Page 21 of Song of the Heart Scale
I glared at him. “Fine. A favor.One.”
He winked. “Done.”
As he tucked the parchment into his coat, I carefully watched him. Beneath the mismatched rags and playful barbs was something sharp and wounded. Garrick wasn’t simply an unlucky warlock with debts—he was a man the empire had tried and failed to break. And now, like me, he was about to become useful again.
I stood. “You’ll reach out when you have something?”
“You’ll be the first person I haunt.”
I smirked. “Good. I’m overdue for a ghost.”
“Speaking of ghosts…”
“Oh, lord.” I sighed, not sure if I was ready for whatever was about to come out of his mouth.
Garrick laughed. “Word on the street is that the Shadow Prince is suppressing theSong of the Dragon Rider.”
I raised a brow. “Oh?”
He nodded. “In a move to get the public to stop talking about the twin flames, and more importantly to get you out of Thorne’s line of sight.”
I smiled and bit my lower lip. Of course Damien had a plan. I should have known he wouldn’t abandon me.
Garrick gagged. “By the Immortals, you’re so lovesick it’s pathetic!”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not in love.”
He deadpanned. “So you say.”
“I’m not!” I retorted, filled with indignation.
I couldn’t be in love. I’d only known Damien for what… two months? And for the majority of that time, we’d been at each other’s throats. I definitely wasn’t in love. Even if hedidsay he loved me. It probably just slipped out in the heat of the moment.
Yeah… definitely the heat of the moment.
“Whatever you say, princess,” Garrick said knowingly.
“I’m no princess.” I waggled a finger at him. “Get it right.”
“Sure, sure.” He raised his hands in surrender. “I’ll find your information and get back to you. But for now, I have a game to get to.” He stood and offered a saucy wink.
I shook my head. “Some things never change with you, Garrick.” After waving goodbye, I nodded to Maeve and headed for the exit. The Gilded Serpent’s heavy doors shut with a whisper behind me.
Outside, the sun had dipped behind the clouds and long shadows angled over the stone streets. For the first time since the emperor’s death, the air felt colder. Like something had shifted beneath the surface.
Like something was coming.
6
ARYA
If someone had told me three weeks ago that I would be standing in the gilded suite of a luxury hotel in a strange place called Los Angeles, applying pigments to the face of a woman who called herself “Tiffy La Flame,” I would have assumed they had suffered a head injury.
In truth, most of these terms—luxury hotel, artificial lighting, hairspray, and the ever-confusing term “influencer”—had only recently made it into my vocabulary, thanks to Angie's relentless coaching. Since my... arrival in this bizarre land, she had made it her mission to familiarize me with this world, even when I protested that modern plumbing was already a sufficient marvel with which to contend. She would make me watch strange, glowing boxes calledYouTube videosand quiz me on things like “setting spray” and “highlighter” (but not the writing kind). I learned quickly because I had no choice, and because I refused to be outdone by a civilization that seemed obsessed with screens and posing for pictures instead of surviving winter or dragon attacks.
But here I was. Drenched in artificial lighting. Drowning in hairspray. Armed with a case of make-up supplies Angie had painstakingly explained to me like I was a child learning to walk.
Tiffy La Flame was perched in a plush velvet chair before me, her cheeks already perfectly symmetrical, her lips unnaturally plump. She wore a silk robe the color of overripe fruit as her entourage flitted about the hotel suite like nervous birds. One was ironing her dress. Another was filming content for her followers, mumbling things like “Get the BTS, but not too BTS,” whatever that meant. The third had taken to feeding her mistress cut strawberries with a golden fork.
