In Zephyr, several days’ flight from Cloudreach, Terrance Nightshade had decided that he was one hundred percent sick of being a noble. “Once again, I am not looking to get married, or to have a child ‘just in case something happens to me,’” he declared as calmly as he could. For what had to be the hundredth time.

  He was seated in his father’s old office, in his old family home, reluctantly hosting a meeting that his advisor had deemed unavoidable—a one-on-one discussion with the head of the Morag noble family. And predictably, it was yet another marriage proposal. Ever since the news of his survival had been made public—an inevitable consequence of his efforts with Maeryn to save the world—it felt like every noble family wanted to ingratiate themselves with him or integrate him into their own family.

  It wasn’t unexpected, really. Before their destruction eight years ago, the Nightshades had been retainers to the royal family, though that wasn’t common knowledge. But Terrance Nightshade was a household name now. The King and Queen of Zephyria had publicized the whole sordid story of how Maeryn d’Vert—a Geovan—had come out of nowhere, created a multinational team of Geovans and Zephyrians alike, exposed the corruption of the Zephyrian Research Council, rescued the last scion of a Zephyrian noble bloodline, and effectively saved the world by inventing holy magic.

  Terrance dearly missed his old days of anonymity.

  “But, Lord Nightshade…” Terrance had to work not to shiver in revulsion from the title, keeping his body composed as he stared directly into Lord Morag’s pleading eyes. “...consider the bloodline. You are the last Nightshade. What will happen if you perish?”

  “The same thing that happened when everyone thought I died eight years ago,” Terrance retorted coolly. “Everyone moves on. My family’s not any more special than yours.”

  Lord Morag sighed, his slightly-overweight body slumping in his chair. “I see you will not be convinced today. Should you decide otherwise in the future, please at least remember my family. I am sure my daughter would be a good match for you.”

  Terrance kept his expression bland and emotionless, despite how much he wanted to scream. Lord Morag wasn’t a bad sort, really. He wasn’t scheming or desperate, just pragmatic—trying to secure a solid alliance for his family while the opportunity lasted. Alienating him would be a terrible idea… but Terrance was just so sick of having this discussion. “I will remember you and your offer, Lord Morag,” he agreed. “But for now, my mind is set. There is much to do before I can afford to settle down.”

  “As you say.” Lord Morag stood, and Terrance did the same. They clasped hands, and shook once in the typical overblown noble method of conveying no hard feelings. “May the winds stay at your back.”

  “And may they carry you ever onward,” Terrance replied. The moment Lord Morag left and closed the door behind him, Terrance collapsed back into his chair. “I have got to get out of here. I can’t take this anymore. Give me back my dark alleyways. Give me back my purpose! I can’t become the next Nightingale if I’m constantly in the public eye!”

  He threw himself out of his chair, breathing heavily, before he reasserted control over himself and left his office. Behind a neatly organized desk sat Gwen, her dark wavy hair pulled back and green eyes focused on a stack of reports. She didn’t even glance up as he approached. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  Terrance let out a small sigh. “Gwen, please tell me we don’t have any more meetings for the day.”

  Gwen paused, looking to the side at what he presumed was his schedule. “Nothing else on the books,” she confirmed neutrally. “So you’re free for the evening.”

  Terrance breathed a sigh of relief. “Any news from Geova? Or any word of Erina?”

  Gwen’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but Terrance met her gaze steadily. There was a reason why Terrance had hired her, and it had everything to do with her sordid history. Gwen had been one of the leaders of a Geovan terrorist cell in Zephyr, trying anything and everything to not only figure out the reasons behind the worldwide Mist and mana depletion problems, but to sabotage any Zephyrian infrastructure that they believed contributed to the issues.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  The terrorist cell had broken up after Ernesto finished inventing holy magic, but Terrance had snatched Gwen up immediately and hired her. As his receptionist, she also served as an incredibly useful source of information on the goings-on in the world. Gwen had regular communications with her friends back in Vert, the Geovan capital, and some of her old terrorist buddies still kept in contact.

  Gwen was, effectively, his most valuable contact, in the criminal underworld and otherwise. It made for a complex working relationship between them. He needed her, and she knew it. She also knew that he could have her killed should he ever breathe a word of her past.

  They’d come to an understanding in the end. So long as Terrance didn’t act against her homeland, she wouldn’t act against his. The arrangement suited the two perfectly.

  “Maeryn’s returned to Cloudreach,” Gwen reported steadily, “with some prospective holy magic students. There’s been little progress on that front. As for Erina… nothing.” Gwen’s face soured. “I do wonder how she’s doing this.”

  That was a question Terrance would love to have answered as well. Erina was another member of the former terrorist cell, but Terrance’s interest in her was far more personal. He was almost certain that she was responsible for the deaths of his family eight years ago. But she’d vanished into the wind without a trace. Her disappearing act was so thorough that even now, months after the cell had disbanded, none of Gwen’s contacts had been able to find her.

  Terrance wanted little more than to get his hands wrapped around Erina’s throat. And despite her reticence to discuss her days as part of the cell, Gwen’s lack of objection was telling.

  But, without a clue of where she was, there was nothing either of them could do. With a growly sort of sigh, Terrance tried to let his frustrations go, but that just brought him back to his current noble aggravations. Without really thinking about it, he wondered aloud. “I don’t suppose you could take care of things here while I go see Maeryn…”

  “Easily, sir.” Startled, Terrance blinked and refocused on his secretary’s face, scanning it for any sign of mockery. But no, she returned his gaze with the tiniest of smiles. “Everything that requires your direct involvement, for the moment, has been taken care of. And your cut of your team’s income is more than enough to cover expenses.”

  Terrance grumbled half-heartedly at Gwen’s reminder. Dan and Ernesto had insisted that every core member of Maeryn’s crew deserved a portion of the profits from selling the Purify Mist tablets. And since they were universally needed, both the Geovan and Zephyrian nations were willing to pay essentially whatever was asked. Terrance was passively raking in money hand over fist.

  He didn’t like it. Getting money for nothing was a fast way to get lazy. And he still had plenty of money that his parents had hidden before their death. But Dan could be more stubborn than the wind, and Terrance had eventually given in.

  “Go,” Gwen urged, her professional demeanor softening into something warm and understanding. “You think I haven’t seen you starting to go stir-crazy? Go see Maeryn. It’d be good for both of you. And tell her I said hi.”

  Terrance sagged, just a little. Now that he was actually considering it, the idea of seeing Maeryn sounded utterly amazing. He missed their banter, the way her sense of humor complimented his, the way she always seemed to know when he was being flamboyant for fun or to deflect from something uncomfortable, and how she was perfectly willing to spend time with him in silence if that’s what he felt like.

  In retrospect… yeah. Despite not having known each other long, Maeryn was his best friend. And he missed her. “You’re right. As usual.”

  “That is why you hired me,” Gwen teased lightly.

  “Yeah, yeah. Guess I’ll go find an airship willing to take me.” Terrance turned around to make his way out the front door when Gwen politely coughed. “Don’t tell me.”

  “Your flight’s scheduled for tomorrow morning at eight o’clock,” Gwen informed him primly, a hint of laughter in her eyes.

  Terrance clapped one hand over his eyes. “Ugh. When did I become so predictable?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  Peeking between his fingers, Terrance glared at her without any heat. “Anything else you want to spring on me?”

  “Nope. Have a good time, Lord Nightshade.”

  “Ugh! You know I hate it when you call me that!”

  Gwen laughed in truth this time. “I know, I know. In all seriousness, get some rest, Terrance. And enjoy your vacation.”