“The two are one and the same.”

Aisling bit her tongue. They weren’t. Sheknewthey weren’t.Didn’t she?After a moment, she asked, “Why him?”

“Merak may have taken my eyes, but I still possess enough Sight to know which Fae might be powerful enough to wield the magic I give them. Most would be torn apart. Your dear Kael very nearly was.” Yalde ran a hand over the top of Kael’s head, dragging it down heavily over his hair. “He has long been my favorite. So reverent, so pious. Never questioning my word, my will—until he met you.”

Yalde’s third arm emerged from the folds of his cloak to lift a chalice to his mouth. He sipped from it, dark tongue darting out to lick his thin lips to capture the flavor that lingered there. But the vessel had been empty; it still was, when he lowered it back to the table. He noticed her watching.

“Aneiydh. A touch bitter this one, though not unpalatable. I wonder if you’d enjoy the taste.”

Aisling tried to suppress the shiver that followed his casual explanation by clenching her jaw harder. Gripping her thighs tighter. It didn’t work.

“You said we could discuss a price.”

“I said we could discuss it over a meal; you’ve not touched your food. Go on,” Yalde urged teasingly, “try a bite.”

“I’m not hungry,” Aisling hissed.

“Very well. Tell me, then: what makes you, a mortal, believe you are worthy of bargaining with me, a god?” He tapped histalons against the table; the sound echoed sharply around them. The pointed tips left divots where they struck wood.

Her fury faltered once more. For this, Aisling had no answer. She wasn’t worthy, really. Not by her estimation. She’d orchestrated Laure’s death; she’d instigated Kael’s. Maybe if she’d been able to let him go, it would have been his aneiydh in that chalice. Maybe his imprisonment would have come to an end eventually. But she hadn’t—she’d sent his body to collect, and now every part of him was trapped. Now he had value beyond what Yalde would consider parting with.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Yalde crooned as though he’d read her mind. “If I thought you so unworthy, I would not have invited you to dine with me. As it is, I’m rather enjoying our little back-and-forth.”

“There must be something you—” Aisling began, but Yalde cut her off.

“Do you enjoy games, dear?”

“Games?” His interruption was deflating, the stark diversion in focus catching her off guard.

“Riddles,” he clarified. “It has been so very long since I’ve had a willing player. If you solve my riddle, I will entertain this discussion on Kael’s price that you are so keen to have.”

A voice in her head—that rational voice of reason that had been at odds with nearly every choice she’d made since being named the Red Woman—was screaming at her. She tuned it out. “That’s all I have to do? Just solve one riddle?”

“I wouldn’t sayjust, sweetling. That wouldn’t be much of a game, would it? There must be stakes. The answer to my riddle will be your escape—fail to solve it, and you will remain trapped.”

“Trapped where?” She imagined herself perhaps draped in one of those heavy stone shrouds. Unable to shed its weight, rottingaway beneath until it hung suspended where her form had been like all the rest.

Yalde’s cruel smile only grew. “Do you agree to my terms?”

Aisling looked at Kael, at his black eyes and the shadows that danced in them. “Fine.”

“Excellent.” Yalde clapped his hands together, the sound sharp and startling. “My riddle is in two parts. To answer the first, you must obey the second.”

Her eyes were still trained on Kael when she nodded.

“Are you listening, Aisling? I will not repeat myself.”

With some effort, she tore her gaze away and faced Yalde. She wouldn’t cower at his challenge. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and nodded.

Yalde leaned forward, propping his chin on steepled fingers, and said,

“I belong to all things—I am many; I am one.

Discarnate yet corporeal; neither flesh nor phantom.

I may be hidden, but never outrun.”

Before Aisling even had a chance to begin working through the rhyme, Yalde spoke again: