Chapter 22

O nce the noise dies down, Belliah, looking flushed and excited, faces the ward shielding Raphael's cell.

I glance at Fin through the crowd. Really, Phineas? Hail, Queen?

He grins at me. Blows me a kiss. It felt appropriate to the moment. His eyes scan my body up and down. Has anyone told you how fucking hot that blood armor is?

I blush. No . You're the first.

Good. Because it's sexy as fuck. Will you let me rip it off you, later?

I roll my eyes. Probably .

His mind touches mine across the link, and he fills my brain with images of him between my thighs, feasting.

I let out a harsh breath and glare at him. Not the time, Fin.

I disagree. I think it's always time to think about me eating your delicious little pussy.

PHINEAS TAYLOR!

His grin is hot and wicked. I haven't seen you in a month. The sickness didn't hurt us as bad as Cas but it wasn't fun. I missed you. I haven't tasted you in weeks, and I'm fucking starved .

I turn away from him and watch Belliah. Soon, Fin. I promise.

He brushes against my mind again, and then I focus on Belliah. She steps up close to the ward, frowning, biting her lip. Her middle fingers touch the ward at the center, where the Gordian knot is; the rest of her fingers are bent away so as to not touch the ward, her palms facing each other. She follows a specific thread with each finger, moving them away in different directions; her left hand weaves downward toward the bottom left corner and her right to the top right corner, and then she slices her hands vertically to the opposite corners in a sharp slashing movement, one upward and one downward.

The ward winks out, and she steps back.

"That's it?" I say, annoyed. "That's all you have to do?"

She glances at me, perturbed. "It's not as simple as it looks. You have to know which thread to follow, and each ward is different. Try it with the wrong thread, and the ward will fry you like an egg."

Raphael steps out of the cell, and once he's past the threshold he drags in a long breath, holds it, and lets it out. He looks like he's fighting strong emotions.

"Thank you, Maeve," he says, bowing at the waist. "Thank you."

I just nod, swallowing. "Can someone find him clothes?" I glance at the rest of Caleb's pack. "Them too."

"Don't bother for us" Caleb growls. "We'll just shred them the moment we shift."

"Oh, right. Well, for Raphael, and them," I nod at the other two cells. I follow Belliah to the next cell. "Show me, please."

She blinks and then nods. She steps up close, glances at me, and then indicates the knot at the center. "This knot at the center is called the convergence key, technically, although we mostly call it the hinge. It's where the ward begins and ends. You're looking for the origin strand, which will be the thickest and brightest and will always flow in opposing directions from the center to opposite, diagonal corners. Do you see it?"

I peer carefully at the ward, hunting through the layers of strands—of which there are literally thousands woven together in every conceivable direction. But then I see it: a single strand radiating out from the center of the knot, a thicker, brighter ley line of prana streaming energy outward like blood pulsing from a heart.

"I see it."

She flexes the index, ring, and pinky fingers of each hand away from her palms so her middle fingers are isolated, and then turns her palms to face inward. "Fingers like this. Prana flows in your body much like your blood, and it flows most strongly down your center—to your middle fingers, middle toes, to your third eye—ajna, in the Sanskrit from which much of our terminology is derived—to your navel, or manipura. Basically, the chakras. So, when manipulating prana, especially when working with wards, you must always use your middle fingers, or the glamour will not turn out correctly. That goes for disabling glamours as well."

"I understand," I say. "And if I followed what you did the last time and apply what you're telling me now…" I trace the path of the origin strand to the top right and bottom left corners, where they turn sharply down and up respectively to merge with the rest of the strands. "Is there an intent I need to focus on?"

Belliah nods. "Yes, precisely. As you press your fingers into the origin strand, you must send a very small amount of prana through your fingers. Think a trickle . And with it, picture the hinge twisting and turning and unfolding—unlocking. You must time the image in your mind the movement of your fingers so that when your pattern rejoins the strands here—" she points at the convergence on the outer edges of the ward, "the hinge has been undone completely. But NOT before. The timing is key. That's why mine is a specialized position. It requires a lot of practice."

