Cassian felt his eyelids beginning to droop, the notebook that he'd brought at the behest of Azriel discarded on the table next to him as he tried and failed to pay attention to the assembly before him. He shifted in the plush armchair, trying to ignore the warm, stuffy air of the grand estate, the home of some human noble whose name he hadn't bothered to remember, doing nothing more than listening. And listening.

They'd been at this for hours.

An array of humans and fae, emissaries and ex-slaves alike, all recounting their stories, experiences, and opinions regarding, well, everything.

He'd been less than engaged. Feeling himself nod off, he immediately jerked himself awake, straightening his form and rubbing discreetly at his eyes.

How long, exactly, was this supposed to go on for?

Adjusting his position around his invisible wings, glamoured for subtlety thanks to Mor, he leaned forward and attempted to listen, mentally sifting through the numerous details that person after person relayed.

Many were stories of heartache and lives lost, and those, at least, had kept Cassian's attention, burning fury consuming him at what these people had faced. It had been the equally elaborate, long-winded, obnoxious delegates providing their monotonous, overly detailed opinions that were driving him to madness.

How many people needed to give the same damn speech that slavery was bad? That they were going to do everything in their power to remedy it?

It wasn't like they were on the front lines fighting smugglers and tracking trading routes, and while their hefty purses were a nice addition to the effort, he didn't want to hear any more pretty speeches from well-bred nobles who would never even bother getting their socks wet.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose in exhaustion.

Cassian had never been a diplomat, or a male of bureaucracy in any capacity for that matter. And this, he noted, contemplating the third cup of complementary wine he'd consumed since the meeting had commenced in the wee morning hours, was the highest level of torture he'd ever had to face.

He was glad for the choice explicit words and rude gesture he'd thrown at Mor when she'd dropped him off in the square of Marchedor before the sun rose with a chipper, "Have fun!" before winking and winnowing off back to Velaris. She'd initially agreed to accompany him to this little function but had conveniently discovered last minute that she was desperately needed to assist Elain with planning the menu for the wedding.

The same wedding that was still months off.

He should have never volunteered to go in Azriel's stead. No, he should have made the goo-goo eyed little bastard go himself. Not that Cassian truly minded: he had never seen Azriel put his own happiness first like this, also putting his own needs aside to focus on the tasks at hand.

And on this rare occasion when he was actually willing to put work aside to do something for himself . . .

No, he'd been glad to give his brother the much-needed break, even if he wanted to drown himself in the oversized fish tank across the room.

To his relief, he had caught sight of a handful of familiar faces, many looking just as worn and near dozing as he felt.

Amongst them, he realized, was Lucien, clothed in a fine white doublet and speaking heatedly with a devilishly beautiful woman with dark red hair flowing from underneath the most ridiculously flamboyant hat he'd ever seen. It even had a jaunty purple plume in it to match.

Lucien had been serving as a delegate from both the Spring and Night Courts, working closely with the human descendants of the late Queen Vassa to supply men and supplies to the efforts of hunting down the leaders of slave trade.

Cassian had heard rumors he'd been working with a fierce demi-fae sea captain who'd somehow shimmied her way up the ranks, leading the vast majority of the vessels that combed through the southern waters seeking slave routes and shutting them down. Apparently, she'd won the favor and affection of many of the current emissaries.

Sensing the attention, Lucien turned his gaze towards Cassian, his remaining eye lighting with recognition before he raised a single hand in greeting. Cassian returned the gesture. Seeing her companion's attention directed elsewhere the woman turned and honed her focus in on Cassian, her plump lips curling into arrogant grin that he knew too well.

She rose from her chair, completely ignoring the noble droning on and leaving Lucien talking mid-sentence. With feline grace, she strode toward Cassian with a swish in her wide hips that would have once had him at attention, begging for her name and affections.

Funny the things being a mated male would do to you.

Especially when her beauty would never best that of his Nesta Archereon, even if his mate had opted to remain in the Steppes still hunting for the missing Valka. The memory of icy eyes as she'd kissed him farewell still burned in his mind.

This woman came a close second though, he noted with no lack of amusement. Especially since he was willing to bet the palpable irritation leaching off Lucien was a direct product of her.

He watched as she stopped before him, quirking her head to the side and giving him an appreciative once over. He failed to contain the laugh.

