Page 191 of The Robin on the Oak Throne

“Yes,” Shannon said.

Her father removed a hunting knife from a sheath at his belt. He dropped the heavy tool onto the table. It was long, sharp, and used, the leather of the handle worn. An emblem—a stag’s antlers inside a Trinity Knot—was burned into the metal.

“Is this sufficient?” Adair asked. “It was blessed by the Fae.”

A sob escaped Kierse’s throat at the sight of her parents there together. Her father offering his own hunting knife for her safety.

The connection broke, and her absorption snapped back into place. She covered her face as all the joy of their faces bled from her.

“Hey,” Graves said, reaching for her. “This is too much. You do not have to do this right now.”

She looked up at him with glassy eyes. “You said yourself, I’ll have it at the back of my mind the whole time I’m at the Plaza if I don’t face it.”

“You might. But if you’re this upset at this one memory, will we be able to be able to work through the block? Will you be better or worse if we accomplish what we’re after?”

She bit her lip, unable to answer. She felt like she was going to crack in two at the very thought.

“Worse.” The word escaped her lips before she could stop it. She didn’t feel ready. She felt like she had to do this thing to get past it. Not that she was prepared.

“That’s all I need to know.” He retreated with a nod. “Let’s get through the heist. We can deal with the Curator and your memories after.”

Chapter Fifty-Five

Stealing from tourists wasn’t doing it for her today. She needed to be back at nightfall for the final meeting before Monster Con tomorrow, but she still wasn’t fully recharged. It should have been easy enough to walk around Midtown, considering the size of the crowds, but she’d gotten bored. And most of the Upper East Side was away at the Hamptons or wherever the ultra-rich jettisoned to escape the summer heat.

Kierse sighed as she sank into a seat on the Mall in Central Park. Bustling tourists paraded through the avenue lined with park benches. A saxophonist played across from her. A female mer swirled a soapy, five-foot loop of string on two poles, creating child-size bubbles. A nymph breakdancer was showing off farther down. Monsters and humans. As the Treaty had always promised them it would be. And yet it all felt tenuous.

Maybe it was just frustration. Another failed attempt with Graves. Another block in her memory. Another day with no answers.

She tilted her head back and looked up at the summer sky. Here she was in Central Park, and still she felt heartache for a past that was stolen from her and she couldn’t even remember.

Her phone pinged. She pulled it out to see a text fromGen. She still wasn’t exactly used to getting to message her friend whenever she wanted. Technology had been so expensive and difficult to get your hands on after the war, and having money was still new.

Gen: Are you still going to see Ethan?

Kierse groaned. Or maybe she’d been spending all day avoiding this. She had to go back to Brooklyn.

Kierse: Yeah. Do you want me to pick you up?

Gen: I have to work with Walter until I figure this out. Will you tell him I’m sorry? I really wanted to go to see him after graduation…or whatever the Druids are calling it.

Kierse shot back a text agreeing to tell him and then skipped through the park to the nearest subway station at 72nd Street. She descended into the depths, wondering if she should try stealing from the resident troll, when she nearly skidded to a halt.

There was no troll.

In fact, there was nothing standing in the atrium between the stairs and the turnstiles. She re-pocketed the cash she’d already reached for on instinct. She cast her eyes around the whole area as if the troll was going to jump out at her. But there was none.

It was so disorienting she almost missed the symbol spray painted in gold on the floor where the troll typically sat. It was an arrow shot through wings. Kierse’s stomach curdled.

Men of Valor.

She’d already known they weren’t gone, but she didn’t know what it meant that they had put their logo over the place where a troll had sat. She snapped a picture of it and sent a text separately to Graves and to Nate with the caption,Trouble.

Nate: Fuck

She hopped on the B train toward downtown, switching to the M at Washington Square Park before she heard back from Graves.

Graves: I’m on it.

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