“You can just call me Holland,” he told me. “That is my name.” “But you’re…why are you here?” Confusion pounded through me as Penellaphe glided past him, entering the airy chamber. “Are you a viktor?” “No. That honor is not mine,” he said. “He’s here because he’s a Spirit of Fate,” Nyktos stated coldly. “He’s an Arae. One who’s apparently been masquerading as a mortal.” He eyed Holland. “Now I understand how you had knowledge of a certain potion.”
