He couldn’t stop watching Lavinia, wondering if she’d orchestrated every move Renata was making. There was no way Lavinia would be able to keep a continuous hold on all four members. Although from what Dom had mentioned about Raphael being in the mastria’s residence, he supposed she only needed to worry about three. Regardless, controlling three of them was a feat.

  “Solarni coven!” Renata’s voice boomed. “Happy summer solstice!”

  Al mustered a small clap, keeping his eye on Dom. The warlock sat there, hollow, and Al nudged his friend’s brother into applause. He didn’t want to chance someone watching them, mastria or otherwise.

  “We have a treat for you tonight.” Renata smiled, and the four other Council members mirrored it. Lavinia was definitely in charge. “For years, a treasonous witch has been working against us. Some previous Council members thought it wise to let her live.” The crowd booed, and Renata’s smile widened. “We have found her. We bring her before you today to pay for her crimes.”

  Two guards pulled a figure between them up the steps. A chain was wrapped around her ankles with so little slack it prevented her from stepping high enough to reach the platform. The guards gripped her beneath her arms and dragged her up the remaining steps.

  Al flinched at each thud of her shins against marble.

  They threw Ophelia to her knees in front of the chairs.

  The crowd seemed hungry for a retribution they didn’t understand, nor care to. Every one of the Council members looked placated… except Thorne. The typical rosy color of her cheeks was gone. The corner of her mouth ticked downward instead of up.

  “Stand, witch!” Chair Renata ordered.

  Slowly, Ophelia raised herself to her feet, and Alistair’s stomach lurched when he saw her face. They’d shaved her head, and raw wounds showed in open patches across her scalp. Her eyes were swollen and purple, her nose bent and bloody. Her lip split down the middle as if it had been done with a knife. The bottom half of her jaw was painted a yellowish green, and below it, she wore a simple frock covered in dirt and blood. Alistair scanned the length of her and swallowed when he got to her hands. Missing fingers, for sure, but he couldn’t tell how many with how tightly she kept her fists clenched.

  All that, and she still held her head high while Renata spoke.

  “Ophelia Fray, you have been sentenced to death for your actions against the Council and coven. These include coercion, selling secrets to the enemy, conspiring against your kind, and the manipulation of our most vulnerable. You have violated the sacred laws of Solarni.”

  The aliato, Raphael, rose from his gilded throne and pulled his sword from its scabbard. Magic emanated from the blade as he took his stance directly behind Ophelia.

  Renata’s voice rang out. “Kneel.”

  Ophelia closed her eyes and began moving her lips. But she did not kneel.

  The crowd chanted. “Kneel, kneel, kneel.”

  Al shifted closer to Dom, who had been stunned into silence. Alistair could only imagine the thoughts rushing through his head as he pictured Theo there instead of Ophelia.

  Al placed his hand on the warlock’s shoulder.

  “Kneel!” Renata bellowed.

  Ophelia’s eyes snapped open. They were wild, a glowing aqua. The oracle raised her hands high above her head, and in one fell swoop, she broke apart the onyx manacles that bound her wrists.

  Alistair stood. It should have been impossible. The onyx should have eaten away at her magic. There should be none left.

  “Puti la, Nubenia, iz vas lanca.”

  Release me, Nubenia, from your chains.

  A pillar of blue magic swirled around the oracle, surrounding her.

  Renata reared back.

  It was impossible—impossible, but he was seeing it with his own eyes. Raphael swung his sword at the magical force surrounding Ophelia. Before he could strike her down, the witch disintegrated.

  A surge of power erupted from the spot where she stood.

  Alistair stepped in front of Dominick, shielding him from the blast wave of raw magic that rushed over the entire Menage. The heat of it seared his skin even behind his shield, and those seated closest to the platform were blown back. The entire first row of spectators in the lower level was dead, their bodies burned to char on the floor.

  “Get up,” he yelled over the screams of coven members desperate to get out of the exit. It was pandemonium. He ripped Dominick to his feet. “Try not to puke.”

