"Care to share your thoughts?"

  "About whether there is anything I own that is worth enough to trade." Her fingers moved to the collar of her cloak, then dropped. "There isn't... I sold everything I had just to get to the capital."

  Ivan slid down the wall he had been leaning on and took a seat on the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him. He was watching Rory sit on a crate and look like the loneliest person he'd ever seen.

  "When you said you were a successor to the crown… is that, like, a thing people know about? Didn’t we just learn about you being an heir through the orchid?"

  She paused. The kind of pause that had weight to it, the kind where someone was deciding how much truth to let out.

  "No," Rory said. "I am... known. But not from my connection to the orchid."

  "Known how?"

  "People know what I am… they have no idea who I am though."

  "Okay." Ivan drew one knee up and rested his arm on it. "So what are you? Besides a girl who can crack a man's skull with a rock, which—by the way—still terrifying. Respect. But what are you that makes people act like—" He waved his hand vaguely at the world outside. "—like that?"

  "Like what?"

  "Like you're fucking radioactive." The word meant nothing to her, obviously. "Like you're dangerous to be close to… first the guy at the bar, the people on the street, they look at you the way you'd look at a loaded gun."

  She paused again. Longer this time.

  "I am a nephilim," Rory said.

  Ivan waited for the rest. When it didn't come, "Okay. And that means...?"

  Her head turned toward him, he could see the confusion on her face. "You don't know what a nephilim is?"

  "Should I? You aren’t some kind of vampire that is gonna suck my blood when night comes are you?"

  "S-suck your… what?! How is that even possible? Every child in this kingdom learns—" She stopped herself. Her brow furrowed. "Where did you say you were from?"

  "I didn't." Ivan scratched the back of his head. "Look, I'm going to level with you, Rory, because you told me the truth about the stone and saved my ass from an even worse stomping. I figure I owe you at least some honesty back. I'm from very far away. Like... extremely far away. And I don't know anything about this kingdom, its history, its politics, any of it."

  Rory stared at him. "You know nothing about the kingdom," she said.

  "No nothing at all."

  "About... the war? The Betrayer? The Sealing?"

  "I don't know what any of those words mean in that order or any other."

  "When most people learn what I am, they step back. Or they reach for a weapon. Or they just... leave."

  "Well, I don't know what you are. So."

  "No… you don't."

  "A nephilim," Rory said, "is the child of a human and a fallen angel. Or the descendants of such a union."

  Ivan thought about that. Okay. Fantasy world, angels, half-breeds… he could work with that. "And people are scared of nephilim because...?"

  "Because of Lucia."

  The name landed in the air between them and sat there. Rory said it the way you'd say the name of a disease.

  "Lucia," Ivan said. "The blind girl in the plaza mentioned that name. The one with the… the butterfly eyes. She called her 'the Betrayer.'"

  Rory's head snapped toward him. "Someone spoke to you about Lucia?"

  "Yeah, this creepy kid that grabbed my coat and gave me the whole prophecy-of-doom speech. Her eyes melted out of her head and they turned into a butterfly." He waved it off. "Who is Lucia?"

  "Lucia was a seraphim," Rory said. "An angel of the highest order. Centuries ago—long before the kingdom existed as it does now—she fell. The reasons differ depending on who tells the story. Some say she was corrupted by shadow. Some say she chose it. Some say she was trying to save something and failed." Rory's voice was flat, reciting. Like she'd told this story to herself a thousand times. "What is not disputed is what she did. She destroyed... most of the world. Entire continents burned. Civilizations were erased. The population of the world was reduced to a fraction of what it had been."

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  "She was sealed," Rory continued. "They couldn’t kill her. The Hermit, the seraphim Elune, and the first Pendragon combined their power to bind her. But the damage had already been done. And the nephilim—the children she left behind, the bloodlines that carried her nature—they became... marked. Guilty by association. Guilty by blood."

  "That's—" Ivan's mouth opened and closed. "That's insane. You didn't do anything. You're not her."

  "No." Rory pulled her hood back just enough that he could see her face fully. Her gold eyes. Her rose-colored hair with its faint heat-shimmer at the tips.. "But I look like what she left behind. I carry fire in my blood, and people remember what that fire did to the world."

  "I was raised in isolation," Rory said. "In a manor in the northern provinces, far from any city. My guardian was kind. But he kept me away from people. For my safety, he said. And for theirs."

  She looked down at her hands. "I have never had any real friends… I have had guardians, and tutors, and servants who were paid to be near me. But friends… people who chose to be near me, knowing what I am—" She closed her hands into fists. "No. I have not had that."

  Ivan wanted to say something that would make her feel better, some grand declaration about how he didn't give a shit what she was and he'd stand by her no matter what… But that would've been bullshit.

