thoughts were caught in a terrifying undercurrent from which I couldn't escape

The Emporium.

A courtesan.

Sweat beaded on the top of Jett's lip and gleamed in the dim light as he curved his mouth into a condescending smile. He was enjoying this. Dislike was too weak a word for how he felt for me. He loathed me. Utterly. Intensely. He had to have to subject me to something so abhorrent. Tulle grazed my trembling hands. The dress fluttered around my figure as I jittered on the spot, my gaze darting toward the shadowed foyer. An escape.

What was I going to do?

I needed Graysen to put a stop to this.

But he wasn't here.

Hells, hells, hells.

It slowly filtered through my mind. An answer. Graysen, I realized, wasn't here.

I became as still as the stone block I stood upon. My gaze sliced back to Jett who stood before me, staring coldly back with narrowed eyes and distaste carved deeply into his features.

As of yet, I wasn't 20, and according to the amendments made to the Alverac, Graysen was the only one with authority over me when I was in his company. I didn't have to yield to the rest of his family. I didn't need to put up with this vileness.

Boldness flowed through me as hot and fierce as steel armor forged by flame and hammer and anvil. It warmed my flesh, burned away my distress, and strengthened my resolve. I pinched the skirt between my fingers and raised it haughtily. My toes met the edge of the pedestal as I shifted forward, intending to step down.

Jett tut-tutted me. "Don't even think about it, Wychthorn. You stay right there."

My nostrils flared as I glared down the length of my nose at him. "You can't make me. Under the terms of the Alverac, I'm under Graysen's authority when he's present." I lifted the skirt higher. "Clearly, he's not here." I went to lower myself from the pedestal when Jett moved fast.

All of a sudden he was right beside me reaching for the rope. In a deft twist of his hand, the cord wound around his wrist like a python. The noose tightened around my throat and my head was yanked back. A flash of raw pain stung my flesh, and a claustrophobic sensation pressed against my windpipe with the threat of denied oxygen. Jett stood so close his breath washed against my cheek. His voice was whisper-soft. "You dare take another step and I'll keep hold of this noose like a leash, Wychthorn, as if you were my little pet rat I wanted to take on a walk." He leaned back so I could see him clearly, and arched an eyebrow. "Is that what you'd like?"

Fucking asshole!

When I didn't reply he gave a tug on the rope, sharp enough to get his point through. He wanted an answer. I refused, clenching my jaw shut, but I knew the prick would do it. He'd enjoy leading me around and humiliating me further. I dropped my skirt and straightened my posture, stepping back into the center of the pedestal.

Of course not, dick-face.

The tension eased off my throat and Jett released the noose. The length of rope slapped my spine with a thump. He prowled around me and dark eyes glittered like a beast stalking through a humid jungle. His heavy combat boots were surprisingly silent on the stone floor. "My brother doesn't need to be here, Wychthorn. He gave us permission to bring you to the Emporium." His shoulders rounded forward when he slipped his hands into the pockets of his pants. He glanced nonchalantly at the patrons behind him before bringing his smug gaze back to mine and wagged his eyebrows. "He'll be pissed to miss out on this. I'm sure he'd enjoy what's to come."

The words, what's to come, shivered down my spine.

Even though my heart told me what he said was a lie, my head whispered that it could very well be true. What if Graysen had permitted to whore me out? And him leaving for the catacombs was a ruse. Maybe he'd gone there or even someplace else because he was too much of a coward to see this through himself.

Jett swiveled around to stand flush beside me and stare in the direction I was, right into the crowd of those attending the Emporium. The only illumination in the gloom was the glow of candlelight and the enchanting pops of pink and indigo clouding the misty sky above us.

The tables and clusters of private seating were arranged to face the dais with an informal runway of sorts down the center of the outside space. The men and women from the upper ranks had angled themselves my way. Slinking shadows and rich amber light exaggerated their features and turned their faces into macabre masks. I could feel their interest crawling all over my body. They ogled the skirt's sheer tulle and panels of delicate lace woven into a scattering of stars that barely concealed my figure beneath it. Their leering continued, drifting over my limbs shimmering with the dusting of luminescent glitter. Everything on my body sparkled—my dress, the high puff of my upswept hair, my pale face with the bright red lips. I was moonlight personified. And yet with all this beauty and exposed flesh on display, their attention inevitably became fixated on the horrible rope knotted around my throat.

Sick, sick, sick.