  In an instant, they were at the base of the marble staircase. If there had been a way, he would have thanked the witch. Ophelia’s distraction was exactly what he needed to find Theo.

  “Captain Alcott! Over here!” Chair Thorne motioned for him to come to her. Dominick gagged but kept up. The chair’s eyebrows had been seared off, and she was holding the sleeve of her robe close to keep her arm elevated. “Follow me,” she said.

  “Where is the aliato?” Al asked.

  “I have no idea,” Chair Thorne said, looking over her shoulder as if the winged beast would appear.

  Thorne led them to the tent on the far end of the arena and pulled back the flap. Alistair coughed at the stench. It reeked of piss and unwashed bodies. The rotting scent of festering wounds surrounded almost every coven member inside.

  “Can you move them?” Chair Thorne asked, her face filled with panic. She must have barely gotten off the platform before Ophelia exploded. That arm was definitely broken.

  “All of them?” he asked.

  “Get as many of them out as possible, Captain. That’s an order!”

  “Where do you want me to bring them?”

  “Anywhere, as long as it’s far away from the Citadel and Lavinia Wildrick.” Thorne’s jaw clenched.

  Alistair nodded, delicately took her wrist in his hand, and pushed a flow of healing magic into her. She sighed against the pain. “Don’t puke.”

  Chapter sixty-four

  Alistair

  After a fold through space, he landed in the main chamber of Vasso’s manor. He let go of Thorne once he knew she was steady and left.

  One by one, he grabbed hands, shoulders, and arms and traveled his people to the underground sanctuary. By the tenth journey back to the manor, the floor was slick with vomit. Thorne was doing her best to get the prisoners into chairs and furnishings in the main chamber.

  The next blink, he changed courses, bringing the prisoners to the mirroring pool, and once that was full, to the dining room.

  Everything was burning. His chest, arms, face, every organ within his body, but he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop.

  The next time he appeared in the tent inside the Menage, Dominick was standing in front of a crowd that had amassed.

  “We need to find Theo.”

  “I’m trying to get as many out as I can.” He grabbed the upper arm of a young witch and blinked from the tent to the manor.

  “I can’t find him,” Dom said as he appeared again.

  “You’re going to have to. I’ve got to get more out.” This time, he held the hand of an elderly warlock who must have been close to dust.

  Tent.

  Manor.

  Tent.

  Manor.

  “Alistair!” Dominick’s choked voice reached him. Al pushed his way between the coven members, begging for safety. There was screaming outside the tent, and he knew that his time for getting these people out was diminishing. Dom was on the ground, cradling a warlock’s head.

  “You’ve got to take him,” Dominick begged. “Please, Al.”

  Crouching next to the warlock, Al slid his arms beneath Theo’s legs and back. He was too light. From what Dominick had said, they’d only had him for a few days. It was like every ounce of liquid or magic had been pulled from him. His robes were soiled, and the pure anguish in Dominick’s face had Al swallowing a lump in his throat. Theo was too far gone. Dom knew it.

  In the blink from the tent to the manor, Alistair gingerly placed the warlock on a bed, turning his head to the side so he wouldn’t aspirate vomit.

  Al didn’t have much magic left. Only a few more blinks before he’d burn out. But still, he conjured a bead of healing magic and placed it on the warlock’s chest. He prayed it’d be enough.

  Back in the tent, Dominick wasn’t where he had left him.

  Screams grew louder. The pounding of feet against the arena’s dirt floor, accompanied by the sounds of swords zinging through the air, beat into his already aching head.

  Al wasn’t sure who was fighting whom at this point.

  “You.” He pointed to a warlock. Before his hand hit his shoulder, something burst through the opposite side of the tent with a rip of blade through canvas. Raphael entered in a bloody rage, striking down anyone who lay in his path.

  Al grabbed a witch and a warlock and traveled them at the same time. He threw them in the hallway between his and Sera’s room and traveled back.