"Can I help you, sweetheart?"

"Well, well, aren't you handsome?" The woman, no, female he noted from the subtly pointed ear that escaped her hair and hat, cooed as she strode closer. Her dark shirt was a plunging v that was tucked into an equally tight-laced corset that left little to the imagination. "Why didn't you tell me your friend was so handsome, Lucien? We should have asked him to join us for our little romp this morning."

Lucien flushed red up to his ears, spluttering as he gave the female a look of disbelief, his scent saturating with embarrassment. The fox fumbled to regain his composure.

"Forgive her, Cassian," he sent his companion a long-suffering look, his metal eye whirring, "she lacks house training." She tossed Lucien a crude gesture that nearly had Cassian spitting out his wine.

He decided he liked her instantly as she flashed him an impish smile.

He offered his hand out towards her.

"A pleasure to meet you . . . ?" he paused, not knowing her name.

"The name's Fallon," she grabbed his hand in her own, shaking it fiercely, "Captain of the Siren and leader of the ground forces hitting this mess head on. You're one of the emissaries from Night Court, I presume?"

"I am."

She nodded her head approvingly, the plume in her oversized hat bouncing.

So, this was the infamous sea captain Beron's youngest son had been keeping company. Surprisingly young, Cassian noted with amusement as she flopped in the chair adjacent from him, her long legs propped over the cushion of the arm as she poured herself a glass of wine from his decanter. And . . . fiery.

"Good," she chirped, swallowing the cupful of wine in one swig and pouring herself more, "the more attractive men the better."

"Mother save me," Lucien muttered beneath his breath, taking the chair to her right and looking primed to bolt at any moment. He sighed and met Cassian's gaze. "Fallon's been serving as Captain of the Siren for over a decade now; the best informants and sailors work under her banner."

A decade? The female barely looked to be in her late twenties at the oldest even by fae standards, and her youthful aura was anything but hardened sea fairer.

"Of course they do," she snipped, swirling her wine as she directed her attention back towards the crowd, awaiting the next speaker. "There's a reason I'm leading this little expedition and not some fat-nosed noble who can't get his ass out of his chair."

"So you're in charge of the group that's been knocking the slavers around then?" Cassian would be lying if he didn't admit he was at least a bit curious about the unnamed vigilante who was making their work significantly easier. He glanced around, searching. "Where are they?"

"Oh certainly, they're quite close friends," she winked, "though it was my excellent taste and skill that's ensured they've been so successful. They deemed that coming today would be counterproductive since they do wish to remain unnamed. Alas, I'll just have to take the credit for them." She winked and sipped from her glass again.

Disappointment prodded at Cassian as his eyes stopped roving over the room, halfway hoping he'd catch a glimpse of the unknown heroes. But he understood, what use was being anonymous if you willingly gave your identity away to just anyone?

"She's very modest, as you can see," Lucien muttered, also pivoting his attention to the center of the room, "the most humble female I know."

"I'm so glad you recognize my virtues," Fallon replied, smirking coyly, "it's important for a lap dog to pay extra close attention to his master."

"Fallon." Lucien ground out, nearly snarling.

Cassian huffed, oh, he certainly liked her. He watched her pick at a loose piece of lint on her blouse near that lovely line that ran through her ample bust-

"If I have to listen to one more oosey-goosey noble spout nonsense like some war veteran I'm going to puke." She took another long swig from her wine, nearly downing the entire second glass.

Cassian lifted a single brow.

Feeling his attention, she swiveled her back to him, her hazel-green eyes shimmering as they fixed on him and her voice dropped to a seductive purr. "Of course, the three of us could always go find something else to do if you're interested."

A jolt like lightning raced through him, hot and splicing in the way that made his senses hone in wholly on the female before him. It coursed through him like a pull, an insatiable call that had him want to peel off every bit of clothing on her body off slowly.

She grinned at him in a way that made his instincts howl, begging for release, all remnants of his mating bond suddenly forgotten-

"Fallon," Lucien interrupted, russet eye narrowing, "he's mated."

The sensation immediately eased, the molten desire evaporating and leaving a hollow, empty space in its wake. Cassian blinked in surprise as the mating bond reappeared and strung tight between him and Nesta once more.