I nod. "I see. And I imagine you have to be able to touch the ward directly, which is why it can't be undone from the inside?"

"Well, yes, but wards are directional. This is the backside. Even if you could force yourself close enough to touch it, you couldn't manipulate the origin strand—there are too many layers in the way."

"I'll try it," I say.

Belliah's mouth flaps. "Um, I'm not sure that's a good idea. These are immensely powerful wards. one wrong move, one hiccup in the timing, and…"

I place my hand on her shoulder. "I understand, Belliah. I survived several failed attempts to force open wards. I doubt this will be worse. Plus, I think you'll find I'm a quick study."

Come on, Mom, help me out, here.

I arrange my fingers into the correct formation and touch them to the origin strand within the hinge. I send the thinnest, narrowest stream of prana I possible up from the ocean within and into my arms, wrists, hands, and into my middle fingers. The origin strand brightens.

"Excellent!" Belliah encourages. "Now follow it, and very carefully picture the hinge opening."

I focus on the hinge, examining its structure and arrangement, and then slowly move my hands, tracing the flow of the origin strand outward. It feels warm under my fingers, and slightly effervescent, as if I've put my finger in a glass of warm seltzer water. I picture the convergence key rotating, twisting, and unspooling in direct response to the movement of my fingers along the path of the origin strand, keeping the flow of prana steady and consistent. This is mental juggling, a bit like rubbing your head in circles, patting your stomach, and tap dancing all at once. I can see why it requires so much practice.

I feel Mother's Spirit tingling under my skin and in my muscles, providing a gentle nudge.

Thanks, Mom.

As my fingers reach the point of intersection along the doorway frame, the hinge is almost entirely unfolded. And then, poof. The origin strand flares, sending a pulse of light through the entire warp and weft of the glamour at blinding speed, and the ward winks out of existence.

Belliah claps a hand over her mouth. "On your first try?" She practically screeches it, partially indignant and partially amazed. "I practiced for months before I could unlock the simplest of training wards."

I smile at her. "I have an unfair advantage, Belliah."

She glances at me, the question in her expression. "Oh? What's that?"

I frown, unsure where to even begin. "I'm not sure I can explain it right now. Do you know what a demense is?"

She shrugs and nods. "Of course, in theory."

I touch my breastbone. "I am the world's most complex demense." I shrug. "At least, that's Aeldfar's theory, and it's the only thing that makes sense."

She stares at me. "You…you are a demense?" A shake of her head, curls bouncing. "How?"

I hold up my hand. "We can discuss theory later." I stand in the now-unwarded doorway, facing the female hybrid who still crouches on the cot.

Her hair drapes in front of her eyes to her chin, around her shoulders, and down her back in a knotted, matted, greasy, tangled mess. Her skin is pale and sickly white, although I think when healthy she would boast skin like sun-kissed ivory. Her knees are drawn up in front of her chest, toes curled over the edge of the cot, hands hooked and clinging to the cot edge beside her feet. With her sharp, aquiline nose and eyes the bright yellow of a raptor, her posture makes her resemble nothing so much as a bird of prey waiting to swoop down on an unsuspecting rabbit.

I hold my hands out at my sides and shuffle forward. "No one move, no one speak. If she strikes, do nothing. I can handle her." I murmur this, knowing sharp immortal ears will pick up my words.

I get about halfway across the cell before she tenses, shoulders and thighs bunching. I halt.

"Hello," I whisper. "I'm here to help you. You're free, now. You're safe."

"Free?" she croaks, her voice harsh and raspy. "Safe?" Her head tilts to one side in quick, precise motion, exactly like a curious bird.

"Yes. Free. Safe." I deliberately turn my back on her and walk through the doorway, then back in. "No more ward. No more guards."

"Thirsty. Hungry."

I glance over my shoulder. "Someone find food and water, please? And the clothes?"

