The five of them sat in silence for several minutes, until Nyx’s tears subsided. Lifting her gaze, she let it travel around the table, and she felt the same pain she was suffering reflected in their faces.

  Strange how there was comfort in that.

  She’d spent a lifetime alone, but now, now she had friends. Friends who challenged her intellectually, but more than that…friends who would share her joy and her pain.

  The cold numbness that had set in since seeing Josephine lifted slightly. She still had more tears to shed, but knowing she was surrounded, was encapsulated in this cocoon of love, made that somehow bearable.

  She lifted her pint of Guinness. “I will miss her sweet smile and her kind heart.”

  The others lifted their glasses, tapping them together and taking a sip. The sweet, malty beer was creamy and thick and it warmed her as it slid down her throat.

  They remained in the snug for another hour, and two more rounds of Guinness, much to Lancelot’s dismay. Especially when Grigoris appeared at the door. He looked furious until his gaze landed on hers. Then he took in the others at the table and his shoulders relaxed.

  “Ready to go back to the hotel, Nyx?” he asked in such a way she thought he’d willingly stand guard outside with Lancelot if she needed more time with her friends.

  She nodded, and as they stood to leave, she accepted Cecilia’s hug and Karl’s promise to call tomorrow to check on her. She smiled when Hugo reached for her hand, giving it a quick squeeze, and she nodded in agreement when James promised her they’d catch the mastermind and make him pay for what he’d done.

  Grigoris placed a strong arm around her shoulders, tucking her close to him as they stepped back out onto the street.

  “Are you angry at me for leaving the hotel?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “Lancelot sent me an encrypted text fifteen minutes ago when he realized there was a chance I’d get back to the hotel before you.”

  “I needed to see them. To be with them. After losing…” She swallowed heavily and Grigoris saved her from having to speak Josephine’s name aloud.

  “I know. I’m glad you weren’t alone tonight.”

  With his kind words, a fresh round of tears started to fall. Grigoris picked up the pace, neither of them speaking again until they reached their hotel suite.

  Locking the door, he turned to face her, his arms outstretched.

  And she took the invitation, stepping into his embrace, crying out more of the endless pain.

  Grigoris held her through it all, then carried her to the bed and undressed her as she lay there, too weak and exhausted to take off her own clothing.

  He tucked her under the blanket, stripped off his own outfit, then joined her beneath the soft duvet. Pulling her into his arms, he held her as she cried herself to sleep.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nyx opened her eyes, blinking a few times to focus them. When she did, she smiled, not bothering to shield the expression and ignoring the way the muscles pulled.

  Grigoris lay next to her on his back. While she slept on her side, curled up into a ball, he resembled a starfish, his arms thrown above his head, outstretched, one leg pressed against hers, the other hanging over the side of the bed.

  She thought he looked younger in repose, peaceful, at ease. Nyx knew one tiny sound of distress from her would change that state. That he would bolt upright ready to protect her life with his own.

  Nyx propped herself up on her elbow, studying his features, his thick lashes and the dark stubble on his face. His hair was mussed up in such a way she longed to run her fingers through it.

  Ever since she was a young girl, she’d eschewed thoughts of what it would feel like to wake up next to a man she was in love with. She’d allowed herself to dream of that for a brief period of time just before she turned eighteen, when she actually thought she could convince Petro to set their betrothal aside. But since then, she’d shut those desires down, never letting them see the light of day.

  Grigoris had awakened them, and she feared the time when he would be placed in his trinity by Hande. She didn’t let herself picture what her life would be like if she was forced to return to Lake Balaton and her marriage to Petro. Both eventualities were too painful to consider.

  Grigoris’ eyes opened slowly, finding hers instantly. He smiled, the beloved expression warming her from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.

  It took less than ten seconds for him to recall yesterday’s events, and his happiness faded, replaced with concern.

  “Are you all right, Nyx?”

  She nodded, her heart clenching when she thought of Josephine. “I’m struggling to convince myself it really happened,” she confessed.

