Page 11 of Consort of the Crime Queen

So if not Nero…

The door opening interrupts my thoughts. Lyssa steps inside, looking tired. She never looks tired. She's like me: fucking indestructible. I wish it was more than a small comfort to know I'm not the only one worrying about Aurora.

"Any news?" we say simultaneously.

I give a wry smile. "Word came through about an anonymous wedding at St. Stephen's," I tell her, and add, as her eyes widen, "But I don't think it's anything. If Nero had her, we'd know."

She processes this information. "You really don't think it's Nero?" she asks slowly. Doubtfully.

I shake my head. "Come on. What would Nero do if he had her? On the restrained end, he'd have sent me a finger as proof."

And on the non-restrained end, where Nero usually lives, he'd do much, much worse.

Lyssa nods slowly and then sighs. "I agree. It's the only good news about this whole thing, that Nero's not involved. We'll find her."

The confidence in her voice should bolster me. It doesn't. I start pacing again, unable to remain still under the weight of my own thoughts.

"Lyssa," I say after a long silence, during which I've wandered the entire length of the room.

"Yes?"

"I want you to go to St. Stephen's. Find out everything you can about this anonymous wedding."

She gives me a long look, but in the end, she just nods. "Consider it done. I'll go get the priest out of his bed right now—or pull him from his prayers, whatever he's doing." She leaves without another word.

Alone again, I pour myself a drink from a decanter—I need strength from somewhere, anywhere—but I pause before drinking it.

My thoughts circle back to Aurora. Her resilience masked by softness; her tenacity cloaked in kindness; her innocence paired with an underlying steel that she doesn't realize she possesses.

My little sunbeam isn't as delicate as she appears. I hope whoever took her won't punish her for that.

My phone buzzes again, jolting me out of my reverie. The caller ID flashes Gatehouse. This is something that someone else should be dealing with—I instructed the guards that I was not to be disturbed, and to put all job requests through to whichever lieutenant was available. So it's with irritation that I answer.

"There's a woman here, Boss," the guard on the line says, his voice tense. "She's asking for Hades, won't take no for an answer. But she…well, she won't show her face."

That's not exactly unusual. So why does the guard sound so…

Wait—surely it couldn't be—no, it's not possible—but—"Did she give a name?" I ask, keeping my voice steady.

"She gave a code name. Demeter."

Demeter? I'm taken aback for a moment, though I use a name from Greek mythology myself. Demeter. Goddess of harvest and…

And motherhood.

"Send her up."

I jog down to the foyer and wait for the car to appear, waving away the house guards and bodyguards who try to attend as well. Moments later, a car slowly approaches, winding its way up the drive. The anticipation knots in my stomach as I watch it draw closer, pull up at the door.

A hooded figure steps out of the driver's side, scarf pulled over her head so that her face is in shadows. But she has the same bright and lovely eyes as her daughter, and they are not so easily hidden.

Sylvia Verderosa pushes the scarf back from her hair and looks up at me where I stand on the steps of Elysium. She is pale and strained, as if she's carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"In here," I say, without preliminaries, and lead her through to the sitting room where I usually receive supplicants.

As soon as the door closes behind her, I seize her arm. "What are you doing here?"

Her face is cold as she pulls free. "You promised me she would be safe with you. So tell me, Hades. What is my daughter doing back in the lion's den?"

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