Chapter 57

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Silas knew he could live for a thousand years and he’d never, ever forget watching Petra ascend the dais. Someday his shadow might live on, separated from his flesh, and even that echo of his soul would remember her.

Crowned in gold, dripping in pearls and red gemstones, and draped in the nearly translucent white fabric of her veil, she appeared utterly ethereal in the dark alcove. Light hadn’t yet touched the massive stained glass window behind the altar, leaving her illuminated by hundreds of flickering candles and her own magic. Fragrant smoke curled in the air, softening the edges of her until it appeared as though she emerged from a wispy fog.

Gasps of delight popped like bubbles in the suddenly still, fragrant air of the packed cathedral. Murmurs followed, hushed exclamations of surprise and speculation about Petra’s unannounced return, but those soft waves of sound came to an abrupt stop when she took her place before the altar. Haunting music, slow and rich with low notes, flowed from red-robed musicians tucked into the smaller alcoves that lined the sides of the cathedral’s main floor.

Silas sat in the front row, his seat stolen from a person who didn’t have the guts to deny him when he demanded she move, his unblinking stare fixed on his mate. Although he appeared more human with his shadows forcefully tucked away, he didn’t feel it. He hadn’t been nervous about much until now. There were no real stakes for him when he didn’t give a damn if the entire continent burned, but seeing her up there, exposed to a thousand strangers — any one of them a potential threat — made him want to rip his hair out by the roots.

Acid singed the back of his tongue as he tracked Petra’s graceful movements and those of the senior acolytes arrayed around her. They were all swathed in veils and long crimson robes, but none of them matched the sheer resplendence of his mate. He thought he recognized all of them, or at least what he could make out beneath the fabric, but what if one was an impostor hiding a weapon?

Petra wasn’t Vanderpoel and Red’s target, but that hadn’t stopped her from getting shot before.

Planning had never been his forte. He liked the excitement of jumping right into the thick of things with only his brain, his skills, and a goal in mind. Life was more fun when he had no idea if he’d live or die from one moment to the next, and the rewards for his efforts always felt a little bit more satisfying when he managed to come out on top.

But that was yet another thing that had to change. Sitting in the pews, watching Petra stand up there despite everything they knew might happen, made him question every decision he’d made. Allowing her to come, not simply taking care of the soldiers himself, leaving Tal at the house rather than having him do recon in the cathedral — all his choices flashed before his mind’s eye as a ripple of excitement passed over the crowd.

There was so much more to think about now, too many precious things at risk, and the only reward he sought for his efforts these days was the life he wanted to build with his mate.

Every head turned around him as all eyes except his own were drawn to the entrance. Silas risked a glance at his watch and bit back a venomous curse. His program was still chipping away at the failsafes. At any moment the grid would go down and his message would be sent to all Patrol units in the greater San Francisco area, but every second that passed was torture.

I should’ve checked on the soldiers myself. I can’t believe I let her go up there. What the fuck am I doing, letting this happen? Silas gripped the polished wood armrest of the pew, ready to say fuck it and drag Petra away from the altar, consequences be damned, when everyone around him climbed to their feet.

Not wanting his view of any threats obstructed, he did the same. His attention was caught by the entourage that flowed down the aisle. An almost fearful hush descended on the crowd as the Sovereign’s Guard, dressed head to toe in black and their faces obscured by sleek helmets filled with smoky glamours, prowled ahead of the sovereign couple themselves.

They passed him on silent feet, their movements fluid and predatory, as they moved to take their places to the sides of the altar. None of them, as far as he could tell, spared him a glance, and if they were unsettled by Petra’s unannounced appearance, it was impossible to tell.

The sovereign couple were a different matter.

Margot Goode, dressed in a white off-the-shoulder gown, wore the serene expression of a seasoned healer. With her pointed chin up and her almost fox-like features set in calm lines, she appeared perfectly relaxed as she held her husband’s arm. In her free hand she held a ceremonial bundle of smooth, perfumed branches wrapped in silk cord. Adoring looks followed her every soft step down the aisle.

But for all that her expression remained placid, her lips fixed in a soft half-smile for the fawning crowd of worshippers, her copper-colored eyes were keen. They landed on Petra unerringly. They narrowed, and Silas could practically see the wheels turning in her mind as she tried to puzzle out why his mate would appear without warning.

Theodore Solbourne, on the other hand, was not so discreet.