"Oh, I hadn't realized," she smiled before finishing off her glass of wine, "lucky female though." She winked once more before hopping upright and snatching Cassian's glass of wine from between his limp fingers.

He didn't even protest.

"Was a pleasure though, Cassian," Fallon threw his remaining wine back and swallowed before she set the empty glass back in his hand. "I'm sure I'll see you around. And you," she pursed her lips at the son of Autumn, "I'll definitely see later." And with that she sauntered off, disappearing behind the crowd and out one of the side doors leading to the estate's gardens.

Cassian was floored.

"What was that?" he ground out, surprise and shame filling him as he realized what he'd almost agreed to, what he would have happily done to that female, and the way she'd blotted out the mating bond like it had never existed.

"She does that," Lucien grumbled, adjusting his position and dusting off his trousers, "once you're in her throe it's impossible to get out."

"No kidding," Cassian rubbed awkwardly at his neck.

Lucien paused, contemplating what he would say next, as though he did not know how to broach the subject. Cassian poured himself the remaining wine in the decanter.

"I hear the wedding is finally going to take place." He looked almost melancholic as he watched the milling crowd before them, even as he kept his tone neutral. ". . . I'm happy for her and for the shadowsinger, truly. Please send them both my best wishes."

"I will." Cassian didn't even bother to try and tell him that Elain was intending to invite him to ceremony, he knew the male would not attend. And knew that Azriel and Elain would both be grateful for it, even if they would never say as much.

"Congratulations are also in order for your nephew, I heard the rebellions finally died down and that Cenric survived the Rite."

"He most certainly did," Cassian smiled as he reflected on the night before, thinking of the tattoos they'd all given Cenric, the stories the boy had openly shared that had left him and Rhys sobbing messes. "He more than passed it."

"It is not surprising; his skill was remarkable when I saw him last spring. He'll fill the role of High Lord well one day."

If he ever decides to stop sulking in the mountains, Cassian internally grumbled, thinking on his nephew's protest against his mother. It was nothing but a big hulking pile of shit and drama that he absolutely refused to get himself involved in.

Lucien adjusted the blade at his hip.

"Send my regards to Feyre also, I hope that this resolution brings her some peace of mind, finally."

Cassian hadn't forgotten that Lucien had helped in the hunt for Celeste in those critical days when she'd first gone missing, had scaled mountain and meadow to try and find her. And when they didn't . . . he'd offered everything in his arsenal to try and help Feyre heal, to cope with what she'd lost. What'd they'd all lost.

He'd forever been thankful for what Lucien had offered her during that time. Even if he'd once considered the fox a crafty bastard. But now . . . he was family too. Almost.

Perhaps he'd grab an extra tube of one those damned rare pigmented paints that Azriel had requested he purchase and say it was from Lucien when he brought them back to Feyre. And since his brother had even provided him with such a nice succinct little shopping list and directions where to find them on Elain's floral stationary . . .

He snorted.

Azriel was becoming domestic.

"Ah, here's some of the ex-slaves who escaped from Vanica." Lucien nodded to a pretty blonde-haired human woman who held the hands of two small children, making her way through the densely packed crowd.

"Vanica?" Cassian had never heard of it, had never even noticed it on the numerous maps he'd studied while making tactical plans for the men they'd provided to the slave hunt. He didn't know the human territory as well as he did the fae but he should have at least recognized the name.

"Tiny fishing island in the human lands, had less than a thousand citizens, wasn't really worth noting and even more rarely was it mapped. I'd never heard of it until Fallon mentioned it."

"Had?" Something in him already knew what the answer would be.

Lucien's russet eye turned icy. "The town was entirely wiped out by slavers, sold out by the son of the only wealthy family on the island. Less than a hundred of the citizens remain." He nodded toward the round-faced little girl who stood in the certain of the room now, her green eyes uncertain, her stature so much like how Cassian remembered Celeste's being, "This family is one of the few that made it out."

Rage consumed Cassian as he sat forward, his attention directed towards the child who was about to speak, her dark hair smoothed into a half ponytail, the rest of the locks trailing down her back. The same way Celeste used to wear hers.

He watched as the blonde woman, likely the childrens' mother, nodded her head, encouraging her to speak. Squaring her shoulders, the little girl clasped her hands in front of her and took a deep breath.

