“What is he going to do that he hasn’t had an opportunity to do already? Before you went to talk to Lorelei on the balcony, he told me that it was all for me. He made this entire meeting happen. Don’t you want to know how he managed to get all these packs together and orchestrate this? Aren’t you curious?”

The muscles on his jaw stood out. I won.

“Take Derek. Hugh will bring someone with him.”

He took a step forward. I could take one, too. “No problem. I can even bring another person if you want.”

“Derek is fine,” Curran said.

“I’ll be back tonight,” I told him. “It will be okay. Don’t worry.”

* * *

At seven, Hibla came to get us. We followed her down the road to a narrow mountain path that led north, to a low mountain thrusting up like a dragon fang north of the castle. The western half of it had been blasted to make room for the railroad, and layers of rock thrust out of the sheer cliff. The path reached the mountain and turned into a paved sidewalk that dived into the mountain’s forested side.

Trees rose on both sides of us, not wild growth but carefully cultivated greenery, cut back to please the eye. Every few feet there would be a stone step. Short feylantern torches glowed on both side of the path, with bright sparks of deluded fireflies dancing around them. Unlike the lavender feylanterns in the castle, these were yellow, a color mages in Atlanta fought for but couldn’t achieve. Magic wrapped around us. Hugh went all out.

The path climbed up, turned, climbed up again, and turned again . . . We kept zigzagging up the mountain until finally we came to a small sitting area: a wooden bench with a table and some meat and bread under a wire hood.

“You and I will wait here,” Hibla told Derek.

“If anything happens to her, you’ll die first,” Derek told her.

Well, that settled that.

I climbed farther up the path. The greenery parted and I saw a large table set under the trees. The trees on the west side had been sheared and an evening sea stretched before me, azure and beautiful, as the sun slowly set into its cool waters.

Hugh sat at the table. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt. Lord Death at his most casual.

He rose and smiled at me. I sat across from him on the north side, while he sat on the south. My back was to the path. Argh.

“Nobody will be coming up,” he said and raised a bottle. “Wine?”

“Water.”

“You don’t drink much,” he said.

“I drank too much for a while.”

“I did, too,” he said, and poured two glasses of water, one for himself, one for me.

The table held three platters: fruit, meat, and cheese. Everything a growing warlord needs.

“Please,” Hugh invited.