  “That’s normal. You lost a dear friend. It’s going to take time for that to sink in.”

  “I don’t want it to sink in.”

  Grigoris sat up and she did the same. He cupped her cheek affectionately. “That’s normal too.”

  “I’m perfectly aware of the five stages of grief, motănel. What I find myself struggling with is the evil behind this act. What would drive a person to kill such an innocent, sweet soul? What did Josephine discover, what did she see or discover that might precipitate such violence?”

  Grigoris sighed. “Based on our retracing her steps, and the fact that she was assisting the Archivist, rather than participating in an active investigation, there is a chance,” he paused, and she could see it gave him no joy to say, “she found nothing. Saw nothing. It is possible the mastermind killed, or more likely had her killed, as a warning or message to us, to Eric personally. Or maybe she died simply because she was accessible.”

  Nyx hadn’t considered such a thing. She needed there to be some meaning, some purpose to Josephine’s death. The idea that it was a senseless act of cruelty felt like a worse crime than the decapitation. Josephine was brilliant, kind, important. To think someone could destroy all of that on a whim or as a way of hurting others made it so much worse.

  “I can’t…” Nyx swallowed hard. “Can we not…”

  Grigoris kissed her brow. “Put it away for now, ángelos. We have a long day ahead of us. Eric is expecting me at the library in an hour to continue the investigation while Arthur works on damage control.”

  “I want to come with you.”

  “Nyx. I wish you could—”

  She held her hand up. “But I can’t.”

  He paused, and it was clear he was surprised that she wasn’t putting up a fight.

  “I can’t go back there,” she said. The library at Trinity College, the Long Room, had long been one of “her places.” All libraries were. The books brought her comfort in a world where she didn’t always fit in.

  She wasn’t certain she could ever step foot in the Long Room again.

  “Lancelot will be just outside. He may be a knight, but he used to be a security officer. He’ll fight fair if he can. If he can’t…I know he’ll do whatever is necessary to keep you safe.”

  Nyx nodded. She knew Grigoris would never leave her unprotected, and he wouldn’t entrust her care to just anyone. The fact he trusted Lancelot spoke volumes about the English knight.

  “What happens next in the investigation?”

  Grigoris didn’t respond immediately, and she realized there was more than one ongoing investigation. “We won’t stay in Dublin. It’s possible you and the other librarians are targets. But there’s something else. I want to speak to Eric on your behalf, Nyx. I want to plead your case, find a way to get you out of your marriage.”

  “I’ve explained why that’s not prud—”

  Grigoris clasped her face in his hands, pulling her toward him. He kissed her roughly, passionately.

  Her lips parted, welcoming his tongue, drinking in his taste. She would never get enough of him.

  When he released her, they were both breathless. “I can’t bear the thought of losing you,” he confessed.

  “I feel the same.” Nyx considered Josephine, realized she’d never properly told the other woman how much her friendship had meant to her. Their world had gone mad. None of them could be certain there would be a tomorrow. “You have come to mean everything to me.”

  Grigoris rested his forehead against hers, the two of them closing their eyes, relishing this quiet moment when they could push the rest of the world away, could pretend it was just her and him and that their time was infinite.

  Grigoris pulled away first. “I have to leave.”

  She smiled. “I know.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  Her smile didn’t waver. “I know.”

  Nyx’s eyes were closed though she wasn’t asleep. She’d thought perhaps rest would still her thoughts, help her find a way to relax, but she couldn’t make the transition from wakefulness to sleep. She hadn’t managed more than a few hours’ sleep since they’d left Dublin two days earlier. That was due in part to the fact that, in the interest of safety, she and the other librarians had been sent into hiding after taking convoluted journeys all across Europe in the hope of ensuring Josephine’s killer, and the mastermind, wouldn’t be able to track them.

  Instead, she was in that cognizant state of dozing, and her thoughts were whirling, touching on too many things.