"My name is Marrien and I used to live on an island called Vanica . . ." she fiddled with her fingers, trying to avoid all the eyes that locked onto her, nervousness taking her as silence engulfed the room. "I want to tell you the story of how I was saved."

"Well," Gandriel cooed, wrapping the pink feather boa around his shoulders and posing, shifting his hips just so as he strutted around the luxurious room bedecked in hues of gold and rose pink. "What do you think? Should I seek the life of a courtesan?"

"Maybe, if you can convince the poor woman to crawl into bed with you." Celeste didn't even bother to look up as she continued to flip through the documents that her informants in the brothel had acquired for her, information the lovely women had easily pried from their customers lips. Men liked to talk when they were being pleasured.

It wasn't extensive, but it provided a list of town names and "deliveries" that were due within a month. These new groups seemed significantly larger than usual and appeared to require less guards than previous loads.

A shipment of new "trainees" as the brothel mother had supposedly called them, carelessly giving away information to the woman who worked beneath her. She was nothing more than a dour-eyed hag who was making money on the side as a safe house for the slavers while receiving cheap new "wares" for her customers.

Celeste certainly looked forward to the day she could put a knife in the mistress's throat instead of skirting around her.

Fortunately for Celeste, she treated her girls as badly as she treated her cargo, making them a useful net of spies who were loyal beyond measure. Especially when a perk of their cooperation was getting to spend time with the oh-so-handsome and kind Gandriel.

It was also a bright side that the brothel mother rarely frequented the establishments she owned, Celeste thought ruefully as she flipped through another page, knowing that walking in and finding a tawny-eyed, hollow-headed male gyrating his hips would not be to her liking.

Celeste barely registered said male strutting and shimmying his hips behind her, doing Mother knew what with that scarf as he made noises she could only compare to a goose's call, laughing quietly at his own ridiculous behavior.

She still had no clue what her sister saw in him.

Perhaps he'd turn into goose so she could roast him for dinner.

"Did you know I learned how to do traditional Monteserrian dancing as a child?" He'd moved in front of the array of mirrors across the room now, staring at himself as he shook his hips to and fro, "Mama's teacher said I had wonderful dexterity in my hips for a male, almost as good as some of the females."

"Did she tell you have too much dexterity in your mouth?"

"My dexterous mouth has its uses," he flipped his hair back out of his face, "although it's not as dexterous as your sister's—"

Celeste slammed the papers down and shot Gandriel a glare, eyes steely. Was he being serious? She'd already told him time and time again that she wanted absolutely no details regarding his and her sister's relationship or sexual endeavors.

"What?" he inquired, the pink boa loose in his hands. "It's true."

He was serious. She almost threw the notes at him.

"What's true?" A sweet feminine voice cut in as the lovely dark-haired, blue-eyed Isabelle breezed in, her thin body wrapped in a pale silk bathing robe.

"That Gandriel wants his jaw broken."

"Oh, not his jaw, lovely, it's too pretty. Break his toes, he's no use for those."

Isabelle had been one of the first contacts that Fallon had introduced Celeste to, the lovely courtesan who'd been gleaning information for the Siren's captain for several years. Her track record was incredible, and the woman was as a crafty and clever as they came.

The human woman's lips quirked in amusement as she saw Gandriel swaying with the pink boa, "Enjoying playing with my scarf?"

"Yes," he said unashamedly, dropping to the bed with said garment wrapped around his shoulders. "You should get a red one, it'd offset your eyes nicely."

A blush raced up the woman's cheeks as she fluttered her eyelashes at him. Celeste sighed, rolling the papers up and rising from the bed. They had many things to do, packing being one of them. They were to set off back to Portmouth early the next morning to follow the leads that Fallon had gotten them, leads that would take her to whatever this shipment held . . .

"Is the information enough?" Isabelle asked, sitting down next to Gandriel on her plush rose duvet, an array of throw pillows taking up the majority of the space. "I know it's lacking some key details, but they've been trickier since the original routes have been flushed out."

"No, the information's fine. It's just . . ." she glanced through the notes again, trying to see between the lines. "Something's different about this one, I can't explain it. It's just a feeling."

