Tharion: HOSAB Bonus Chapter

“Fitzroy, huh,” Tharion said, peering down at the river otter in the bright yellow messenger’s vest standing before him in the airlock of the Blue Court. “Where’d that name come from?”

The otter’s whiskers twitched, large, brown eyes blinking at him. The creatures could understand their language, but they didn’t have the vocal cords to speak it, relying instead on writing. Animals, yet not. No power to speak of, beyond the occasional drop of water magic.

The otter pulled out a tiny electronic tablet and typed, its little, black fingers tapping the keys one by one. Tharion bent to take the tablet when it was offered, and read: Fitzroy was my great-great- greatgrandsire’s name, sir.

“Ah,” Tharion said, smiling slightly as he handed back the tablet. “A family name.”

More typing. My friends call me Fitz.

“Nice to meet you, Fitz,” Tharion said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper. “You up for delivering this to the witches’ embassy?” A nod. Fitz extracted a metal cylinder from his messenger bag and offered it to Tharion. Tharion slipped the note inside and screwed on the watertight cap before handing it back to the otter. “Give it to

Queen Hypaxia—and Queen Hypaxia only.”

Fitz nodded again, not an ounce of surprise or awe on his fuzzy face. A true pro.

Tharion flipped the otter a gold mark. „Let’s keep it between us, Fitz.”

Fitz only winked and trotted for the small airlock built and reserved for the otter messengers. With a hiss of compressed air. the door sealed.

Tharion took his time heading back to his office. He had to maintain the appearance of looking for Emile, but right now he had a matter of his own to look into.

After locking the door to his office and powering up his computer, Tharion typed in the name that had been haunting him since last night.

Morganthia Dragas.

Hypaxia’s second in command. The late Queen Hecuba’s second as well. If anyone were to lead a revolt or make an attempt on Hypaxia’s life, it would be her.

While the witches had been on his radar only in the vaguest sense during his career, he’d looked into them after the Summit this past spring. His friendship with their queen gave him cause to be interested in who surrounded her. And after what he’d heard about Pax’s suspicions …

He skimmed through article after article about Morganthia. Little info came up beyond her tie to Hecuba, who had been a beloved, if enigmatic, ruler. Morganthia was the daughter of Moria, who had been general and second to Hecuba’s mother, Horae. Moria’s mother had been general and second to Horae’s mother, Queen Hestia, and so on throughout recorded history. A long line of powerful witches who had always served the throne closely.

But now it seemed that Morganthia wasn’t content to stand beside the throne any longer. Did she want it for herself?

Tharion idly tapped a finger on his desk, leaning back in chair. The last photo he’d stopped on was one of Morganthia and Hypaxia at the Summit. Morganthia stood beside her queen the gloom of a Reaper, all sharp angles and cold eyes. Pax hadn’t been smiling either, but the brightness in her eyes suggested kind ness and quiet joy.

It was that same brightness that had caught his attention when ‘d first encountered her, just two days before this photo was taken.

For a moment, he let the memory tug him back to the muggy warmth of the subterranean pools beneath the Summit center.

He’d been exhausted from the first day of meetings, and had pted for a late-night swim in the massive, winding pools. They’d been modeled to look like caves, with pillars and vaulted ceilings. some of the pools a hundred feet deep and equipped with housing units for mer who wanted to sleep submerged. Since

the River Queen’s daughter had wanted to stay in an underwater unit, he had little choice but to sleep down here in his own pod, too. But when sleep had been slow to embrace him, he’d found himself craving the quiet and stillness of one of the shallower pools. He’d assumed it would be empty so late at night.

At his desk, Tharion closed his eyes, letting the memory take over.

Exhaustion weighed down his body, his tail, as he wended between the pillars and grottos of the pools, reveling in the smoothness of his movement.

A moment of peace after a day of handling massive egos. And they were his job to handle, as the River Queen’s daughter certainly hadn’t stepped up to the plate.

He had no idea why her mother had sent her to the Summit at all.

Well, there was the obvious reason, which was that the River Queen didn’t leave the Istros, but to send her daughter, untrained and easily cowed … He supposed that was why he had been sent with her. He’d done the

talking. Had listened to Micah and San and the Autumn King and Sabine and all those assholes jabber away about war and trade, each trying to one-up the next. He figured he’d let them talk for another few days, let them exhaust each other, before making his points–and his queen’s points known.