  “Time for our council of war,” Eric said softly.

  Nyx sat up. She’d been lying on the bottom bed of one of the eight metal bunks that lined the walls of the large underground room. Grigoris’ thigh had been serving as her pillow, his hand occasionally stroking her hair. It had felt odd at first, showing any kind of public affection with Grigoris, but her need for his touch overrode her habitual secrecy. When they’d been in Lake Balaton, hiding her feelings for Grigoris had been absolutely necessary. Hiding her marriage to Petro had been a point of pride, and a way to hide the shame she felt whenever she thought about her “betrothal.”

  The people who’d taken shelter in the bunker with them all knew that she was, technically, married to Petro, but no one had said anything about her obvious relationship with Grigoris. Even Eric—who, as Fleet Admiral, probably should have said something—hadn’t passed comment.

  She stood and rolled her shoulders. Grigoris also rose, placing his left hand on the small of her back. He held his knife, unsheathed, in his right hand. The sheath, which was normally hidden by his sleeve, was visible, since he was wearing jeans and a tight white undershirt.

  A large table in the center of the underground room had enough seats for ten people. One by one they took a chair, sitting down on cold, uncomfortable metal with various levels of grimaces marking their features.

  Eric was at the head of the table. He’d been quiet and eerily calm since they’d left Dublin.

  Antonio ushered Leila and Karl to chairs but didn’t take one himself. Leila and Karl were having a hard time staying in the bunker. When Ciril had kidnapped them, he’d kept them in a concrete basement room, and their current situation clearly brought back bad memories. Karl’s face was tight, and he kept adjusting his glasses, touching them almost protectively. Leila kept hold of a very large gun with the hand not holding Karl’s.

  Antonio looked over at his father, as if considering helping him, but then abandoned the thought and backed up, leaning against the wall where he could see the steel door that was the only entrance into the bunker, while also watching over his spouses. Antonio, as the acting admiral, wasn’t staying in the bunker. He was the only one who was allowed to come and go.

  His sister, Sophia, glanced at him, then took the handles of their father’s wheelchair. She helped Giovanni to the table, placing him in the spot opposite Eric.

  “It is high time we treated this as war,” Giovanni said. The admiral of Rome looked formidable, despite the fact that he was in a wheelchair. His hair was short, and there was a visible lack of growth where there was a scar, thanks to the head injury he’d suffered when the Villa Degli Dei was bombed. Still, his bearing was nearly regal, and his dark eyebrows and salt-and-pepper hair were striking.

  After helping her father, Sophia took a seat beside James. “Father, many brilliant people have been working diligently. Your statement might be interpreted as a reprimand or dismissal of that work.”

  There was a reason they called Sophia Starabba the principessa, even after her marriage to James and Arthur, and move to London. She was regal, and managed to convey both censure and disappointment while keeping the words crisp.

  Nyx had spoken briefly with James and knew that Arthur had resorted to ordering his spouses to leave. Too many of the mastermind’s attacks had taken place in the territory of England. When Giovanni had been injured, Sophia hadn’t been able to return to Rome due to security concerns. She and James had decided to take some time away from the stress of the situation and were followed by a killer. If not for the man who was now known as Lancelot, they might have been the victims of yet another of the mastermind’s pets.

  The fact that they’d been targeted once, so close to home, had prompted Eric to send them to the territory of Rome, where Antonio could protect them.

  “Antonio, sit down,” Eric said softly.

  Nyx and Grigoris exchanged a silent look of worry. The fleet admiral was…distressingly calm.

  Antonio pushed off of the wall and took a seat across from his trinity, on Nyx’s other side. She relaxed a little, glad that he was no longer standing against the wall and therefore at her back.

  Once Antonio was in place there were nine people at the table.

  Nyx glanced at the empty chair and then away.

  Of the original six librarians, three of them were in this room—herself, James and Karl. Cecilia and Hugo were holed up in a second secret, secure location with their trinities, and Josephine was dead.