A shifter male in a black jumpsuit bearing my mark slips up behind me, moving carefully, and presses a bundle of cloth into my hands. Another brings a bottle of water and a protein bar.

I shuffle carefully forward. She tenses, curling down into a tighter ball. I halt.

"I won't hurt you." I smile at her. "Can you smell me? I'm like you."

Her nostrils flare. "Not like." Flare again. "But like."

"Yes." I inch closer, the jumpsuit over my elbow, the bottle of water in one hand, protein bar in the other. "I'm a vaer. Half fae, half vampire."

"I'm like you." Her quick, piercing, yellow raptor eyes go past me to Caleb. "And him."

"Yes. You're fae and shifter."

"Can't shift." She rattles the chain connecting her wrists. "She's angry. These keep her prisoner."

"I know. We're gonna get them off you soon, I promise. and then you can shift, and you'll have prana."

Another of those sharp fast head tilts. "Prana?"

"Magic. Energy. Inside you."

Her eyes go to the water bottle. "Got some once. They forgot the shackles. I took some from a guard. Ate his soul. He tasted like memories."

I move to within touching distance, but keep my hands to myself. I twist the small white cap off of the bottle and extend it to her. "Yes. That's part of what you can do."

She stares at me, at the bottle. Sniffs. "Poison?" She glares, hate in her eyes. "To make me do sex?"

My stomach turns. "They made you do things?" She nods. "With who?"

"Guards. For fun."

I take a sip of the water and make sure she sees me swallow it. "I would never do that. Never . I'm here to help you. No more guards." I hold the bottle out to her. "In fact, if you want, you can come with me. We might even be able to find some of the guards who did that to you."

The hate in her eyes turns to glee. "I will eat their souls and take their magic."

"But you can't do that to me. Or any of the people with me. They're all here to help you, too."

She frowns. "Can't? Or shouldn't?"

I smile. "Shouldn't. Only to people who want to hurt you."

She looks past me—I follow her gaze and see one of the jumpsuited fae who took my mark. "He was nice. He helped me once."

"Not everyone is bad. Many people are good."

"Not here. Most are bad."

I nod. "No, you're right. Most people here are bad." I shuffle closer and push the bottle toward her. "You can drink it."

She reaches out slowly, carefully, and takes the bottle. Sniffs it. Looks at me, as if waiting for a trick. I unwrap the protein bar and take a small bite. She sips, swallows, and her eyes close in relief. She takes another sip, and another, clearly relishing each swallow.

"They didn't feed you?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "Not often." She points at the ceiling, at the shaft of light. "Once, when the light is new."

I hold out the protein bar. "Take this, too."

She takes it, less gingerly, and nibbles. Her eyes widen, and she takes a larger bite. "Good."

I smile. "Chocolate is one of life's great pleasures." I touch my chest. "I'm Maeve. Do you have a name?"

"Aquilia." She makes a disgusted face. "The oldest one calls me Aquilia. He says I am an Aeshir." Ay-SHEER.

"The oldest one? Zirae?"

She nods. Hate fills her eyes anew, burning brighter than ever. "He gave me the poison water to make me do sex with him. I will eat his soul."

"You and me both, girl," I mutter.

She finishes the water and the protein bar, eying the jumpsuit in my arms. "Is that for me?"

I nod. "Yes, it is."

She holds up her wrists. "How shall I put it on?"

One of the turned fae speaks up. "The chain is just to reduce movement. It doesn't have anything to do with the glamour. You could cut the chain without removing the cuffs."

I ignore him. "Aquilia, if I take off the cuffs, can you promise me you won't try to hurt anyone?"

She stares, unblinking. "She is angry. Inside me. In the sleeping place. She wants to claw out eyes and rip open soft bellies." She closes her eyes and shakes her head. "She is too angry. Too hungry. She smells your golden magic."

"It's too dangerous, Maeve," Alistair says.