  When his feet hit the dirt floor, he was stopped by piercing pain. The tip of Raphael’s blade rested just above the hollow of his throat. The aliato curled his lip, his otherworldly face defiled by a sneer. And those blue eyes blazed through him.

  “Your parents were traitors. It shouldn’t surprise me that you are as well.”

  Al didn’t have time to process what he’d said. His father had been a great soldier, never once abandoning his post. The aliato’s snarl had Alistair raising his hands. Raphael’s wings were charred in spots, leaving dark craters between the white fluff of feathers. He wouldn’t be able to fly like that, at least.

  The carnage the aliato had left behind him started to stream toward Al’s feet.

  Shadow, he thought. Please don’t let any of that blood be Dominick’s.

  “The Creator will make an example out of you. You and your kind. You will all be dust soon.”

  Alistair didn’t speak, didn’t dare move, but between the light-bringer’s wings, he saw Dominick step closer. Raphael pressed his blade deeper into Al’s throat. A dribble of hot blood flowed down his chest.

  “Anything to say, Mesar?” Raphael asked.

  Dom inched closer.

  All Al needed was a touch, and they’d be out of there. “I hope to be the one to cut those wings from your back,” he sneered.

  Dominick yelped, slipping in the blood at their feet.

  A mighty caw perforated his ears, and Raven slammed his claws into the aliato’s face. The light-bringer roared, swinging his sword. Al ducked, healed the cut on his neck, and slipped toward Dominick.

  In one quick movement, he, Dominick, and Raven all crashed onto the floor of Sera’s room in the manor.

  Dominick retched, crawling his way to Theo. Barely on the bed, the warlock cradled his love in his arms.

  “Suppose I should be thanking you,” Al said to the black bird, and opened the door to his room. “Though I don’t know how you grabbed me in time.”

  Raven flapped its wings.

  “What’s this?” Al held out his hand, and the bird dropped something from its beak. “Oh, that’s fucking nasty,” Al said, inspecting the bright blue eye in his hand. “Well done.”

  He rolled the eye up into a piece of cloth to deal with later. He was exhausted. Truly, he didn’t know how he was still standing. His legs shook as he rummaged through the small writing desk. He took out a sheet of paper and a quill, then scratched a note.

  “I need you to take this to Sera and Vasso.”

  He handed it to the bird and let it out the door. At least now Vasso would know they were there. He limped toward the bed and dropped.

  Before his head hit the pillow, he was asleep.

  Chapter sixty-five

  Seraphina

  Sera couldn’t get into the tent quick enough. She was soaked from head to toe, shivering from the freezing rain or anticipation—she couldn’t decide which, and settled on both. It was definitely both.

  The need between her legs was becoming unbearable, and the temptation to strip off her undergarments and relieve the ache herself was more than she’d ever admit out loud. Plus, she couldn’t stop the image of Vasso ripping those garments down with his teeth from circulating through her mind.

  He barged into the tent, sopping wet, holding their soaked clothes in front of his groin in modesty, as if she hadn’t just been cupping him.

  It looked like every line on his body had been placed by the goddess herself, from his chiseled abs to the V-shaped cuts around his hips. Sera licked her top lip.

  “Udari la dolve, Nula.” His voice was a deep rasp. “You’re fucking breathtaking.”

  “You and all these archaic words.”

  He grinned. Shadow, he was gorgeous.

  “Now,” she said. “Get over here and finish what you promised.”

  Vasso’s eyes grew a shade of red she’d never seen before, so red they were almost black. Her toes curled as she waited for him to move.

  Thunder shook the tent as Vasso took a step toward her. “Is that a demand, Nula?” He dropped their wet clothes in a heap.

  Sera swallowed at the sight of him. “And what if it is?”

  Another clap of thunder, and Snik barreled in. The goblin screeched and hissed, taking shelter underneath one of the cots.

  “Snik!” Sera screamed, snatching a blanket and wrapping herself in it. Vasso’s posture changed. Turning away, the demon raised his head and sniffed. “Vasso?”