  Nyx wavered between moments where she could put her friend’s death out of her mind enough that it was as if it hadn’t happened, as if Josephine hadn’t been brutally murdered. Then reality would crash in on her again and the now-familiar sharp pain that pierced her heart returned with a vengeance.

  “Who’s the mastermind?”

  Eric’s blunt question hung in the air. Several people exchanged glances, but no one spoke.

  Nyx cleared her throat. “Petro.”

  Grigoris winced, but it was a micro expression. She wouldn’t have noticed it if she hadn’t studied his wonderful face so extensively.

  Eric stared at her. “If you are using this situation to get rid of a husband you don’t like…”

  Grigoris sat forward, his mouth open to protest, but Nyx put a hand on his arm. He paused and looked at her, then sat back. One of the things she loved about him was that while he protected her, and God knew she’d needed to feel safe, he also trusted her.

  “I assure you that if I were able to set aside my moral objection to premeditated murder, I would be far more subtle about it.”

  Eric grunted. “Good. Then why is it Petro?”

  “Hungary’s vice admiral is suffering from an autoimmune disease, which may be drug induced. His health and symptoms seem similar to how James described Kacper.”

  Eric rubbed his jaw, three days’ worth of stubble right on the borderline of becoming a full-fledged beard. “Lazar is poisoned and Petro is shot…that points to the leadership of Hungary being a target, not that Petro is the mastermind.”

  “Another admiral was shot?” Antonio asked.

  “And there was a bomb,” Nyx added.

  Antonio and Giovanni stiffened.

  Grigoris jumped in then, quickly describing everything that had happened in Lake Balaton.

  “Hanna was the shooter,” Nyx said. “Petro asked Hanna to shoot him.”

  “You caught her?” Eric asked.

  “We found her gun accessories,” Nyx explained. “Her weapon would have used the same caliber of bullet as that which shot Petro. We also found evidence that she practiced.” Nyx touched her shoulder. “A deliberately nonfatal shot that would appear like it was a near miss.”

  Grigoris cut in, explaining the setup of the estate, and how it would have been impossible for a shooter to have line of sight to the office from beyond the walls. It had to have been someone who was there. He also detailed the paper targets and gun information.

  “But any links directly to Ciril? The Rutherfords?” Karl asked.

  “We didn’t have time to finish our investigation,” Grigoris said. With an apologetic glance at Nyx, he said, “I’m not entirely sure that someone at the house didn’t just use the situation to get rid of Petro.”

  Eric put his head in his hands and started to curse in Danish.

  They talked for another half an hour, analyzing everything Nyx and Grigoris had learned. The group came to the same general conclusions they had—that Hans and Nikolett both had solid motives to want Petro dead.

  Then again, so did Nyx.

  However, it was unlikely that either of them was the mastermind. Hans was discounted because he wasn’t bright enough, more brawn than brains. Nikolett was smart enough, more than, but the timing was wrong. Nikolett was too young to have perpetrated the earlier crimes.

  That led them back to Petro.

  “Hanna,” Leila asked. “Could she be the mastermind?”

  Nyx shook her head. “No. We don’t think so. She’s too young.”

  That started another round of conversation.

  “Does Hanna hate Petro?” James asked.

  “She should,” Grigoris said vehemently. “He’s a pedophile.”

  Eric’s head snapped up. “What?”

  “He picked out Nyx and Hanna when they were kids. Picked them out to be his wives, set up betrothals when they were fourteen and fifteen, then married them the moment they turned eighteen.”

  Everyone looked appalled.

  Nyx slid her hand over Grigoris’ thigh under the table and squeezed. “That’s true, but I don’t know if she hates him.” Nyx swallowed hard. “I think she might love him. That he trained her to love him. To obey him.”

  “If he waited until they were legal adults, we’re tabling his pedophilia.” Eric looked at them. “We can’t focus all our time on Hungary without a more direct connection than the vice admiral’s sickness.”

 

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