I nod. "I know. Just the chain for now, then."

I pinch the metal chain linking her cuffs between the thumb and middle fingers of both hands, sending magic into my fingers, picturing heat, red-hot, white-hot, a dense sharp point of incendiary heat pouring into the chain, melting it. With a soft clink, the chain falls apart, and her wrists are freed.

I smile. "There. That will have to do, for now."

She swings her arms around, very much like a bird testing out her wings. "The oldest one. He waits." Her eyes flick upward. "In the highest place. With the other old ones. He has been in my mind many times. Now, I feel him, all the time. He is frightened—of you, I think."

I smile, and it's not a nice, pretty thing. "Good. He should be. He should fear me—and you."

"Oh yes. He fears me. He thought he could break my spirit. But I didn't let him. I will eat his soul, and then I will fly. I will fly away, and no one will ever put me in a box again."

"That's right, Aquilia. Very soon, you'll be free to fly wherever you want."

"I will fly with you." She taps her chest. "She sees you. You are important. She sees much, in the sleeping place. Things I do not see."

"I would be honored to fly with you, Aquilia. We are sisters."

"My blood is not your blood."

"Sisters by choice."

She nods. "Sisters." She reaches for the jumpsuit. "I want to cover myself, now."

I hand it to her and stand up, step back.

She steps into the jumpsuit, shrugs it on over her shoulders and shoves her arms through. It's a little short at the legs and arms, because she's actually quite tall, once she's standing. Well over six feet, in fact.

"Aquilia? What do you shift into? Will you tell me?"

She blinks at me, one flick of her eyelids. "An eagle. Golden, like his fur."

"I bet you're the most beautiful eagle anyone has ever seen."

She lifts her chin. "Oh yes. Beautiful, and terrible. When I eat the souls of the oldest one's many guards, they will see my beauty before they die. But the oldest one? He will not see my beauty. I will pluck out his eyes and eat them. I will open his soft old belly and you and I will eat his soul together, and his power will be ours."

I shiver at the cold fire in her voice. "That sounds like a plan, Aquilia."

She zips the jumpsuit up to mid-breast, swinging her arms again. "I know where he is. I will take you there. We can feast on many souls as we go."

"First, we have to let out our brother."

"His blood is not your blood or mine."

"I know. But he is still our brother."

She stares at me without blinking. "We are three."

I nod. "The only three like us that have ever been."

She wiggles her arms and rolls her shoulders—the gesture of a restless bird shuffling her wings. "I will watch."

"Okay. But please don't interfere, unless you think it's very important."

She doesn't answer, just stares at me without blinking, waiting.

I exit her cell and feel her follow. Belliah is at the male hybrid's cell, waiting to unlock it. I gesture at her with an encouraging smile, and she disables the ward so quickly I realize the first time she did it, she did so very slowly, so I could follow her movements.

The moment the ward is down, the male shoots to his feet, snarling, teeth bared, crouching on the balls of his feet, ready to pounce. And then his nose twitches and his posture turns less aggressive. His eyes flick past me, spotting Aquilia behind me, freed and clothed.

Someone hands me another water bottle, protein bar, and jumpsuit. I very slowly and warily enter the cell, stopping when he tenses.

"It's okay," I say. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help." I gesture at Aquilia. "See? She's free."

"Still cuffed." His voice is scary as hell—a quiet venomous purr.

"Yes. Until it's safe to remove them, yes."

He seems to consider this. "Safe for whom?"

His speech is less stilted, suggesting either more education or more regular conversation.

"For us." I gesture at the crowd behind me—my coven, my mates, Belliah, and Aquilia, with some of the pack at the far back edges. "If I remove the cuffs, you will attack us. You won't have a choice. I will remove the cuffs so you can attack those who kept you here, who did you harm."

He scans the crowd. "You will use us as a weapon."

I shuffle a few steps further in. "Yes, in a way, but only because it's the only safe way to do this. You've been deprived of blood and the ability to shift. And it's only fair you get a chance to use your anger and abilities against those who deserve it."

