Archer leaned forward, bracing himself against Alastor’s desk. “I need to know if there’s a way around the marriage requirement for ascending the throne. Some loophole, some precedent, anything.”
“You know better than that. If there were, Thorne’s dog would have found it already. Those laws were written withvery specific intentions, and with… certain influences present to ensure they remained absolute.”
“Did you just call Tuck a dog?” I asked, flopping down in the chair across from him. “You can’t go around calling people dogs, Al. It’s offensive. To the dogs. Do better.”
Archer groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “So I’m screwed.”
“The arrow cannot wed the hawk,” Irri said absently, now tracing patterns in the air with her fingertips. “Their wings beat to different rhythms.”
We all turned to look at her, but she had already moved on, humming that eerie tune again as she rearranged books on a shelf.
“What does that mean?” Archer asked.
Alastor shook his head. “It’s best not to try interpreting her musings. They rarely make sense to anyone but her since she’s come back from the Forgotten. She needs time.”
“Or perhaps they make too much sense,” I suggested, watching Irri with newfound curiosity. There was something about her words that tugged at my mind, like a forgotten melody.
Archer straightened suddenly, his expression shifting. “There’s something else I need to know. Am I really an Unmade Guardian?”
“Of course you are,” Irri said, opening the door only to shut it again. “We have to let the secrets out or they will become trapped and destruction will follow. Isn’t that right, Huntress? Darling Huntress. I like your dress. Was it mine?”
I looked down to my leather trousers, blinking several times to bring them into focus. Still not a dress.
“Oh!” She spun to Alastor. “It’s snowing.”
“Are you cold?” Alastor asked, jumping from his seat to rush to her. “Do you need something warmer?”
A moment of clarity struck as she reached for Alastor’s handsome face. “You love me too hard some days.”
“Impossible,” he answered, staring down at her like she created the air he breathed.
“Awkward,” Archer whispered, leaning toward me. Except it wasn’t quiet at all.
Alastor’s attention snapped to him. “Rumor has it you wear the Treeis mark. Though many are trying to figure out who you’ve bonded to. Between us and anyone that saw you loitering outside my market, I’d say the answer was fairly obvious.”
“But I’m not bound to Ezra,” he argued, ignoring the answer Al was fishing for.
“I believe that part is true, at least. But how many mortals truly understand what they are, what forces shape them? The Treeis mark doesn’t lie, Archer Bramwell. You are Unmade, though perhaps not in the traditional sense.”
“That doesn’t make me one of Ezra’s puppets!”
“Unmade Guardians aren’t puppets,” Alastor corrected. “They’re chosen. Special. Vessels for a power greater than themselves.”
“Oh yeah?” I challenged. “From where I’m sitting, it looks a hell of a lot like manipulation. You fuckers are good at that.”
Alastor’s dark eyes fixed on me. “Careful, Huntress. You’re in my domain now, and I’ve been remarkably patient with your… behavior.”
“Aww, am I annoying you?” I batted my eyelashes. “How absolutely devastating for you.”
“Paesha,” Archer warned, clearly sensing the dangerous edge to our banter.
Irri suddenly appeared beside Alastor, her movements so fluid it was as if she’d simply materialized there. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and some of the tension left his frame.
“The three-pointed star cannot bear the crown alone,” she said, her eyes focusing briefly as she looked directly at Archer. “The bond that saves will also chain. No marriage vows can stand against such ties.”
Archer frowned. “What is she talking about?”
“She thinks you can’t marry,” I translated, the pieces clicking together despite my inebriated state. “Because of the Treeis bond.”