Jett cocked his head and a curtain of black hair grazed down his shoulder. We glanced sidelong at one another. White teeth flashed in a gleeful smile. "There are those here willing to pay quite a hefty fee for a single night with you." Untucking a hand from his pocket, Jett pointed a finger at a burly man who towered above most. He had a headful of bouncy, silver-blond curls, currently ducked to be able to converse with Caidan. "He's offered quite the sum," Jett mused, shifting his weight to one leg and dropping his hand to his hip. "And outbidding anyone daring to counter him."

My gaze skimmed broad shoulders filling a dashing black suit. As if he felt my attention, this man glanced upward, meeting my gaze beneath heavy eyebrows thick with silver. I swallowed down the distaste. An icky shudder worked its way along my bones. He looked close in age to my father.

Movement dragged my gaze from the older man back to Graysen's youngest brother. Jett drifted in front of the dais. "Stay here," he ordered, a sly smile playing on his lips, almost as if he wished I wouldn't. "You do anything stupid like step off the pedestal or try to make a run for it and I'll come after you. I'll enjoy dragging you back like a wayward dog."

My fingers bunched into the tulle skirt.

I bet you fucking would.

Twisting around, Jett strode forward and entered the gathered crowd.

And I was left alone.

I refused to look at those men and women who served my father. Instead, I chose to watch Zielenski sauntering around the edge of his arena. He appeared deceptively at ease with the casual perusal of the world around him, but there was an underlying sharpness to his senses. His gaze seemingly struck out at patrons before their actions followed through—a glass of cognac accidentally tipped over; a drunken stumble; a brawl about to surface.

Zielenski had an assistant constantly drawing back to whisper in his ear, or he'd call over a servant to deliver a set of orders, brusquely given judging by the firmness of his lips. Yet even when his attention was diverted by his role as ruler, he was conscious of where Lila was at all times. He watched her every move. But he watched those around her even more closely.

Layers of ivory silks swirled about the room as servants offered the patrons drinks, something to eat, or simply leaned in to better hear a request put to them. A few others, mood-adjusters and enhancers, clothed in bland colors, hovered in the background, while a few more disappeared into the swirling darkness beyond the row of Corinthian columns stretching high into the false sky above. I wondered if, like Lila had said earlier about the heat, using the others' abilities to heighten or tone down emotion was another way to help control the behavior of the Horned Gods who visited the Emporium.

Lila assisted with serving drinks. Except the drinks she served were from the black flowers twining around the crumbling columns. She held a small nip glass beneath a bloom to collect the fat droplets of blood dripping from the obsidian petals, filling the crystal glass partway before delivering it to a guest. And while her colleagues flitted like butterflies she reminded me of a dragonfly. She was a whirl of wild blue tresses, streamlined and graceful as she cut through the crowd. There was a strange ethereal glow about her too, something that was almost tangible. She seemed to light up the darkness with her presence, leaving an impression of a swathe of iridescent light trailing behind her like a firefly.

A noise tickled my senses, enticing me to cock my head and listen carefully. Billie Eilish had faded away and turned into Ohota's, heavy and brooding beats. Something else began to make its presence known beneath the darkwave music flowing through the rooftop.

A drone of wings beating fast, furious.

The buzzing vibrated through the air, skittering against my skin, growing increasingly louder and louder as whomever made it flew nearer to the Emporium. I craned my neck back to stare wide-eyed up into the colorful mist roiling above. Smoky shadows whorled outward as something flew downward, slicing right through their insubstantial midst.

A Horned God.

I caught only a fleeting glimpse of gossamer wings, spindly black arms reaching upward, and a flash of ebony tusks as it dropped swiftly from a great height to land with a thunderous crack as if a boulder struck rock, on the other side of the pillars. The impact rattled through the old building, jarring my feet and traveling up my legs.

Soft sounds of awe came from the Houses. This was the reason why the Houses gathered here nightly. They wished to be in the presence of power, to watch the Horned Gods enter the Emporium.

My gaze lowered.

And shock slammed into me, weakening my knees.

The area right in front of me was empty of anyone's presence as if there was a ruling that no one, besides the Emporium's servants, approached the dais on which the courtesans lounged. Zielenski was striding through that space right for me with his features hardened into a stony expression.

I took an involuntary step back.

Oh gods, surely it isn't happening right now?

But he strode right past.

My heart hammered against my palm as I pressed it to my chest and eased out a breath of relief

Holy hellsgate.