  His head snapped to her, and she reared back at the look on his face. Every muscle was taut. Veins bulged from his neck.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  Sera blinked, and where there had been nothing but smooth pale skin over toned muscle, there was now reinforced leather. A snap of his finger, and she was dressed the same. There was no mistaking it: The padding and extra layers on her arms felt like armor.

  “Vasso, tell me what’s going on.”

  “There’s something foul on the wind.”

  A howling gust ripped through the tent, and Snik cried. “Come here, boy.” Sera pulled the goblin to her chest.

  “Stay,” was all Vasso said. Then he left.

  She huffed. “What’s a witch got to do to get laid around here?”

  The goblin grumbled, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

  Outside the tent, the sky grew dark. Thick, angry storm clouds blotted out the dusk sky. Bolts of lightning traced their underbellies in violent succession.

  Beyond the bank, the river raged. Logs floated downstream, and the onslaught of rain churned up the dirt from the riverbed, making the water muddy.

  At least one of them had had the sense to get out of there in time. If she’d had her way, they’d still be wrapped in each other’s arms, floating halfway to the ocean by now.

  A burst of light, then a crack, had her jumping.

  “Oh, shit,” she said. Holding Snik to her, she raced to the cots on the other side of the tent, right before a tree toppled over, collapsing one of its corners.

  “What is he doing out there?” she asked.

  Snik cried.

  “Stay here,” she yelled over the wind. “If it gets worse, you run and find a burrow or something to shelter in.”

  The goblin nodded, and Sera stepped into the storm.

  Rain pelted her cheeks. In the flashes of light, she searched for his white hair. This was not the way she wanted to end the day, searching for him in the dark, in the rain, during a freak storm.

  As Sera crested the hill, she saw him standing defiantly in front of a giant.

  She’d seen this creature before, in her tomes: the totrus. As mythical as the leviathan. The giant had three heads. The one in the center was speaking to Vasso; the other two watched, spitting flames and shards of ice. Behind it, the storm raged. Lightning pierced the ground, leaving smoke behind.

  Sera ducked into the tall grass, keeping her head low. Blades of grass stung her cheeks and hands as she made her way toward him.

  Whatever they were spitting at each other, Vasso was getting heated. He held out his hands, clenching his fists. Air rushed around him, tousling the tall grass. He whipped the wind into a cyclone.

  “Shadow…” she said to herself. That was power, raw, unfiltered power. No witch or warlock could manipulate the weather, no matter what spell they chanted.

  Sera blocked her eyes from the wind. Rain plastered everything around her, drenching the soil. Neither Vasso nor the totrus moved.

  “Supay demands it,” the beast snarled at Vasso. “All demon lords are to present themselves to the steward.” The beast’s voice boomed, almost as loud as the thunder around them.

  “I will go when I am damn well ready.” Cruelty underlined Vasso’s statement. It was a tone she’d never heard from him—one she never wanted to hear again—but it befit his title of a demon lord. “You tell Supay if he has an issue with it, come himself.”

  The three heads snarled in unison.

  Up close, she realized that the giant was at least three times taller than Vasso. Its heavy arms hung like clubs at its side. Vasso moved his own arm, and his cyclone moved with it, growing in twisting black wind.

  The totrus slammed his hands to the ground, and all three mouths roared again. The head that breathed fire spat bright red flames, igniting the meadow.

  Vasso snarled and moved his arm, pushing the cyclone toward the giant. “I do not wish to hurt you!” Vasso screamed over the wind. “Give Supay my message and leave me.”

  The crackle of embers and heat wafted toward her on the wind.

  Sera kept her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming as a bolt of lightning crashed down a few feet away.

  “Go back, totrus.”

  “I cannot, Lord Vasso, unless you are with me.” He pounded his fist on the ground. Sera lost her balance, falling to her knees. She crawled in the grass, heading for Vasso.

  “So be it,” Vasso said.

  The beast swung his massive arms but missed. The lord was holding back. She’d seen what he had done to that demon horde in the woods after they’d attacked her. He could easily burn this beast to ash. So why didn’t he?