Blue-skinned, with towering elvish height and radiating dominance, he swept his wife down the aisle at a swift, no nonsense clip. The sovereign’s dark gaze swept over Petra and around the altar, his expression openly scrutinizing. His shoulders, made wider by the layers of his elvish suit and formal cape, went tight when he passed Silas’s seat.

It was impossible for Theodore to recognize Silas’s face. Not even Kaz knew what he looked like, and he deeply enjoyed finding new and creative ways to foil facial recognition technology. He’d never been in the same room as the sovereign before, and even if he had, he wouldn’t have done so undisguised.

But for just a moment, the span of a heartbeat, when Theodore Solbourne locked eyes with Silas, it was like he knew.

Silas had never been to a solstice ceremony before, but he knew the basics of what was supposed to happen. There’d be talking, some offerings would be made, and songs sung as the sun rose. Then all the worshippers in the cathedral would stream toward the altar to give their own offerings in exchange for blessings. It was like any other dawn service, except everyone was dressed up in their best clothes, important people actually showed up, and there was a real possibility that someone would be assassinated.

When the sovereign couple walked up the short steps to the altar. They stood to one side but on equal footing as Petra. Just as the disk of the sun began to touch the stained glass window, she stepped forward and raised her hands in welcome.

Silas tensed. His skin felt too tight as he fought to restrain his shadows from bursting out and snatching her. Her magic buzzed like a livewire beneath his skin. Restless and paranoid, he swept his gaze from side to side, taking in all the adoring faces peering at her from the pews.

Her greeting carried through the cathedral without any assistance from microphones, amplified by the design of the building, but he barely heard it as his mind buzzed with worry. She’s too exposed, he thought, sweat gathering under the collar of his shirt. His claws dug into the pew, splintering the wood, and the person closest to him leaned away.

The cathedral was too big. He wondered if the Sovereign’s Guard took into account how many places there were to hide — from the columbarium across the main floor to the catwalks overhead and the numerous hideaways where shadows thrived.

Did they only see the crowd as a possible threat? With the way their heads slowly turned left and right but not up, he wouldn’t have been surprised. Elves had a way of becoming complacent with their sense of power over their world. They thought because they had diamond claws and sharp noses and all the money they could want that they were invulnerable.

They got comfortable with the status quo, and even the best of them tended to think that they were the apex predators in the room. That was why Silas had always found it easy to get the upper hand on elvish targets. Maybe that was what Vanderpoel thought, too.

Or maybe it was because, for the first time in a very long time, the elves really were vulnerable.

Watching the way Theodore shifted slightly, putting Margot’s much smaller body just a little behind his own, hit Silas as eerily familiar. He recognized the stance, the tightness around the elf’s eyes, and the way his hand reached up almost unconsciously to brush the delicate fingers nestled in the curve of his elbow.

The elves had been a monolith for a long time, only making alliances and sharing power amongst themselves after their population nearly collapsed. Now they had prominent, visible weaknesses — the mates they’d begun to change all those rules for. They’d given the rest of the world a glimpse at their soft underbelly, and if Silas cared to take what the elves possessed, he wouldn’t have hesitated to go for it.

As the sun cast its rays through the colored glass behind his own mate, Silas didn’t breathe, didn’t blink. He only saw his own vulnerability standing up there without him, and he realized that whatever Vanderpoel had planned, Theodore Solbourne likely wasn’t his main target.

It was the exposed beating heart standing right beside him.

An elf didn’t go down easy. There was good reason for their arrogance, after all. A single bolt shot wouldn’t do it. One had to get in close and go for the throat or the belly to off them with any sort of efficiency.

Or, according to rapidly multiplying rumors, one simply had to take out their mates. He’d heard that an elf rarely lasted a few months without them, and some refused to wait even that long before joining their mates in the dirt.

And like demons and weres and dragons, an elf was rumored to do anything for their mate — even throw themselves into the line of fire.

Silas was so distracted by the revelation that he nearly missed it when Petra reached up to drape her veil over her crown, revealing her face to the eager crowd. His mind blanked. Silas wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought she would show her face for the ceremony, other than perhaps to hide the fact that she hadn’t had time to do her hair or makeup like she normally did.

And, he’d supposed, that she’d planned to keep her connection to him a secret.

Not everyone would know what it meant that a band of slowly moving shadow circled her throat, but enough would, and he suspected Robert was right that there would be backlash for it. It only took one person to know the truth for it to ripple out through the assembled crowd, and there had to be far more people than that.

