A Kiss of Flame (Shadows Eternal #3)

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

London

seven days before barith has to fly back home

“ I ’ve got it!" Levian bellowed, bursting into the library.

Barith knocked the back of his head on the mantle above him, snarling a curse. He’d been prodding the fire when she’d entered. Rubbing his aching head, he turned with the poker still in his hand. "Aye? What?” he asked.

Levian stalked up to the back of the dark blue velvet couch across from the fire, her fair face alight with triumph. She held up a small black note card emblazoned with gold lettering and read it aloud.

“ Kamár invites the lovely Levian Myrddin admittance tomorrow eve for a night of enchantment and indulgence, along with her alluring companion, Barith McCroy of the Sun Dragon Horde of the North Sea .” She squealed with delight and flipped it over. "The address is on the back—it’s only in Soho,” she said.

His house, Ember Hall, was in Mayfair, a few blocks from London’s famous Hyde Park. An old two-story red-bricked townhouse with a large walled-in back garden, it had been left to Barith by his father, who had won it off some half-fae in a game of cards. He’d gotten his love of betting honest. Barith had always been more fond of Ember Hall than his sisters. To his embarrassment, he’d let the place fall into disrepair over the years. When he’d brought Sirus and Gwen there last year to hide out from the High Priestess, Nestra, he’d discovered an unexpected guest. Levian had settled into his house as if it were her own, to his irritation at the time. It was Levian’s mage handiwork that kept Ember Hall hidden with wards ensuring no human or Folk could see it from the street. She’d also freshened the place up to her liking. It had sat just as she’d left it ever since.

Barith put the poker back on the stand. " Alluring companion ?” he repeated.

Levian scoffed as she came around to sit on the couch, her many silken layers billowing around her. "Don’t get a big head about it. You’re likely the only reason they extended the invitation in the first place," she admitted, a hint of irritation in her voice.

Normally, Barith would’ve thrilled to hear her admit to something like that, but instead, it made his stomach churn. Levian had gone out to meet an old friend for coffee earlier in the day, hoping the tête-à-tête would lead to an invitation if she dropped a few cleverly chosen words. Barith eyed her. "What exactly did you tell this friend of yours?” he asked, now worried.

Levian rolled her eyes and fiddled with her layered gold necklaces. "What does it matter? It got us an invitation."

"Vi," Barith growled, his glare hardening.

She returned his glare, unfazed. "I told her you were with me here in London," she said.

"And?"

Levian shrugged her slight shoulders. "And that we were simply looking to enjoy ourselves while in town—somewhere private, where we could enjoy the company of others without word getting back to your horde about what you may or may not be doing."

Barith cursed, rubbing his face with his hand. "Hells," he groaned. He hadn’t thought about anyone back home finding out about his exploits. It was one thing to be let off for a few weeks, but if his mother or anyone else found out he was skipping out on his Courting to indulge in illicit affairs at an elite pixie club, he’d be strung up by his balls for shaming the horde and his Queen.

"No one will find out," Levian assured him. "The members are discreet for a reason. They don’t want you talking about them, either. Why do you think it’s so difficult to get an invitation?"

He was somewhat reassured, but only somewhat. "So what’s the plan?" he asked, flopping down into one of two oversized, well-worn leather chairs at either end of the couch.

"We play the part," Levian said as if it were obvious. "I’m the overworked Ambassador of the Wizen Council of Mages with a notorious father, looking to blow off a little steam with my long-time companion, who’s about to be mated and consumed with dragon horde business."

There was that word again: companion .

"They think we’re looking for a night of fun and secrecy," she continued. "It’s not like we haven’t pulled this kind of con before."

Barith understood the gist, and they had pulled similar stunts in the past—just not with quite the same heavy stakes. "So we’re supposed to indulge while trying to shake down the other patrons for information?" he asked skeptically.