  He'd known her for a day. He was the least qualified person in this entire kingdom to be making promises to anyone.

  "I don't know what I'm doing here, Rory. I don't know why I woke up in that bathtub, or what the hell a Pendragon is supposed to be, or how any of this is going to work out. But I said I'd help you get that stone back, and I meant it. Not because I'm brave or noble or any of that crap. Just because—" He shrugged. "—you're the first person in this world who didn't try to rob me or beat the shit out of me."

  "Thank you," she said.

  "Don't thank me yet. We still don't have any money."

  "No." She pulled her hood back up. "We don't."

  They heard a knock at Brom’s pawnshop from their hideout, they watched as a figure slipped inside without waiting for an answer, and Ivan caught a flash of lavender.

  "That's her," he said. "The girl. The thief."

  Rory stood up from the crate. "You're certain?"

  "Lavender hair, maybe five feet tall, moves like a cat… yeah, I'm certain." He was already heading for the door.

  "Ivan—"

  "Just, stay. Please. If she sees you, she may run off again. Let me handle this."

  He didn't wait for her to answer. He was out the door and across the street before the logic part of his brain could catch up and explain all the reasons this was a bad idea, which was fine, because the logic part of his brain had been losing arguments all day.

  Brom's shop door was closed but not locked.

  The front room was dim. Brom stood behind the counter with his arms crossed, his bulk blocking the curtain to the back room. And in front of him, bouncing on the balls of her feet, was the girl.

  She was skinny, wearing a patched oversized coat that hung past her knees. Her hair was lavender, and her eyes were the same color, wide and quick and darting around the room.

  "—told you I'd come back for my cut," she was saying. Her voice was a rasp. "You said you had a buyer. You said tonight. So where's my money, Brom?"

  "I said I'd pay you when the sale goes through." Brom's voice was patient. "The sale hasn't gone through."

  "That ain't my problem." The girl jabbed a finger at him. "I brought you the goods. I brought you good stuff… rings, chains, and that red rock thingy. You said it was worth a fortune. So. Pay. Me."

  "The red stone." Brom's good eye narrowed. "Where did you find that, Gwen?"

  "Does it matter?"

  "It matters."

  Gwen crossed her arms, mirroring Brom's posture. "Some woman had it. Kept it in a pouch on her belt, real careful, like it was somethin' special. I figured anythin' someone guards that close has got to be worth somethin'." She shrugged, one shoulder. "So I took it."

  "Did you know what it was?"

  "It looked expensive." Gwen's chin jutted forward. "That's what it was. Expensive. And you owe me for it."

  Brom rubbed his face. The sigh that came out of him could've filled a sail. "Gwen—"

  "Don't 'Gwen' me. Don't give me that look, old man. I did the job. I brought you the stuff. You sell it, you give me my cut… that's how this works. That's how it's always worked. You don't get to change the rules because some girl with a hood showed up and gave you a sob story about—"

  She'd seen them. Ivan's gut went cold. She knew about Rory's visit.

  "—about bein' a successor or whatever. I don't care about that. I care about gettin' paid."

  "You'll get paid," Brom said. "When the buyer comes. Tonight. After dark. You wait, same as everyone else."

  "I've been waitin'!" Gwen kicked the base of the counter. "I've been waitin' for days, Brom! I could've been workin', I could've been earnin', and instead I'm sittin' around waitin' for your buyer to show up with his fat purse and his—"

  "Then wait a few more hours." Brom's voice hardened. Just a degree. Just enough. "Or walk out that door and forfeit your cut. Your choice."

  Gwen's mouth snapped shut.

  "Fine," she spat. "Fine. I'll wait. But I'm waitin' here, in this room, where I can see you. I'm not lettin' you sell my stuff and pocket the whole thing."

  "Wouldn't dream of it."

  "Yeah, you would." But she dropped onto the stool by the door.

  Gwen stole the stone. She didn't know what it was. She just grabbed it because it looked valuable, because that's what she did, because she was a slum kid running a hustle and Rory's spiritual nature of a Great Beast of Fire was just another shiny rock to fence. She wanted her cut. She didn't care about Rory, didn't care about anything except getting paid.

  He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  Gwen was off the stool before the hinges finished creaking, her hand going to something under her coat. Brom didn't move.

  "Who the hell are you?" Gwen snapped.

  Ivan held up both hands, palms out. "Hey. Hi. I'm Ivan."

  "I don't care what your name is. Why are you in this shop?"

  "Because I need to talk to you about a rock."

  Gwen's eyes flicked to Brom. Back to Ivan. Her hand stayed under her coat.

  "What rock?" she said.

  "The red one." Ivan kept his hands up. "The one you stole from a girl with a hood. The one you brought to Brom because it looked expensive." He took a breath. "The one that belongs to my friend."

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