Petra didn’t flinch or try to adjust her veil to hide her neck. She didn’t bat an eyelash when bursts of murmurs and several gasps erupted from the crowd. With her veil draped behind her, the plunging neckline of her gown hid absolutely nothing. His claim was there for all to see.

A swell of pride made it hard for him to draw breath when she said with perfect calm, “My siblings, welcome to a new day bathed in Glory’s light. I’m so… happy to be here with you on this day when our goddess blesses us with so much warmth. Truly. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

She angled herself toward the sovereign couple. The elf’s eyebrows were nearly in his hairline, and even Margot’s serene expression had faltered with surprise. “And I am honored, as always, to be joined by our sovereigns. Their offering will be the first to light the fire as the sun rises.”

Going by the deepening crinkle in Margot’s brow and increasing volume of the crowd’s murmurs, Silas figured this wasn’t quite how things normally went. When Petra regally gestured for them to step with her up to the empty-eyed statue of the goddess, the couple did so with slight hesitation.

More whispers filled the air, and the mood shifted as heads came together, speculating about whatever it was she’d changed in the ceremony and the meaning of the thing around her throat. Someone nearby harshly whispered, “...a demon? You can’t be serious!”

Making a mental note to deal with that person later, Silas leaned forward, his eyes narrowed as he tried to understand what she was doing. As soon as the couple separated to stand on either side of her, their backs to the crowd, he thought, My clever witch.

They knelt together on the red brocade cushions laid out before the statue. Only a handful of inches separated their shoulders as Margot slipped her bundle of branches into the opening at Glory’s feet. A hush once more fell over the crowd as Petra reached inside. Flames erupted, filling the empty statue with heat and light. Those empty eyes began to glow, and the scent of the perfumed wood turning to sickly sweet smoke drifted over the heads of the worshippers.

Their heads bowed in what looked like prayer, but Silas was watching close enough to not be fooled. He didn’t need to hear what Petra was saying, nor feel the rapid fluttering of her pulse beneath his shadow to know exactly what was going on.

She’s warning them, he thought, relieved to realize that would likely be the end of the ceremony.

Margot’s head turned toward Petra just a little too fast, and not a moment later, Theodore’s spine went ramrod straight.

A flicker of movement in the deep shadows between candle sconces caught Silas’s eye. Si, Tal called, his voice clear and urgent in his Silas’s mind. Get Petra off the dias— now!

Before Silas could react, there was another flicker in the shadows, but this time there was no recognition, no spark of the magic that connected all demons to the shadows. There was just an odd sort of shimmer, something uncanny like the reflection of a mirror rather than a true image. Silas surged out of his seat, but it was too late.

Everything happened at once.

His watch began to vibrate on his wrist a heartbeat before a wail of sirens cut through the chorus of whispers in the cathedral. They were piercing, and echoed in an odd way that meant it wasn’t just one set of alarms going off, but many across the city as it became clear that San Francisco’s infrastructure was under attack.

Theodore had surged to his feet just as his guards sprang into action, ready to sweep the couple away from the crowd, when the shimmer in the corner flickered into the vague shape of a red-uniformed man.

Silas moved just as a bolt melted a hole in the great stained glass window behind the altar.

Another shot went wide, striking the front of Glory’s statue, and the man disappeared as quickly as he’d flickered into existence. The guards and Theodore lunged for the women, but the sovereign had no way to stop a bolt shot. The way the guards moved defensively told Silas that they hadn’t spotted the luminist in the shadows.

The second shot wasn’t a good one, either, but plasma didn’t need to hit someone directly to kill them — especially when the victim was the waifish sovereign’s consort.

Silas’s shadows were faster than his legs, and this time they didn’t fail him. They spread from Petra’s throat to cover her as she tackled Margot to the ground and huddled with her at the base of the statue. One of the guards rushed toward the witches but took a glancing blow to his shoulder and went down. It barely stopped him, however, as he and the sovereign grabbed the women and began to shove them off the dias.

Silas thrust aside panicked worshippers and vaulted over the altar. His transformation was instant. Shadows ripped their way out of him as higher thought slipped away. He only saw the odd, out of place flicker of light in the shadows and the unmistakable curl of smoke from the barrel of a bolt gun.