Levian leaned closer, her violet eyes gleaming. "We know the trade is happening tomorrow night, which means the Curator must be there. If it’s happening at Kamár, someone involved is likely a member, if not multiple people. We just need to ask the right questions and find our Curator. Once we do, I’ll pull them aside, make mention of my recent possession of the Heart Orb, and the rest will fall into place."

Barith fought the instinct to laugh. Nothing ever went that simply—especially one of Levian’s plans.

"If this is an Eldreth club, can’t you just show it to anyone? Won’t they know what it is?"

She scowled. "I can’t just walk up to a drink attendant and drop it in their lap,” she retorted. “Besides, the whole point is to make it seem natural—like I happened to come across a rare relic in my work and am curious about the details if I were interested in brokering a sale without the crust-ridden Council of Mages finding out."

He grunted. "You think they’ll trust you?” he asked.

Levian looked unsure. "That’s half the problem. I don’t know any Eldreth personally, even with my vast network. Abigail might have been able to help, but she had a falling out with them years ago over the price of some rare necklace and hasn’t dealt with them since. Plus, you know I’m not keen on trading Dokk artifacts. I’ve kept my distance from them for a reason.”

It made sense. Levian knew a lot about Dokk relics but had always kept her distance due to her father’s obsession with the shadow fae. He’d tried to wield Dokk magick, and it had been his ruin—leaving deep scars in his wake, which Levian still endured.

"I don’t know if they’ll trust me," she admitted, her gaze drifting toward the fire. "But I think they’ll overlook any hesitations if it means brokering the sale of the Heart Orb after all these years, especially since that half-fae in Paris boasted about having it in his collection until he was outed as a liar. There’s a buzz around it now. I think the plan will work." She looked at him, her eyes filled with determination.

Barith had promised to help her catch her thieves, and this did seem like the best plan to smoke them out. Plus, the number of days left before he had to return to return home was dwindling fast.

"What if Council finds out?" he asked, unsure how they’d react.

Levian pulled a face. "They could revoke my position as Ambassador, but I think they’d love an excuse to do that anyway."

"Have ye been that bad at your job?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Levian huffed. "I’m brilliant at it," she boasted, smoothing her skirts. "King Thurin is pleased as punch with me, and I’ve already brokered new trade contracts with the Winter Fae that will boost profits for his entire kingdom. I’ve overseen the establishment of a new High Priestess, and the island is thriving. The Temple is purged of Nestra’s dark magicks, and the zephyrs are softening to outsiders—granted rather slowly.”

Barith hadn’t realized how much she’d accomplished. Levian had a reputation for being difficult and indulgent, but Barith knew her better than that. The mage was among the most brilliant, clever, hardworking creatures he’d ever met.

"I’m happy for you, Vi," he said. "The zephyrs are lucky to have you."

She tensed at his compliment. "Yes, well," she replied dismissively.

Barith hesitated. A question lingered—one he’d asked before but had yet to get a straight answer. "These Black Masks—your thieves—what do you think they’re up to? Ye wouldnae be goin’ through all this trouble if you werenae worried."

Levian stood and began pacing before the fire. "Last year, with Gwen and Nestra, I told you I felt something else was going on. I already assumed someone else had to be involved in helping Nestra unravel those Dokk spells, even before Merlin had mentioned it.”

Barith vividly remembered their visit to Tarchár—The Prison—to see her father. Going with Levian to see Merlin, who was imprisoned for eternity in an enchanted fae prison nestled deep beneath a mountain under a dark, frigid sea, had been a rather harrowing experience. He hated being below ground, and it was about as below ground as possible.

"You think the Black Masks were behind Nestra’s attempt to overthrow Thurin?" he continued.

"Possibly," she replied. "I’m not sure how much Nestra even knew. There’s a chance she was meant to give the thieves the items they ultimately stole from Thurin. It may have worked more in their favor that she ended up dead in the end if she might have gotten in their way.”

Barith grunted. He liked the sound of these thieves less and less. And the idea of staying to help Levian face them more and more. She was intelligent and capable but too willing to jump into danger at times—and she hated asking for help when it came to herself.

