“So,” Guthrie said. “Plans. Do we have any, beyond ‘run and keep running’? Because—not to put too fine a point on it—if that’s the endgame, you can count me out. I’d rather go home and deal with whatever’s coming head-on.”
I wanted to protest... to tell him that he couldn’t, that it wasn’t safe. But Guthrie already knew that as well as I did. Just as he knew that for him, there was no real safety. Depending on how the chips fell, he was either a valuable commodity for demons who needed a steady supply of vampire blood, or an irritating loose end for Myrial.
To the Fae, he was an alarming development—evidence that someone wanted to make more vampires. And to me, he was... my grandfather, damn it. I’d already abandoned my father with people who might or might not be trustworthy when it came to his ongoing safety. I was aware that my festering family issues were now clouding my judgment when it came to Guthrie. But I had no idea how to stop doing it.
Rans toyed with my empty juice glass, his thumb tracing lines through the condensation at the bottom where the ice was melting. “We need an ally—on any front, really. Otherwise, our position simply isn’t tenable in the long run.”
“Albigard,” I said immediately.
Rans’ jaw twitched. “Perhaps. Though in his case, the question becomes whether he has enough clout to be helpful to us, as more than a glorified taxi service from Point A to Point B.”
“He originally agreed to help me because it would increase his standing in Dhuinne,” I said, aware that this particular subject was a bit of a metaphorical minefield as far as Rans was concerned. “And he’s investigating the fact that Caspian and Myrial are secretly working together. That seems like a pretty big deal.”
“What’s the guy’s angle, anyway?” Guthrie asked. “Because from what I saw, the chip on his shoulder was barely big enough to throw shade over his giant ego.”
I slapped a hand over my mouth to choke off an inappropriate bark of laughter at how well the description fit. Once I’d swallowed it back, I added, “Honestly, I’d like to know the answer to that question as well. Nigellus called him a ‘malcontent,’ and it’s obvious that something made him fall out of favor with the rest of the Fae since he needed me to get back in their good graces.”
Rans was silent for a moment. When he answered, the words were quiet and grim. “His brother and sister perished during the height of the war. He blames the Unseelie Court for their deaths. It’s made him something of a gadfly within Fae political circles.”
“Oh,” I said blankly, trying to picture Albigard with a sister or a brother. Trying to picture him... grieving. Had they been younger than him? Older? How had they died?
I could have grilled Rans for more details, assuming he even had them. But there was a tightness to his shoulders that made it obvious this wasn’t a topic he wanted to delve into further, and I wasn’t sure there would be anything to gain from it, regardless.
“I still say he’s our best bet, unless you’re hiding any other powerful friends that we haven’t managed to piss off yet,” I said.
Rans’ mouth twisted with displeasure. “If I can come up with any concrete way that Tinkerbell might be able to help us, I’ll consider it. But right now, the crux of our problem lies with the demons. I’m afraid that’s where any permanent solution must ultimately lie as well.”
“You can’t go crawling back to Nigellus,” I said quickly.
“Of course I could,” he countered. “But again, I’m not at all certain that doing so would solve our problems.”
Guthrie let his hand fall to the table, palm down. “Look. I’m just barely up to speed on all of this shit. But from a strategic standpoint, what I’m seeing here is that you’ve painted yourself into a corner by believing that you’re somehow required to save my black ass as well as yours and Zorah’s.”
Rans’ eyes grew hard. “You think we’re going to throw you under the bus after coming this far?”
“Yeah... that’s not happening,” I added without hesitation.
“Then you’re both a pair of idiots. Which I already knew about Rans, obviously. But I had high hopes for you, Zorah.”
“Still not happening,” I said.
“I’m not interested in your martyr complex, Guthrie,” Rans said, a hint of anger lingering in his tone.
Guthrie snorted derisively. “Clearly not, since you dragged me into this existence despite knowing damned well that I wouldn’t want it. Here’s the thing, though. You can’t fucking save me. I sold my soul to a goddamned demon, Rans. All of this—” He gestured at himself, and then at our surroundings. “—is a band-aid slapped on a spurting artery as though it’s somehow going to stop the bleeding.” A scowl darkened his face. “Which is absolutely the worst metaphor I could have chosen, since now it’s making me think of arteries, damn it.”
“You’re alive,” Rans said flatly. “For a given definition, at least. Forgive me if I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
“Hey.” I covered Guthrie’s hand with mine on the table. He looked at me sharply, surprise coloring his expression. For the dozenth time, I wondered what he thought of me. What he thought of the revelation we’d dumped on him regarding my parentage.
“Zorah...” he said uncertainly.
But I shook my head. “Just listen for a minute, okay? I don’t... really know if what we did to you was right or wrong. But we did it because we couldn’t bear the thought of losing you if there was any way at all to stop it. And now everything is about a hundred times more complicated than it was before. I get that.”
He held my gaze, and I couldn’t read anything from him. Tension stiffened his spine, though he didn’t pull his hand from beneath mine.
“The problem