His mate was safe now. He stood between her and the attacker. Nothing would touch her. The panic behind him, the sovereign, the guards — nothing mattered except his prey.

Tal’s shadows coiled around the attackers invisible legs, holding him in place as Silas descended on him like a cataclysm. Another shot went off, eerily echoing the confrontation with Antonin in the belltower. The shot went high and struck the steel rafters. Even though he couldn’t see him or smell him through the fog of smoke and incense, Silas’s shadows acted as sensory limbs.

There was no hiding from a demon in the dark.

Fueled by the drive to protect his mate, Silas heard nothing but the roar in his ears as he grasped the attacker’s arm and twisted. The sound of bones snapping like green twigs didn’t reach him, and neither did the clatter of the bolt gun hitting the stone floor of the alcove.

The attacker didn’t scream, but his illusion flickered rapidly as he fought to focus through the pain. In the flashes Silas saw of him while he slashed with his claws, he discovered an unremarkable man with vacant eyes. His magic sputtered as he staggered under the onslaught of Silas’s attack.

He’d clearly managed to escape being drugged. Some small, logical part of Silas wondered if he’d been staked out in the dark corner the whole time, unmoving, his scent covered by the heavy incense smoke. A luminist skilled at illusion could go entirely unseen, but he appeared to lack any offensive abilities. Being invisible wouldn’t save him when his legs were bound with shadow and a demon descended on him.

The attacker slumped to the floor, his glassy eyes rolled back in his head, and Silas knelt behind him, shadowed hands gripping his jaw and the back of his head, ready to twist hard enough to pop the whole thing off his scrawny neck for daring ? —

“Sweetheart, no.”

Silas looked up to find Petra knelt before him, her crown and veil discarded. His shadows had mostly retreated back to her neck, but they covered more than usual, as if they weren’t about to let her go completely before the job was done.

She was ashen, but her expression was gentle when she fearlessly reached out to touch his monstrous hands. “Easy,” she coaxed, petting him. “Easy now, sweetheart. He’s out cold. No need to do anything more.”

His bloody fingers flexed on the man’s slack jaw, itching to twist, twist, twist.

Petra shuffled a little closer. Her fingertips skated across his knuckles, mapping them with the utmost care. “I know it’s hard, but I need you to let him go.”

“Why?” he demanded, staring into her precious, perfect face and seeing exactly what could’ve happened to her. Again.

Petra’s gaze bounced around them. Her throat bobbed nervously, and Silas finally bothered to look beyond her, to the ring of black-clad guards who all had their weapons trained on him.

He tensed, lip curling away from his teeth, but Petra moved closer still. She peeled one of his hands off of the attacker’s head and placed it over her heart. Blood smeared over the golden skin of her breast when she murmured, “Because you did your job and protected everyone. You don’t need to do anything more.”

“He would’ve killed you,” he snarled. “That’s un-fuckin’-acceptable.”

“You’re right, but he can’t do that anymore, so you’ve got to hand him over to the guards now.” Her heartbeat thundered beneath his hand. Petra paused, lips pursing, before she slowly added, “If you kill him next to my altar, Silas, I’ll be very unhappy.”

Damn.

A jolt of unpleasant feeling ran down his spine to settle in his gut. Logic came back online slowly. Silas glanced around at the guards, then back to his mate, as he considered just doing it. She’d be angry, but she wouldn’t leave him. He was sure of that.

But he also realized that the guards saw him as a threat, and they probably wanted the would-be assassin alive. They might even shoot him to ensure that. It was what he would’ve done, and that meant refusing to give up his kill would once more put Petra in the line of fire.

And it’d make her unhappy. He disliked that most of all.

Shadows slowly retreating back into his body, Silas released the attacker. The man collapsed onto the floor with a wet thud. Blood pooled on the tile and fancy rug from his wounds, and his right arm was twisted in a gruesome angle, but he was breathing.

As soon as Silas let him go, Petra fisted her hands in his shirt and dragged him to her for an almost painfully tight embrace. “Thank you,” she whispered into his sweaty neck. “Gods, I love you. Let’s never do anything like this again, okay?”

Silas cupped the back of her head and pressed her closer. His gaze caught on a pair of shiny leather shoes and roved upward to find the sovereign staring back at him. His dark elvish eyes were wild.

“Never,” Silas promised his mate. Gaze locked with Theodore’s, he continued, “The next time someone tries to kill the sovereigns, they can call someone else for help.”