Page 42 of Fallen Nocturne

“Then she will die with them.” He meets my eyes. “The next time I see you across a battlefield, Landon, I won’t look the other way. I will kill you. Get out of Hellsmouth now, before I change my mind about those ten minutes.”

I nod. “I will.”

Relief loosens his shoulders.

“After I meet an informer.”

His head snaps back toward me. “You are doing what?”

I glance toward the city walls. “Someone inside Hellsmouth has information about Finnbheara and the palace.”

“Have you lost what little sense you once possessed?” Thanatos steps closer. “The Wild Hunt is searching for you. Morgaine has spies in every tavern and barracks. You cannot walk into the city.”

“I am not leaving without answers.” I meet his glare without flinching.

Thanatos shakes his head.

“I need to know what is happening to Eirik. I need to know whether Finnbheara was part of the attack,” I say.

“And if he was?” Thanatos asks, watching me carefully.

I have no answer.

“Go back to your queen.” Thanatos stares at my hair, which the wind has pulled loose around my face. “You do look better with your natural red hair, but it is a fucking beacon. Every soldier in Hellsmouth knows the devil-mark.”

“High praise from someone who just threatened to kill me,” I mutter.

He almost smiles. Almost. Then it is gone, and he steps back. “I will let you go this once because we were friends before either of us carried banners. There will not be a second mercy.”

I leave before he can say anything more.

At the tree line, I stop. I don’t know why.

I glance back at the mammoth army. From here, the beasts seem to fill the valley, iron armor gleaming through the smoke. Handlers and soldiers move between their enormous legs.

War engines with heartbeats.

I think about Aelfheim, about its white towers, its market roads and Rhianelle somewhere inside it. I genuinely cannot see how it survives what is coming for it.

I turn away from the valley, pull my hood lower, and head toward the city.

Buildings crowd closer around me as the streets narrow, packed with soldiers, traders and travelers. I follow the directions I was given until I find the tavern wedged between a smithy and a shuttered apothecary.

I enter, cross the room and take an empty table against the wall where I can watch everyone. The bartender appears at my table without warning. I didn’t hear her approach.

“Drink?” Her voice is rough, like gravel in a bucket.

“Whatever won’t kill me.” I keep my eyes on the room as I say it.

The Orkan almost smiles. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She returns with something amber in a chipped mug. I don’t drink it yet. I wrap both hands around the mug and let its warmth seep into my palms while I wait.

I have a dozen questions for the informer, but one matters more than all the others.

Did Finn know?

Finnbheara has saved my life more times than I can count. We grew up together in the Northern Reaches, two boys raised beneath Eirik’s roof. Red hair marks a child as devil-touched among the northern fae. Everyone knows it. My own mother was the first to carry a torch to the pyre they built for me.