After that, Goddess only knew what he would end up doing if she remained here.
She faced Stolas to find him quietly watching her, waiting with a rare patience. “Ready?”
A bemused smile brightened his face. “I would ask for a clean pair of clothes and perhaps a nice cloak first, but . . .” He shrugged, his smile growing devilish. “If you prefer me this way, well, you wouldn’t be the first.”
Surai muffled her snort behind her hand. Before anyone could notice how inflamed Haven’s cheeks were, she quickly conjured dark leather pants and a storm gray tunic she remembered liking on him. She went to conjure her usual outfit—loose shirt and worn pants—when he shook his head.
“Wear that.” He indicated her gown with his chin, his lingering gaze burning through the thin fabric straight to her belly. “It will go with the false story we’ll use for anyone overly curious about who we are.”
“And that is?”
The teasing glint in his eyes didn’t bode well. “I’ll explain after we cross. You’ll need a fur-lined cloak. The evenings get rather cool there.”
Rather cool for Stolas meant freezing so she conjured the plushest, heaviest cloak she could recall, a gorgeous emerald-green cashmere piece gifted to her from Bell years ago and probably still in her tiny closet in Penryth.
That left only one detail to finalize.
“Shall I use my powers to get down?” She glanced at the smoldering gallery a floor below. The drop was too high to jump safely and Stolas was in no condition to fly them.
An annoyed growl rumbled his chest. “My wings have suffered much worse, I promise you.”
He held out a hand. Was he trying to save face? It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t force the issue, and she trusted him not to jeopardize their safety for his ego.
She meant to walk the few feet to him, but she nearly staggered into his arms, her tired, achy body longing to relax into his strength. Warmth filled her belly as his arms slid around her waist, steadying her.
She felt him jerk behind her as her head brushed the wound at his chest.
“Stolas—”
“I’m fine.” He tensed as his wings slowly spread to their full length, pain radiating from his body. “You forget, I’ve had thousands of years to learn to embrace agony. To thrive off it. This pain is nothing compared to what I’ve suffered before.”
A deep sadness swept through her at that statement.
Right before Stolas dove into the shadows of the burned out vault, the queen held up a hand.
Her amber eyes met Haven’s. “You asked if I would form an alliance with you. Become an immortal and this horn I wear around my neck is yours—along with my entire army. Or what’s left of it, anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because one of my daughters gave her life for yours, and the other, who won’t even take an order from me, her mother and queen, just obeyed you without hesitation. Only Freya’s daughter could command such loyalty.”
Haven watched, speechless as the queen padded over to Ember and slipped the blood-splattered silver horn over her daughter’s neck. The queen looked over her shoulder at Haven. “For when you become immortal. I know that, in the meantime, my daughter will keep this hallowed horn, bestowed upon the Morgani from Freya herself, safe.”
Ember’s eyes glinted with pride as she nodded. “With my life.”
“And,” the queen added. “My daughter knows if she ever wants to come home, she is welcome.”
Haven sank against Stolas. Their wolves howled, leaping after Haven and Stolas as they plunged into the smoky darkness below. Knowing what was at stake now, she was all the more determined to become immortal.
Whatever it took.
43
The queen was wrong. The portal leading to the Demon Realm didn’t take them straight into the city of Cimmeria. Instead, they slipped from that murky darkness into a cool stretch of empty desert at least an hour’s walk from the city. Perhaps the portal’s magick was failing, or the queen had been confused.
Either way, Haven wasn’t prepared to slog across a desert in little more than a strip of iridescent too-thin fabric, a heavy cloak that dragged the sand, and sandals.
After a few quiet minutes of panting and trudging over the endless dunes, it became apparent the sandals were more hindrance than help so she trashed them. The cloak was a nuisance, but the temperature was dropping fast, which meant it would soon be a necessity.
Normally they would have flown the rest of the way, skimming through the