"To what ends—I still don’t know," she continued, her pacing relentless. "But they’re not just collecting for the sake of it. There’s intent behind it."

Barith hated to suggest it, but the thought slipped out. "Do you think Merlin would know?"

The mage stopped, her face twisted as if she’d bitten into something sour. "I’ll cross that bridge only if I must," she said coldly. Levian took a deep breath, turning back to him with a smirk.

His stomach knotted. "What?" he asked, not liking the amusement in her eyes.

She smiled. "I did a bit of shopping,” she confessed.

Barith frowned. "Aye?"

"I was hoping we’d get our invitation, so I took it upon myself to put together outfits for the occasion,” she chirped.

Barith groaned. This wasn’t the first time Levian had dressed him up for a harebrained scheme. "Please tell me it isn’t bloody mesh."

She scoffed, feigning offense. "It’s not that kind of club—or at least, I don’t think it is.”

Barith stood and looked down at the mage, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Levian loved an adventure and loved dressing up even more. If she got to dress him up, that was ten times better. Her joy brought him joy, and he was reminded why he was here—not just to help her catch her thieves but because he wanted to spend time with her. He reached into his back pocket.

Levian watched as the dragon reached behind him, and her breath hitched when he produced Beatrice. The egg shimmered with a radiant golden polish, delicate filigree winding across its surface like enchanted vines. Vibrant gemstones—emeralds, sapphires, and rubies—were encrusted into its shell, casting flickers of color as they reflected the light from the burning fire. Beatrice was just as she remembered.

Her heart thrummed with excitement as Levian brushed her fingers delicately over Beatrice’s cool surface. Barith quickly held it high above her head, out of reach.

She cocked her hip, her face twisting. "Are you seriously going to act like a child?" she snarled.

He shrugged. "I’ve done worse," he teased, a sly smile playing on his lips. Barith turned, placing Beatrice atop a tall decorative vase on the mantel.

"How many days until you go back?" she asked—she already knew but asked anyway.

"A week," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest when he turned back to face her.

Beatrice loomed, but not nearly as much as Barith. A week was all she had left with him.

Levian wanted to catch her thieves and wanted Beatrice back—but she also wanted to savor her time with Barith. His presence brought back a sense of comfort she’d almost forced herself to forget. The idea of him leaving soon filled her with emotions she wasn’t keen on unpacking, so she stuffed them down. They had thieves to hunt, and she was excited about Kamár—excited enough to ignore her friend’s assumptions about her and Barith’s current relationship.

"We’d better put on a good show tomorrow, shouldn’t we?" she purred.

He smirked. "I’ll keep my end of the bargain, mage. We’ll find yer Curator."

Levian was confident they would. If not, she was prepared to take more desperate measures, though she kept those thoughts to herself.

She smiled up at him, butterflies of excitement filling her belly. Levian had no idea what would unfold at Kamár, but she had no doubt it would be diverting.

She raised a finger and brushed it over the edge of his beard. “It’s getting long,” she said. “Perhaps you could use a trim before tomorrow evening?”

He grumbled low at her touch, the sound sending an instinctive shiver through her. She quickly pulled her finger away.

“Ye offering to give me a trim?” he asked, his voice husky—or so she thought.

“Please,” she huffed, stepping away as she suddenly felt far too warm. “I’m not good with shears, but I know a talented barber who can help.”

Barith rubbed his bearded chin. “I suppose I could if ye think it’ll help?”

She smirked at him over her shoulder. “You look nice when you’re trimmed.”

He held her gaze for a moment, and it made her feel horribly uneasy for some reason. Levian snatched the invitation from the couch and declared, “I’ll make you an appointment. Right now, I’m famished. Shall we find some dinner?”

Barith was still watching her when she glanced back at him from the doorway. “Aye,” he replied, his tone distracted. “Dinner.”

It was utterly ridiculous, but a flush of heat wafted through her when she stepped into the hall and out of sight. More ridiculous was the fact that Levian realized with embarrassment that the look in his eye had caused her to blush thoroughly from head to toe.