But just sitting there for hours had drained him. And though he’d taken an early-morning swim to make sure the shift held, he needed this. His love of all things Above didn’t cancel out his love for what it felt like to be in the water, to move in it, to listen to its currents.

Another six days of this Hel.

At least he’d been able to sit. Athalar, the poor bastard, had been forced to stand in the back all day. He’d been gifted to Sandriel – Ogenas have mercy on the male.

There was nothing Tharion could do to help him. According to rumors, Bryce Quinlan had offered not only gold but her very life to Sandriel in Hunt’s stead. Sandriel had turned her down.

And in the process, Sandriel had revealed Bryce’s secret: Legs was the Autumn King’s daughter. While listening to the asshole talk today, Tharion had been shocked to realize just how many features and expressions the Autumn King and his daughter shared. How had he-how had anyone-not realized it?

Tharion shook his head, swimming another loop around the space, luxuriating in the powerful sweep of his tail, the answering ripple of the water magic in his veins.

A faint splash sounded through the water. Like something had been dropped.

He aimed for the surface, emerging slowly, making hardly a ripple as he peered toward the source of the sound.

There, sitting at the pool’s edge with her feet in the water, just inside the glass doors to the hall, sat Queen Hypaxia.

He scanned the white-tiled space for any hint of her guard, but the witch had come alone. She seemed content to just dabble her feet in the serene pool and lean back against her hands. There was no sign of her

cloudberry crown or fine robes. Just a simple white gown, as if she were one of Luna’s temple virgins.

Had she come down here looking for someone, or just for solitude?

Tharion kept to the shadows of one of the pillars, treading water as silently as he could.

He hadn’t formally met Hypaxia, since the River Queen’s daughter had not formally met her, but he’d seen her during whe procession, the fancy meal afterward, and during the meetin today. She’d been as quiet as he had been, listening to the whers rather than spewing vitriol. She’d even been taking notes throughout.

Young, but wise.

She kicked her feet, splashing, tipping her face to the ceiling. Young, but wise and beautiful.

He knew better than to let that thought progress, but he couldn’t stop himself from swimming closer. From letting his tail make enough of a splash that she looked his way, eyes wide with alarm.

He halted about ten feet away, where the water remained deep enough to allow room for his tail to

keep him vertical, and gave her a crooked smile. „I’d be careful putting my feet in the water if I were you,” he said. „Something might bite off those little toes.” He winked.

She didn’t smile, just asked sincerely, „What might bite them off?”

He chuckled. „I have to admit that I hadn’t thought further than the intro line.”

She smiled slightly then. „I hope I’m not intruding.” He waved a hand at the massive chamber, sprawling into faded gloom behind him. “Benefit to having a space as large as the entire convention center: little chance for crowding.”

She stared at him with those large, gorgeous eyes.

„You are Tharion Ketos. The River Queen’s Captain of Intelligence.”

„A lot of people doubt that whole ‘intelligence’ thing where I’m involved, but yeah. Hi.” He bowed his head. „You’re, ah… Queen Hypaxia.”

A shallow nod, her face going a bit distant.

„I’m sorry about your mother,” he added quietly.

„So am I,” she said, but added, „Thank you.”

She clearly wanted space and some time alone, but… he didn’t miss the sorrow in e sorrow in her eyes. The way her shoulders had sagged at the reference to her late mother. So he said, if only to get rid of that sadness on her face, „How’d you think today went?”

She angled her head, as if surprised he’d opted to continue the conversation rather than swim off and let it politely die.

„I found it … enlightening,” she said carefully.

„So diplomatic,” he teased, and swam closer, leaning an arm against the side of the pool. „I found it boring as Hel. A whole lot of posturing and little substance.”

Her lips twitched upward. „Is that your official report as Captain of Intelligence?”

„My official report is more like: windbag leaders blow a lot of hot air while fighting over who has the biggest dick.”

She laughed-softly, but with real humor. „I’m sure your queen will appreciate your keen assessment.”

He put a clawed hand over his heart in self- mockery. „She always does.”

Hypaxia’s gaze skimmed over the calm, empty water behind him. „I was advised to listen first, to evaluate my … companions here, and then make my opinions known.”

