FIFTY-FIVE

1. Portal to Vrekener outpost

2. Adjust directions, portal to outpost

3. Adjust directions again, portal to outpost

4. Offer demon mercenaries gold to scour Canadian forests for difficult-to-find Vrekener outpost

5. Offer witches gold to scry for Thronos

6. Contact Loa, re: Hail Mary option—send gold deposit

7. FIND NÏX

8. Keep from losing your ever-living shit because he needs you

9. Contact oracles and witches in more worlds—offer gold

10. Save up power for tomorrow

“What have I told you about chasing after boys?” Sabine drawled, sashaying into Lanthe’s substitute suite.

Her former residence was still being repaired, nearly a week after the Territories had fallen.

Lanthe glanced up from her desperate letters and lists, allowing Sabine see her panic, her despondency. Both grew with each minute. “Thronos is not a boy—he’s my husband. And I want him back.”

“You look like hell. Would you like me to weave an illusion over you?”

As if Lanthe could be bothered with her appearance—when every other thought in her head was YOU’RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME TO FIND HIM!

How was Thronos dealing with the destruction of his kingdom? How was he coping with his feelings of loss? What if he thought he had nothing to live for and was careless in some battle? What if Cadmus staged a refugee coup?

“You’re pushing yourself far too hard, Lanthe.” Sabine reclined on a nearby divan. “Since when have you been able to create portals so frequently?”

After Lanthe had failed to locate the outpost that first day, she’d reasoned that Nïx had actually been talking about all of Lanthe’s powers behaving like muscles. She’d been able to shave down the time between her portals to once a day, but that was the limit.

Use, use, use, use, use—and no rest? Accuracy . . . suffered.

“You need to dial down the thresholds,” Sabine warned.

“I haven’t created one today.” Holding off was one of the hardest things she’d ever done.

But she was about to go for broke, to try to reach a realm that could be light-years away.

“That’s only one of the things I’m here to talk about.”

She’d known Sabine would want a sit-down soon. Lanthe heard the whispers in the castle growing louder and more numerous. They said that Thronos had surely perished.

She supposed they had reason to believe that. . . .

As soon as Morgana had left Rothkalina to go watch her handiwork from some vantage like a ghoulish spectator, Lanthe had slashed open a rift to get back to Thronos.

In time to catch the blast.

Sabine had shoved her out of the way, taking the full brunt—a force strong enough to send her flying across the room. Her impact had buckled a tower wall. Luckily Sabine had been wearing scads of metal.

Lanthe hadn’t been able to create another portal until the next day. With a suitcase full of clothes and big hopes, she’d portaled to Canada, using the just-in-case directions Thronos had given her to the Vrekeners’ outpost.

Past Lanthe’s threshold, there’d been nothing but rocks and trees, not a trace of Vrekeners. She’d been greeted by a herd of deer so tame they’d approached her. Clearly, no winged hunters had been in that area stalking them, though Thronos loved venison.

Either she’d gotten the directions jumbled (as she had every other time in her life, in which case, she sucked) or her portal had gone awry (in which case, she sucked).

While she’d been recharging for another futile go at Canada, Sabine and Rydstrom had told Lanthe that even an immortal like Thronos couldn’t survive a fire born of sorcery like Morgana’s. Sabine relayed to her that Morgana had watched it all—after the blast, the islands had simply crumbled into flames and plunged.

“Yes, but Thronos’s wings are fireproof,” Lanthe had argued.

Sabine had said, “Even his wings would be vulnerable to an unnatural fire.”

Lanthe had reasoned, “Someone could have swooped in to save him.”

With grave hesitation, Rydstrom had pointed out, “But hadn’t everyone already evacuated, Lanthe?”

Whatever. Thronos had survived. Period. Lanthe had promised herself that she would never underestimate him again. He was an extraordinary male who would prevail in any situation.

Besides, her husband had one more trick up his sleeve. Granted, he wouldn’t quite know he had it. . . .

“We can talk later,” she told Sabine now. “I’m busy.” She waved at the stack of missives she was penning to witches and oracles all over the worlds.

The afternoon of her first ill-fated Canada trip, Lanthe had gotten one of the castle guards to trace her to the Louisiana chapter of the House of Witches. Carrow and her super-powerful friend Mariketa had scried for Thronos, but some of the Vrekeners’ ancient magics still held. The same cloaks that had hidden them from humans lingered.

The witches couldn’t locate an entire populace.

So Lanthe had dispatched Cadeon’s former band of mercenaries to manually search Canuck forests. “Which ones?” they’d asked.

All of them. Because I suck.

From the divan, Sabine picked up one of the maps that Lanthe had spread over every available surface. “Too busy with your search to inquire after my healing? I’m right as rain, by the way.”

Lanthe felt a twinge of guilt.

“Busy or not, you won’t get rid of me so easily.” Her sister rang for wine.