He stands up straight, his posture relaxing. "You will free us and take us out of this…place?"

"Yes."

"You will not cuff us again?"

"No."

"The chemicals?"

I frown. Glance at Aquilia, and then him. "They used it on you, too? The chemicals that make you do what they want?"

"The old ones—two females. They brought me to their quarters near the top. Forced the chemicals in me." His eyes flicker with darkness, shadows staining the blue, and his voice darkens, roughens, taking on the timbre of a growling lion or tiger. Even his pupils shift, elongating into the almond shape of a cat. "They used me. Raped me. As the oldest one did her." He indicates Aquilia. "They took turns. Sometimes, they would reward their female staff with time with me."

My stomach flips, nauseated. "Jesus." I duck my head. "Fucking monsters."

"Yes. Fucking monsters." He peers at me. "You wonder at my speech."

I shrug, wondering more how he knew. "Yes, I admit I'm curious."

"They—the elder females—also educated me. The oldest one did not care to do so with her. He preferred to…use her in other ways."

Aquilia makes a low sound in her throat, like a growl or snarl, but higher pitched and more of a screech.

"How did you know I was curious?" I ask.

He hesitates. Eyes me. "I can…sense…things." He lifts the cuffs. "These dull the sense, but cannot blunt it entirely."

I move forward. "So can you sense who and what I am?"

He reaches out his hands, and I offer him the bottle and bar. He takes the bottle, cracks it open, and drains it in a long, glugging drink. The protein bar he takes a few bites of, grimaces, and re-wraps it.

"I cannot eat this." He hands it back to me. "Yes. You are the third. Together, we three are the first of the Secundo. The Second Blood, according to Zirae."

"Secundo?" I question.

"Latin, for second." He gestures at Alistair and then Caleb. "They are Primi, or the Primary Blood." To himself, and then Aquilia and I. "We are the Secundo, or Secondary Blood. When we have offspring, they will be the Tertius, or the Third Blood." A shrug. "According to Zirae, at least."

"I see. A logical arrangement." I hand him the jumpsuit. "I can separate your cuffs if you like. So you can dress."

He extends his hands to me, and I separate the cuffs. He pulls on the jumpsuit but only zips it to his navel.

"Did Zirae give you a name? And a name for what you are? I am Maeve, a Vaer." I indicate Aqauilia. "She is Aquilia, an Aeshir."

He toys with the cuffs—his eyes pulse with dim amber light, and then a quick shroud of shadows flares around him as he does so. "Theris, a Fomori."

"Theris," I repeat.

He nods. "I believe he meant it as a derivation of Panthera."

"Your Dreaming self is a cat of some sort, I take it?"

"A leopard."

"Do you know why Zirae and the rest of the Tribunal forces haven't attacked us down here? Why did they leave you three down here with such a relatively small force?" I ask.

He looks upward. His blond hair hangs nearly to his buttocks, tangled, unwashed, and matted. His blue eyes are shockingly blue, so intensely blue they seem unreal, like CGI.

"They wait. Zirae barricades himself in the highest place, near the peak. He does not think you will reach him. Perhaps he relied on us—" he indicates Aquilia and himself, "To reduce your numbers when you freed us. Perhaps he assumes everyone is stupider than him." A shrug. "If nothing else, he is simply not afraid. He is the most powerful immortal, past or present."

I grin. "He was. Not anymore."

His head tilt is feline, slow, curious, predatory. "Oh?"

"You, Aquilia, and me? We are the most powerful. And his greatest error, made in his hubris, was leaving you for me to find and free."

He bares his teeth, eyes glittering with violence. "Free me of these cuffs, and we will show him the error of his ways…sister."

"Fuck the Tribunal," I growl, letting my vampire snarl through in the words.

"Death to Zirae. Death to the elders." Theris's voice is a dark, deadly snarl, quiet but laced with the promise of bloody deeds to come.