„Hence the notes.”

„You were watching?”

„Captain of Intelligence, remember? Unless you were doodling love letters to your handsome fiance.”

She blushed at that. „Queens don’t doodle. Or write love letters.”

„Wrong and wrong.” With a powerful movement of his tail, he leapt beside her onto the edge of the pool, splashing her in the process. „Sorry,” he said as her white gown soaked up the water streaming from him.

She waved him off. „A little water never harmed anyone.”

He examined her face for a moment, then asked,

„How long have you and Ruhn known each other?”

„That’s quite a personal question.”

He grinned. „If you think that’s personal, you’re in deep trouble.”

Her lips quirked again, as if she were fighting a full-on smile. „Not long at all. We only know each other casually.”

„He seems to have a good deal of interest in you.” Tharion kept his tone playful. “I maintained a running tally today of how many times he looked at you.”

„You did not.”

„I was up to seventeen by noon.”

She let out a laugh then, unleashing that smile. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

„Not a chance. Princey was practically drooling.” Another laugh, like silver bells. „You’re trouble.”

„I hear that a lot.”

An amiable silence fell. Then he asked, “You needed some time to yourself, huh?”

She resumed idly kicking her bare feet in the water. “I’ve spent much of my life at my mother’s private keep in the mountains, with only my tutors for company. In recent months, I’ve managed to find a way to ease into the modern world. But here I’ve found that I must adjust to having so many eyes on me as queen.”

There was a great deal to unpack there. “Why did you grow up alone in the wilderness?” „

It was my mother’s choice.” It wasn’t an answer, but her voice was aloof enough that he knew not to press. She continued, “I have . . . unusual gifts. Ones that my mother thought best to learn in seclusion.”

“Am I allowed to ask?”

„I would not have mentioned them to you if not.” He drawled, “So tell me, Pax: What sort of gifts?”

Her lips quirked upward at the nickname. But she said, “Necromancy. I can raise and speak with the dead.”

Tharion let out a long whistle. “Color me impressed.” His brows rose. “I thought witches were all House of Earth and Blood, though. Necromancy is a Flame and Shadow gift.”

“My father was a necromancer,” she said. “I inherited the full force of his talents.”

“So you ca you can, like … really raise the dead?” His sister’s face Hashed through his mind.

„There are lim It is why we mos lere are limits, and there can be dire consequences, but yes. ly we mostly stick to speaking with them, instead.”

“What happens when the dead come back? Are they … the same?”

„No. If their body has been destroyed, they require a new one. Which is disorienting, to say the least. And some find that they do not want to be ripped from the Eternal Lands. I haven’t done a true raising, though, so I can only tell you what I’ve learned from my tutors. We operate by a strict moral code, and they made sure I was well schooled in it.”

„They’re necromancers?”

„No. They’re ghosts.”

Tharion started. “Excuse me?”

“Very ancient ghosts. My mother thought it best that they be the ones to teach me. Not just about necromancy, but about everything a queen needs to know.”

His mind reeled. Necromancers weren’t common, but they weren’t unheard of, either. For the witch-queen to be one, though— that could have interesting implications. “Is this knowledge secret?”

“No. Some in my coven wish it were, but I am not ashamed. I have no reason to hide the skill. It works hand in hand with my healing abilities.”

“Life and death.”

„Exactly.”

That companionable silence again fell, and Tharion swished his tail in the water. She asked, “Do you prefer your mer form or the humanoid one?”

“No one’s ever asked me that.”

“Is it private?”

“No. I just …” He considered. “I don’t know the answer.”

She studied him. Like she could see the part of him that sometimes only raced back to water because he had to, not because he wanted to. He tried not to shift under that gaze, and turned the focus back to her by asking, “Do you prefer being on land or flying on your broom?”

She was having none of it. “That’s not the same thing. But if you must know, I prefer to fly.” She gestured to a brooch shaped like lush-bodied Cthona on her shoulder. “My broom is contained in this. As easy to summon as your fins. I find that I can sometimes hear it calling to me. That I can hear the wind itself calling to me, beckoning me to ride its dips and swells. There’s a freedom and quiet in doing so.” She gave him a knowing look. “I suspect you were swimming about down here for a similar reason.”

