Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

The citizens of the city of Venice were in an uproar over the Wolf Mage’s latest attack on the Republic’s army. The war was escalating, and many thought the Wolf Mage was getting more savage and less human by the day.

"Behave or the Wolf Mage will steal your skin," older children began to threaten their siblings though they themselves had read the newspaper articles with weak stomachs.

Rumors were abundant, but the question on everyone’s lips was: what was Arkon going to do in retaliation?

As the doge’s Grand Sorcerer, it was Arkon’s job to protect the Republic from the Wolf Mage’s magical attacks and assist with the war effort. Currently, no one could find him—not the doge’s personal men or the city’s inquisitors.

If they had asked the tavern owners in the lagoon’s shadier fringes, they would’ve been given the sorcerer’s outstanding bill. If they’d talked to the captains and merchants, they would’ve said Arkon was a cheat at cards and owed them money. If they’d paid a few soldi to the courtesans, they would’ve told them that Arkon also owed them money, but they didn’t mind holding onto his IOU a little longer.

If they had kept walking on the shoreline at the Guidicca, they would’ve found Arkon himself, asleep in a fisherman’s boat. The fishermen hovering close-by were too nervous to wake a sorcerer because it was well-known that it was bad luck.

The question on everyone’s lips was: what did he plan to do about the Wolf Mage? But Arkon himself had no idea. He’d been drunk since the news of the Wolf Mage’s latest attack had reached the city. Gio would want him to respond somehow, and he didn’t know how or where to strike. He didn’t think the Wolf Mage was behind it either. It lacked her finesse.

Underneath the alcohol, Arkon’s mind was also busy working on another problem—what to do about the other mages the Varangians had been making?

It had been less than a month since Arkon had joined Nico D’Argento and had fought the Varangians at Rogotin. He had hoped that showing himself on the battlefield would draw some of the freshly minted mages out so that he could get rid of them. No such luck.

Arkon was no closer to finding the mages or the horrific death camps they ran. They practiced a kind of magic that Arkon had never encountered before, and it involved stealing magic from the bones and blood of shifters and other magical peoples.

Zahir, who was one of the most ancient djinn in the city, had told him what he knew about the magic eaters he had last encountered. It was horrific, and Arkon had no idea what to do about any of it.

Getting drunk seemed like the only good option left.

The canvas sail covering him was pulled back, and Arkon hissed, covering his burning eyes from the sun.

"I have to say, habibi, you take me to the most exotic locations." The disappointed face of the djinn king was suddenly hovering above him.

"Go away," Arkon grumbled.

"Shall I poke him with a stick, sire?" Ashirah asked. As Zahir’s second-in-command, she was more than willing to perform cruel and unusual punishments at Zahir’s whim.

Arkon curled into a ball. "Don’t let mommy hurt me."

"I don’t think that is going to be necessary. Arkon, get your ass up, please. You have things to do," Zahir insisted.

"What things?" Arkon didn’t even know what day it was.

Zahir’s smile was merciless. "Why, tonight is your big celebration. You had to go and be a hero with the D’Argentos, and now you have to attend a victory party."

"I don’t want to," Arkon said, rolling over. "There’s nothing worth celebrating."

"You are being an asshole. You saved many lives destroying those boats. Venice lost people in that battle, so you will put aside your pity party and be the Grand Sorcerer for one damn night," Zahir commanded.

Arkon knew he was in no position to fight with him. "How many hours do I have to sober up?"

"About two. If you’re a good boy and come of your own free will, I’ll cure your hangover." Zahir held out a ringed hand to him. "Or I will have Ashirah throw you into the sea."

Arkon groaned but took the djinn’s hand anyway. "I hate you sometimes."

"I know, but we are all in this together, habibi."

Zahir hauled Arkon out of the boat and onto unsteady feet.

Ashirah’s nose wrinkled. "Maybe you should let me throw him into the sea anyway."

"Hello, Ash. You’re looking as terrifying as always," Arkon said, giving her his most winning smile. Ashirah made a tsk sound at him and vanished.

"She’ll warm up to me one day," Arkon said and swayed.

"I wouldn’t count on it. It usually takes her a few hundred years to like anyone. Let’s get you home," Zahir replied. He brushed some stray muck off the shoulder of Arkon’s coat before putting his hand on it. Zahir’s bronze magic swirled about them, and Arkon shut his eyes tight. It didn’t help with the vertigo. They landed in his apartments in the Doge’s Palace, and Zahir quickly stepped back from him.

"Oh, fuck." Arkon heaved before rushing into the bathroom to throw up.

"You’ve really done a number on yourself this time. What’s triggered this?" Zahir asked, placing a wet cloth on the back of Arkon’s burning neck.

"Failure. Epic, epic failure," he said into the bowl.

"You haven’t failed anyone but yourself with this nonsense."

Arkon flushed the toilet and moved to the basin to wash his face. He didn’t dare look at his reflection in the mirror.

"I thought my presence in Rogotin would flush out some of the bone mages. Or at least the Wolf Mage. No one has heard from her, though my raven in Kyiv still claims that she’s not left her tower in the palace. I don’t know what to do, Zahir."