My ears pricked at the various sounds emanating behind me. The rustle of fabric and groan of leather, the wisp of bare skin gliding against bare skin, pleasurable sighs, and silken moans. A moment later I heard the padding of feet, and in my periphery I watched a male packed with hard muscle and a great swathe of folded silk draped about his powerful physique follow Zielenski toward a great pillar twined thickly with thorny vines and night-black flowers.

Other.

A Terota.

A type of other who lusted after monsters.

Zielenski placed a hand on the courtesan's shoulder and leaned closer to speak into the other man's ear. My brows nudged together and I strained to listen in, but I couldn't make out the words, nor could I discover what Zielensk murmured by lip-reading either. When the man who ruled the Emporium pulled back, for a brief moment I wondered if I'd seen the briefest flash of torment darken his smokey-green eyes or not.

And then, they were gone, striding between the pillars and disappearing into the Horned Gods' Emporium. Wintry fear washed my skin in goosebumps at the distant sound of a scream.

And then loathing twisted my gut as my gaze floated over those gathered on the rooftop. A few watched the swirling darkness with unblinking gazes, hopeful to spot one of our masters or mistresses peeking out from the shadows, but most had their heads turned my way, their gazes fixated on me.

Revulsion for them all soured my mouth. They were ravenous for my humiliation. Their craving for it was palpable and it polluted the air with foul energy. An awful, sickening sensation ate through my veins at the thought that one of them, that older man most likely, was going to touch me, force himself upon me.

In some way, it didn't make sense that the Crowthers would allow this to happen. Danne had assaulted Ferne and I'd witnessed their reaction to his very name when I'd arrived at the Keep. Their hatred for Danne and his vile actions ran deep and spilled into sympathy for me. Yet here they were, intending to sell me into sexual slavery.

Though now it made sense why Kenton had voiced his reluctance earlier with his Aunt.

Still, he and his youngest brother were discreetly calling in bids from men and women, while Caidan kept the man with broad shoulders and bouncy curls company, and Valarie spoke to a tall, willowy woman I recognized from Upper House Förstner.

I kneaded my fingers anxiously at my sides as my breathing became shallow, my heartbeat chaotic. What was I going to do?

I ignored the debauchery occurring behind silk curtains, and the men and women clustered around the area leaning forward and gawking at me. I stared above their heads and shunned their presence.

As time marched on and my thoughts did too, my terror intensified.

The trembling in my hands worked its way through my frame. I slid my thumb across my shaking fingers, gone cold and clammy, as if I were running adamere beads through their tips. I almost imagined I'd heard the gentle chink, chink, chink of the beads striking against one another, as the imaginary necklace swayed while I worked it like a rosary.

My roots are deep. My strength is stone. My breath the wind. I bow to none.

In my mind I saw my father's sharp blue eyes boring into mine, installing courage.

Calm. Calm. Calm.

I briefly squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to take slow, deep breaths.

When my gaze came into focus I realized I was staring directly at the man who was outbidding everyone. His throat bobbed and he looked a little pale. His gaze awkwardly flitted away from mine, only to stare down at his hands wrapped tightly around a glass of whiskey. Frowning, I scanned his face, trying to work out which House he was from.

It was a tap—a tiny, tiny tap on my senses.

I had the strangest sensation I'd met him before.

And then my puzzlement was obliterated.

My threads of thought forcefully wrenched away.

My heartbeat stumbled. Not because of this man, but because of something else that overshadowed my fear and quaked the air with oncoming might.

Candlelight guttered before burning brighter.

Dark energy surrounded me. The weight of power was suffocating, yet covetous. The ancient building wasn't-alive and was very curious about me. Its intrigue was a featherlight caress down my neck. A whispering breath along my spine. But someone else beckoned it. Beckoned me.

The Emporium's mind eye slid away toward the foyer's entranceway, which lay in the darkness beyond. Its attention shifted like the slant of a cat's head, its ears pricking the very moment the stone gently vibrated beneath my feet. It was the slightest tremble reverberating in time with my heartbeat, in time with the march of footfall.

The moment he appeared, I felt the Emporium's smile, like warmth blooming against my skin, as if it were pleased to greet an old friend.

Master Sirro.

***

A/N I had to switch out CH 98. If it doesn't appear (in order) you may need to navigate the glitch by deleting the book from your library and then re-saving it to force a reload.