PART I

The only chill Queen Andromeda Sauvageau ever felt was in her heart.

On this particular night, she was alone in her bathing chamber and in a foul mood. When she had entered her bath, it had been as scorching hot as her fair skin could tolerate, yet she was indifferent to the clamminess that had crept in amid the softening bubbles and fine oils. No matter how long she had been soaking, she could not wash from her mind the wingless abomination she considered the King of the Unworthy. When she lifted a handheld mirror to her face, it was as if his reflection were there alongside hers . . . laughing, laughing, laughing. . . .

When she was unable to tolerate her appearance any longer, she flung the mirror across the room. It shattered into pieces, some as fine as grains of sand. Her unmatched beauty would never return. And only his death would restore her dignity.

A light tapping suspended her revenge fantasy.

Andromeda's personal attendant was quick to respond and questioned the irritant through a crack in the door.

Lyra, one of her chambermaids, was granted access. With white fairy wings well-accustomed to Andromeda's demands, she flew inside and landed next to the trickling cascade beside the queen's head, her chest heaving. "Your Excellency, I'm sorry to interrupt. . ."

Andromeda watched the sweet young servant bite her lip and wring her hands around the rag she was holding. She loved making others uncomfortable with just her stare, and Lyra was among the most susceptible.

Lyra finally lifted her chin and found her tongue. "General Gustave said there is an urgent matter to discuss. He wishes to see you immediately."

At Andromeda's nod, Lyra left the room.

Andromeda assumed this unscheduled session would be a waste of her time, an encroachment on her much-desired solitude. Nevertheless, she stepped out of her bath and summoned her servants, who swarmed to her. Andromeda's personal attendant retrieved her gown and draped it around her shoulders while two other servants swept up the broken splinters of the mirror. Another pair fussed with her shadow-colored wings, detangling the feathery edges and bringing the translucent black scales to a lustrous finish.

Once dressed, the queen dismissed her servants with a single backhanded wave and sat down at her vanity table. She ran a comb through her dark hair and couldn't prevent herself from staring at the web of black scars on the left side of her face in yet another mirror. Although she tended to break her mirrors with childish regularity, her servants were required to replace them as soon as she left the room. She needed a daily reminder. She had to see, every twist and turn of his treachery. It was sustenance to her.

The scar, caused by poison, inflicted with magic—his magic—it was unendurable, beyond the hideousness of her reflection. When she closed her eyes, she could feel the skitter of imaginary spiders and smell the burning of her own flesh as if the wound were fresh.

She slammed her comb down and took a deep breath. When she was calm enough to move, she went to find her general.

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General Cygnus Gustave was pacing the floor of the Strategy Room, practicing aloud what he would say to the queen. He hoped she would consider his news valuable even if the King of the Unworthy lived on, undiscovered.

Before he had chosen the right words, Andromeda blasted through the room's double doors. With a fluid motion, she pushed them backward as she propelled herself forward. "How dare you disturb me at this time of night, Cygnus!"

The general waited for the doors to slam shut from the momentum before he spoke. He braced himself for the crash; even so, he twitched in response.

"Your Excellency, there is a new development. . . ."

She flew by him in a blur and coasted toward the ground. But her pointed high heels never touched down. In a whir of gown and body, she swooped into her throne at the head of the mosaic stone table with the precision and flare of an artist. "Has he been found?"

"No, not exactly, but—"

"Then leave at once. We'll recommence when the answer is yes."

"Please, let me finish!" Cygnus roared, though immediately he regretted raising his voice. "There is relevancy, I promise," he continued, correcting his tone, lowering his volume. "We think we have found one of Prince Rigel's—"

"I hardly think Rigel is still worthy of that title," the queen interrupted again.

Ex-husband was certainly not a term he could use, even though it was both concise and accurate. He was rather fond of his tongue and preferred to keep it in his mouth where it belonged. "The King of the Unworthy, if that should please you more!"

He waited for her reaction, expecting praise or a sign of appreciation. Other than a slight raise of one eyebrow, her expression remained the same. A frown appeared to be chiseled into her stone-cold face and her focus seemed inward. It was impossible to compete with the King of the Unworthy for her attention, even with unprecedented news to share.