"I think they're just spooked this time." Celeste shook her head, frowning. Spooked slavers didn't tend to assign fewer guards to large shipments of people.

Isabelle crossed her legs and reached for the tea service, pouring herself some of the now lukewarm liquid in the remaining cup before raising it to her lips. "And good thing too, they should think twice about preying on innocent people."

Celeste sometimes forgot that Isabelle, too, had claim against the slavers.

Her mother had been a slave who'd died from the backbreaking work her masters had put her through when she'd been taken ill one winter and had failed to recover. It had only been thanks to her quick thinking and love for her only child that she'd managed to have Isabelle smuggled in a wagon of goods out of Rask that same winter after she'd perished.

Isabelle had been adamantly fighting the bastards every chance she'd gotten since, even if she was somewhat of a slave now herself. Maybe Celeste would put the brothel mother down sooner than later, now that she thought on it.

"You're right." She shook the doubt from her mind and shoved the papers into her satchel. "We've finally got them on the run."

It wouldn't be long before she could finally pin down Dermot and give him everything he deserved. He'd still been one of the leaders that she hadn't been able to track, his movements so well guarded that it was like trying to hunt a phantom.

She'd been contemplating ways of drawing him out, baiting him, but none had proved successful. Yet.

"And in remarkable time," Isabelle blew a stray strand of her black hair from her face, "at the rate you're going we're going to have to schedule executions from now until the end of next year."

Celeste smirked at that as she pulled the cowl of her hood over her head, hiding her features. Already many ringleaders had been tried and punished for their crimes, losing everything from their notoriety and prestige amongst their social circles to their heads.

She'd enjoyed every second of the hunt until then too.

"How long will you be at sea this time?" The question was directed at Gandriel, Isabelle resting her manicured hand on the male's well-formed bicep. The women in the Ruby district certainly had no qualms about touching.

"A few months at most," he said as he gently took her hand from his arm and placed a kiss to it before rising and swooping the feathery scarf around her, winking. "Don't miss me too much."

"How could I not?" She winked back at him before gently shooing him away, "now get out of here and get home to that lovely Anelisse of yours. I'm certain she'll be wanting to spend some quality time with you before you're both stuffed on that ship for months."

"Right away, my lady." Gandriel said with a ridiculous, flourished bow. Celeste rolled her eyes. She had never seen a group of women swoon over a couple as much as they had Anelisse and Gandriel, each coming up with more elaborate and ridiculous tales of their star-crossed romance.

The only star-crossed one had been Celeste trying to survive their crooning over each other.

Noticing her stare, Gandriel threw his own bag over his shoulder and nodded towards her, ready to leave. Mother knew it would be hours of packing before he'd be ready to depart Marchedor. Best to get started sooner rather than later, then.

"Keep your eyes and ears open," Celeste said as she dug in her pocket for the coin she owed the courtesan, "and please be careful, they're getting smarter. I'd like to come back and have tea with you rather than have to avenge your death."

She passed the money to Isabelle who quickly slipped the gold piece into the brassier beneath her pale robe. "But what a mighty tale it would be! The feared Captain Lily avenging her courtesan friend in a blaze of glory."

"I think you're spending too much time with Gandriel." Celeste smirked as she shoved said male toward the door. Gandriel stuck his tongue out in response before waving farewell and slipping out under the arch of the bedroom.

Isabelle laughed, "Bon voyage, my friends! Best of luck with your travels!"

Murmurs went through the crowd as one of the noble men stood up, his bushy brows bunching as he addressed the small girl before him.

"You mean to tell me that one woman and a handful of barely armed fishermen single-handedly freed you and the other slaves? Preposterous."

"There was a woman with fangs and the skin of a snake too," The little girls cheeks puffed in agitation as she stomped her foot down, "it's the truth."

"What was she? Some magical creature? Child, even the most powerful of fae could not complete such a feat—"

Several of the fae emissaries shared a look, one that many of the human noblemen and women noted and scowled at.

"She was fae! She even saved my life before that, when she'd brought me back after I drowned—"

"A healer now, too? The probability of such a thing is just beyond reason—"

"The captain would have had to be some kind of fool to have not bound the female in faebane."