Young and wise, indeed.

“Swimming about makes me seem so … idle,” he protested. “How about ‘prowling the waters’ instead?” Again, that slight smile. “Prowling the waters, then.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I needed some time to decompress,” he admitted. “I’m, uh … I’m engaged to the River Queen’s daughter.” He so, so rarely ever spoke the words aloud. “It comes with perks, yeah, but also a lot of obligations on a daily basis. Enough of them that …” He cut himself off before he said too much, but from the gleam in her eyes, he knew the witch-queen read the unspoken words: that it was a huge mistake for me to make in the first place. “But beyond that, I just needed to think over all the crap the windbags at the Summit said today.”

“When I do speak, I shall make sure to try to impress you.”

„You’ve already impressed me and then some, Pax.” How many young rulers would share things with him like this? Guarded, yes, but still open. Friendly. If she’d been surrounded by ghosts her whole life, he didn’t         blame her for wanting some living companionship. But the queen was still different. From the timid River Queen’s daughter, from the preening Fae rulers, from the glowering Archangels. A sort of clarity glowed in her eyes that he couldn’t turn away from.

Which was precisely why he jumped back into the water, trying not to splash her. When he emerged, slicking back his hair, he said, “Well, I need to sleep. Gotta be alert for more dick-swinging tomorrow.”

“Are you referring to yourself or the others?”

She said it so coolly that he burst out laughing. “Good night, Pax.”

She blushed, and Tharion swam a few feet away.

“Good night,” she said.

“See you bright and early,” he replied, and dove beneath the water. He aimed for his own sleeping pod across the space. a even when he knew he’d swum deep and far enough for her ne to see him, he could have sworn he felt the witch’s gaze lingering.

A beep on Tharion’s computer stirred him from the memory, and he opened his eyes to find a slew of new emails to read.

But he allowed himself a moment more to remember. How during the next few days, he’d continually flashed her a piece of paper during the meetings where he’d tallied all the times Ruhn had stared at her. How she’d blushed and waved him off.

How they’d met at the pool each night to chat about everything and nothing, sometimes only for five minutes, sometimes for an hour. By the time all Hel broke loose-quite literally—he’d considered her a friend. He knew she felt the same.

He’d returned to Lunathion during the demon invasion and had no idea when he’d see her again. Until last night. Until the attack on her and Bryce. Was her traitorous coven to blame? Who better to find out than a captain of intelligence?

Tharion sorted through his emails, then returned to his research.

He had friends, of course. Captain Tharion Ketos was nothing if not friendly. But those friends had always been casual. His connection with Pax had felt instant, honest, and deep. He sure as fuck wasn’t going to let the vultures in her coven hurt her or rob her of her birthright. Whatever it took, he’d help her.

That is, if he managed to survive all this business with Emile Renast and the Ophion rebels. Not to mention his queen.

He was still researching Morganthia when Fitzroy returned, bearing a message in the metal tube.

The otter waited politely at the door while Tharion read Hypaxia’s reply, written below his original message.

He’d written:

I meant what I said earlier. I’ve got your back. If you need me to deal with your coven, I will. No questions asked. I know a lot of hungry river beasts.

She’d replied, You are a good friend. Thank you.

He frowned a bit at the short, impersonal reply. But then he sam the postscript she’d added:

PS Looks like we’re back to dealing with the dick- swingers.

He laughed and tucked the note into his pocket, then said to the otter, „That’ll be all, Fitz.”

The otter typed away on his tablet, then handed Tharion both the device and a laminated business card. If you require someone discreet, I am available for private hire outside of the agency. I offer competitive, often superlative, rates.

Tharion looked down at the card, which said:

Fitzroy Brookings, Personal Messenger.

It listed a private email and stated that he was available every day of the year, even holidays.

“Enterprising,” Tharion said, pocketing the card. “I like it.”

The otter’s whiskers twitched, and he flashed Tharion a little fanged smile.

“I’ll be in touch, Fitz,” Tharion said with a friendly wave. The otter bowed his farewell before striding out. Tharion pulled both the business card and Hypaxia’s note from his pocket.

He’d definitely be in touch with the otter. If Hypaxia was in danger, he’d wield every asset he could to protect her.

Even if it meant risking everything he had.