"But as I started to say. . ." He cleared his throat in an effort to reacquire her gaze. "We believe we've located a son of his. And one son may have led us to another."

Andromeda sighed and lifted her curled fingers into view. The shiny black polish on her nails shimmered in the torchlight like volcanic glass. "Why don't you know for certain? I want facts, not more baseless speculation."

"We've been listening to the whispers among the witches in Salem. Their idle talk of fairy magic led us nowhere for ages. But, finally, we came across a man who bears the mark of a Modifier."

"That tells us nothing!" Andromeda's curled fingers now formed a fist, which she slammed on the table. "There are numerous Bottom-Dwellers who have assimilated into the human world."

"Surely there are, but with the diamond mark? And fair-haired? Strong in body, but weak of mind? I had to go down south to see for myself. My Lady, the resemblance to his father is striking and I've confirmed the mark is genuine."

"I need more than your word. Show me proof."

"I will get some. I will do better. I—"

A firm knock on the door silenced the general. He knew the queen did not handle interruptions lightly.

"Expecting visitors, Cygnus?" she hissed. "More incompetence, I would imagine. . . ."

"No, Your Excellency." He forced a smile as he lifted into flight. "I'm not sure who is there." Cygnus hovered backwards, turning around once he neared the door. He opened it for his second in command, Crux Chevalier. Crux flew into the room with the confidence one would expect from a fairy with such a surname.

The Chevalier family was one of the wealthiest in Pyxis. Its young male scions typically began their careers in high-ranking positions in the Pyxis Royal Air Brigade and then assumed noteworthy positions in the regime. The role of chief counselor to the queen, for example, had been held by Crux's father, Malus Chevalier, until his death of natural causes a few years prior. Few others in the queen's regard had ever experienced such a mundane passing. The position remained unfilled, though in Cygnus's expert opinion Crux was unlikely to receive the promotion. The young fairy was not destined for politics. His questionable tactics had earned him the nickname "the Brute," and his skills were better suited for military operations. Crux was, however, the most likely contender for general once Cygnus was granted the honor of retirement.

"Lieutenant-General Chevalier, this isn't a good time," Cygnus whispered through clenched teeth.

"I assure you, General Gustave, this is the perfect time," Crux boasted, and then he gave the queen a respectful bow. "Hello, Your Majesty. I am honored to bring you these."

Crux's back and broad shoulders were heaving. The snowflakes that clung to his cloak had not yet melted. The speed at which Crux was attempting to transcend him was really something remarkable.

The queen's nod beckoned Crux forward, and he presented the thick paper he was carrying as if it were solid gold. He was abnormally tall and brawny for a winged fairy, but the first piece of paper unfolded to a rectangle seven inches long and was thus taller than he was, though not by much.

The paper was a photograph plucked from the Modern World, hundreds of miles south, and exhibited a face Cygnus recognized.

"This one," Crux said derisively, "is called Christopher MacRae. The picture was taken by the U.S. Army."

Andromeda studied the picture carefully; when she looked away, a wicked half smile crept up her face.

Crux dropped the first photograph to the floor and opened the second one. There were three people huddled together and smiling. "This is Joseph MacRae at his academic institution's commencement ceremony. On his left, his mother, Skylar MacRae, presumably human and now deceased. And on the right, Joseph's father. He may call himself Scott MacRae, but he is not capable of fooling you, My Queen."

This time Andromeda shot from her chair. "So where is he, then? Bring him to me!"

"Your Majesty, please try to understand," Cygnus replied. "The gutless imposter remains at large. As far as we are aware, he has not made contact with his family in years."

"Get the brigade into their homes immediately and search everything. If you cannot determine his whereabouts, bring his children to me."

"There are two grandchildren as well. Shall I bring—"

"Yes. The grandchildren will ensure their cooperation. And, General, kill anyone else who gets in the way."

"Of course, My Lady. Anything you wish."

At the queen's nod, the two officers bowed and turned to leave. When their backs were facing the queen, Cygnus spotted Crux's unique forked tongue slick over his teeth. The general's protégé was eager to earn his star, and the hungry, untamed predator inside of him was ready for the hunt of a lifetime.

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