"Sounds like a child's tale to me," one of the fae male emissaries shouted next, his red hair in a plait down his back, "and while endearing it gives us no useful information—"

"Let her finish speaking!" A fae female chimed in, her blonde hair tied in a loose knot atop her head, "If you wish to hear the stories then you must be open to receiving them."

"But to attribute that type of daring rescue to one measly woman . . ."

A chorus of voices rose as arguments ensued, the girl's lip wobbling as everyone turned their attention and shouted over her. Cassian almost felt pity for her as he watched the others argue, discussing even the most minute detail of her story.

It had been an impressive one no doubt, a rescue that sounded better suited to one of the rubbish novels that Nesta read, but not as unlikely as many in the room were to believe. Then again, his family had always been prone pulling off the impossible.

"And what happened to this hero, child?" The original nobleman again, his voice so nasally that it grated against Cassian's nerves. His temper was within a hair's breadth of putting the bastard in his place.

The girl stopped, pulling at her sleeves before looking up. "I . . . I don't know . . ." She looked off to the side, her little face growing red with agitation. The girl's mother stood nearby, looking hopelessly on as the crowd continued their argument, the small boy hunkered behind her skirt.

"What nonsense," Lucien commented, having also listened to the child's recollection, "you'd think a room full of adults would have the decency to behave better than this."

"Do you not remember how the High Lord meetings have gone? I'd call this peaceful compared to some of those."

Lucien rolled his remaining eye before leaning back into his chair. "Well, thoughts?"

"Sounds like that group of people got really lucky." The likelihood of such a strong fae being present and having somehow escaped faebane was near zero. However, he had an inkling he knew exactly where that mysterious female had wondered off to, likely to the same place where a certain vigilante was raising hell. "They got out, I'd call that a case closed. Have you asked Fallon about it? She seems knowledgeable."

Lucien full-on blushed.

"We've been . . . preoccupied with other things." He rubbed at his face. "The woman's impossible, I never get anything done with her."

On the contrary, Cassian was certain Lucien got quite a few things done with the female. Rising from his chair, Cassian stretched his hidden wings, finding he'd had quite enough of this meeting, his head aching from the hours of monotonous discussions. He needed to get out and clear his mind, especially before he lost his temper and decided to knock heads together just to silence their nonsense. Lucien could fill him in on any remaining relevant information, especially since he was so . . . close . . . with the woman leading it all.

"Leaving?"

"Yes, I don't know how you can sit through anymore of it."

"Fair enough," Lucien also rose, flicking his attention towards the side door Fallon had disappeared through. "I should be on my way as well."

Cassian nodded toward the doorway and followed behind Lucien as they slipped out into the gardens, leaving the arguments and ensuing chaos behind him. If he never had to do this again, it'd be too soon.

Marrien was beyond flustered as she strode away holding her mother's hand after the meeting, feeling foolish for trying to share her story with the rude people in the assembly.

Although she wasn't supposed to use Celeste's real name, nor was she supposed to tell anybody where she was or what she was doing. She sniffed. She just shouldn't have come at all.

If Celeste had been there, she would have told them the truth. But she was off fighting the bad men, trying to save other people that had been taken like them. She missed her friend.

"It's all right," her mother assured, running a gentle hand down her hair, "we know that truth and that's the bit that matters."

"They're still dumb."

"Indeed, little one," a soft feminine voice interrupted as a beautiful, dark-haired high fae woman emerged from the edges of the crowd, two equally dark males flanking her. She wore a black tunic and her hair in a tight plait down her back, her eyes glistening like dark coals.

"May we help you?" her mother inquired, positioning herself between the female and her children. Marrien shared a concerned looked with James.

"Forgive me, madam, I would only like the opportunity to talk to your daughter." She nodded toward Marrien, her voice a soft trill. "Unlike the rest of these small-minded individuals, her story was most intriguing to me, and I feel it would be of great assistance to me and my colleagues if we could hear the whole, uninterrupted version."

Her mother paused before looking to her questioningly, letting her choose whether to speak or not.

Marrien made up her mind instantly.

Stepping forward toward the lady, she straightened her shoulders the way her mother had taught her and tilted her chin so that she could look up into her face. She wasn't nearly as pretty as Celeste was, though she did seem nice.

The female gave a small smile before kneeling down next to her so that they were eye level. "Let's begin with the part about the fae healer reviving you, it sounds like a very interesting tale."