“So am I,” he says.
The last thing I see is Anubis stepping into the vine-wall, his shoulders slumped with hurt. A knot of sadness tightens my throat.
Talk about an unhappy ending, for all of us.
Nefer and Anubis clearly aren’t riding off into the sunset any time soon. As for me, I’ve got the King of Hell targeting my family and no idea what he’s up to.
With a reluctant sigh, I close my eyes and end the dreamscape.
Chapter Three
I fidget on the plush leather couch of my private audience chamber, my tail tapping a nervous rhythm on my kneecap. Beside me, Lincoln sifts through a pile of parchments. I’ve my own print-outs from Purgatory that I could read, as well—Ghost Tower statistics, that kind of thing—but I can’t get my head into it. The cries of my igni keep echoing through my brain, louder and louder with each passing minute. Nefer’s warning mixes in with their screams.
Armageddon. Aldred. Royal abduction. Maxon.
I hop to my feet and start walking the stretch of carpet in front of the couch. Movement always helps me relax.
Lincoln looks up from his latest scroll. “You’re pacing again.”
“Well, I’m worried again.”
“I get that, but we’ve all been threatened many times. Maxon included.”
“But my igni have never been so upset that they could only scream to me in my sleep.” I press my palms onto my ears, like I can block the memory of their cries. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
A knock sounds.
“That should be the new night nanny,” says Lincoln.
“I’ll go get it.”
A few seconds later, I whip the door open, expecting to see another plump grandmotherly type standing in the outer hall. Instead, I find a royal messenger in Rixa garb. She’s a spritely girl, all wiry body and big, mismatched eyes. She offers me a small notecard. “Message from Purgatory, Your Highness. Senator Frederickson.”
I take the envelope from her hand. “Thank you.” The messenger bows low and walks away.
“Something from Cissy?” asks Lincoln.
“Yeah.” I cross the room and retake my seat beside him. “I sent her a note first thing this morning, asking about my conversation with Nefer. Didn’t take her long to respond.”
Lincoln stretches his muscled arm over the back of the couch. “I’m not surprised. She’s more spymaster than Senator, these days.”
I tap the letter against my palm. “It’s her envy power. She doesn’t want anyone to know more about what’s going on in the after-realms than she does.”
“So…” Lincoln arches his right brow. “Aren’t you going to open that?”
I stare at the envelope in my hands, anxiety twisting its way across my shoulders. “I haven’t felt this kind of bad mojo over a piece of paper since I got that party invitation from Zeke back in Purgatory High.”
“As in, the party where you and I first met?”
“Yeah, and where we spent the whole night hating each other.”
“Ultimately, it all turned out pretty well, don’t you think? You may need to reclassify that particular brand of mojo.”
“True.” Forcing a smile, I rip the envelope open, revealing a small white notecard with Cissy’s Senatorial seal on the top. “She didn’t write much.” I read aloud. “Bad news. Armageddon plot confirmed. Definite royal abduction. Connor involved. Cissy.”
All the oxygen seems to get sucked out of the room. Connor is somehow involved with Armageddon’s abduction plot? That can’t be right.
“May I see that letter?” Lincoln asks slowly.
“Sure.”
Lincoln grips the notecard in his hand, his face radiating quiet rage. He’s never forgiven Connor for trying to push him into marrying Aldred’s daughter, Lady Adair. And then, when Adair’s plot to steal my powers became clear, Connor refused to investigate, even through half of Antrum and all of Purgatory were rioting over it. Eventually, Lincoln and I had to take the throne or who-knows-what would have happened.
“Look, I’m sure Cissy’s wrong this time. Helping Armageddon? That’s too terrible, even for Connor.”
Lincoln stares at the note. “Has Cissy’s spy network ever been inaccurate in the past?”
How I hate to say this. “No.”
“He’s involved, Myla.”
The clock strikes eleven just as another knock sounds at our door. Lincoln hands me Cissy’s card. “My turn.”
Lincoln crosses the room and pulls on the door handle, revealing a tall thrax girl in hallway beyond. She’s in her early twenties with chin-length black-dyed hair. She wears a long white leather over-gown—more of a coat than a dress, really—and, beneath it, she’s in dark striped pants and combat boots. Most thrax girls look like they fell out of the Middle Ages, especially when they meet royalty. This one? Not so much.
I like her already.
“I’m Hildegard, but everyone calls me Hildy. I’m the new night nanny.”
Lincoln steps aside. “Come on in.”
I gesture to the club chair across from our couch. “Won’t you have a seat?”