Page 124 of Cathmoir's Sons

The Graeae to Deino’s left hoots wordlessly. She takes a clay pipe out of her furs, lights it with a snap of her fingers, and puffs on it, filling the cave with the scents of tar and seaweed.

“My first born?” I ask.

“It is traditional,” Deino says, flashing those fangs.

“Classic for a reason,” says the Graeae in the business suit, who is probably Pemphredo since her voice only dumps adrenaline into my blood but doesn’t make me want to high-tail it back to the portal.

“And if my first born is already spoken for?” I ask, not risking a direct refusal. Arguably, given Jou’s desire that his mortal friends’ children be fostered at Ash Hill, and the fae tradition of fostering children between courts even if I turn down the demon, it’s true that my offspring are spoken for.

Enyo takes the pipe out of her mouth and taps the stem on her teeth. “How many consorts does the Crow Queen have?”

She seems to be directing the question at her sisters rather than me.

Deino’s eye flicks to Rhodes. “One at her side.” She tips her head back and sniffs like a mastiff. “Two others in her blood.”

I control a flinch. I’d prefer the Graeae not think about my blood, or that of my consorts.

“A surplus,” Enyo chortles. “Give us one of your consorts for our collection and we’ll call it even.”

So those statues definitely did not start as stone.

“And if I’m loathe to part with one of my consorts?” I ask.

“Oh, dear, dear, dear,” says Pemphredo. “Do you think refusing us a third time is wise?”

No, I really don’t. “I wouldn’t refuse the Graeae,” I say, placatingly. “Merely trying to understand my options before presenting my offer.”

Pemphredo leans forward, crossing her long legs, bringing her hands together and tapping her five-inch-long stiletto nails, as red as the bottoms of her shoes, against one another with sharp clicks. “What do you offer the Graeae, Crow Queen? Your own flesh and blood? Your power? Twenty years of your long life? How much does the quest for Charybdis mean to you?”

I take the golden athame out of its sheath and lay it on the mosaic with the tip pointing toward them. “I offer you freedom.”

All three sisters hiss through their fangs.

“Let me see,” Pemphredo demands. “What is it she’s brought?”

“A witch’s knife,” Deino says, without relinquishing the eye.

“An athame?” Pemphredo asks.

“Is it gold?” Enyo demands at the same time.

Damn, Luca’s good.

Deino hushes her sisters. “What makes you think we desire freedom, dark sister?”

“You’re bound to this world, aren’t you?” I put together what I’ve observed of them. “Spending your immortality among mortals. Always hiding. Always outliving them. Whether all three of you are out in the world or only Pemphredo is, you’re all bound to this cave, to the guardianship of Charybdis. Aren’t you tired of the parade of wannabe heroes? Haven’t you had enough of this world that’s forgotten you?”

Deino hisses. “They’ve not forgotten us.”

“You are a footnote of history. I’m a professor of magickal archeology and my consort had to research you because your names have been forgotten. You’re reduced to gatekeepers to a monster who hasn’t risen in thousands of years. Is this how you want to spend your immortality?”

“Is it how you want to spend yours?” Enyo snarls. “Teaching those of less talent and less ambition? Is that how you’ll spend your days, Crow Queen?”

I put my arm around Rhodes, who has put his hand over his eyes as extra protection. He immediately shifts to wrap around me, burying his face in my hair, curving his hand around my belly.

“This is how I’ll spend my days,” I respond. “With the three men who support me in whatever I choose. Bearing and raisingour children. Teaching our children and my students. That’s a life well-lived, I think. Do you have families? Do you have children? Or are your bonds to this place so tight that you can only move through the mortal world as shadows?”

Their silence tells me everything I need to know.

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