The djinn king’s frown softened. "Arkon, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. You need more information on how to find the camps, and then we will act. You’re not alone, so stop pretending that you are."

"She was always my responsibility. If the rumors are right, and she has fallen out with Arkadi, then where is she? She’s not in Kyiv. I can’t explain how I know. I just do," Arkon replied and washed his face with cold water.

Zahir rubbed his chin. "If you believe it, then I do too. We will be able to work this out, but you can’t be getting blackout drunk every night, Arkon."

"I know. Don’t mother me. I just needed to blow off steam."

"Arkon, you destroying Varangian battle ships with magic was blowing off steam. Binge drinking is just sulking. Now, I’m going to heal your hangover, and while you shower, I will find appropriate clothes for you to wear tonight," Zahir said.

Arkon pulled a face at him. "You really hen peck me more than a wife."

"It’s because Ezra hen pecks me into hen pecking you. We all worry about you, so maybe take that into consideration the next time you decide to vanish for three days and upset my consort," Zahir snapped, making Arkon flinch. He hadn’t meant to cause any concern for Ezra.

"Mia culpa, mia culpa, mia massima culpa," Arkon said, staring at his filthy boots.

Zahir made a sound between annoyance and amusement. "It is your fault. Now, get your shit together. We need you."

His magic enclosed Arkon in a warm haze, and the throbbing pains in his head and churning stomach disappeared.

"You are a good friend, Zahir," Arkon said, unable to look him in the eye.

Zahir patted him on the shoulder. "I know, fratellino. Get in the shower. I’ll get some food and clothes organized."

With the help of Zahir,Arkon was dressed and presentable and on his way to dinner in under an hour. His stubble was more of a beard, and his hair was in desperate need of cutting, but at least he was clean and depressingly sober. He was wearing his official black and gold uniform, and he hoped that the illusion of him being in control would help him feel it. "Remind me again why I have to be here? It is Nico and Sophia that deserve the credit," Arkon complained, tugging at his jacket sleeves.

"If you didn’t want to be the center of attention, you shouldn’t have vaporized an entire ship with the leader of the Varangian Navy on board," Zahir chided him. He brushed an imaginary bit of lint off Arkon’s coat. "Did you actually expect it to work that way?"

"The bomb? Not exactly. You have to admit, it was good. And it meant we didn’t litter the ocean with debris," Arkon replied.

"Because breathing in tiny particles of Varangians is so much better."

Arkon hadn’t thought about that. "Gross, Zahir."

"You were the one who did it. Now, let’s find Ezra. I need her beautiful face to make the past few hours worth it."

Arkon huffed out a laugh. "Thanks, asshole."

"Thank Ezra," Zahir said, his mouth lifting into a sardonic little grin. "I would’ve left you to rot in that boat, but she finds you amusing."

Crowds of people were already filling the doge’s ballroom. Arkon had been Grand Sorcerer for nearly a decade and still found the social obligations of the role overwhelming. He knew he didn’t fit in with the high society crowd, so he had never bothered to try.

Venice valued two things—money and power. Just because he didn’t come from the former didn’t mean it wasn’t counterbalanced by his magic.

Arkon liked to keep apart from the social climbers because they were tedious. It helped that they were a little afraid of Arkon’s spies, and so they did their best not to draw his attention. Not that it mattered. Arkon knew everything about everyone when he needed to. It helped to predict which daggers would aim for his kidneys on a dark night.

Gio saw him from the other side of the room and gestured with his head. No rest for the wicked. Arkon sidled his way through the edges of the crowd until he joined the doge.

"Grand Sorcerer, how wonderful for you to finally make an appearance," Gio said and dismissed the people who were still trying to gossip with him. When they were alone, he let out a tight breath. "Thank Christ. Those two were one step off trying to get me to buy shares in their company. Or have a three way. I wasn’t really paying attention. Where the fuck have you been, sorcerer?"

"Drowning my sorrows and gathering information," Arkon replied. His magic warmed his fingertips, and he drew a muffling spell around them. Too many big ears in such a small ballroom.

"Did you find anything useful? Or did your courtesans just take all your money for the fun of it," Gio asked, raising a knowing brow.

"Not anything that we need to know. The whole of Varangia seems to be licking its wounds at the loss in Rogotin. I still have no new information on the Wolf Mage’s alleged falling-out with Arkadi. My raven in Kyiv says that everyone believes her to still be in her tower in the palace," Arkon replied.

Gio hummed thoughtfully. "And you believe that the latest attack wasn’t her but the bone mages?"

"Yes. I know it sounds like I’m crazy, Gio, but please trust me. It doesn’t feel like her magic."

"So what does her magic feel like then, Arkon? Convince me," Gio replied. He placed a hand on Arkon’s forearm. "Explain it to me so I can understand, because from where I’m sitting, I have a group of fifty soldiers dead from being practically turned inside out."

"She’s always been fair! She would never use magic to outright kill people like that." Arkon ran a hand through his curls. "Her magic is like melted chocolate and fresh snow in a forest. That attack was dark, Gio. It was like bile and blood. There was an unnatural quality to it. It’s not her. It lacks...panache."

He didn’t know how to explain it to someone who didn’t use magic. All magic had a signature, a condensed essence of the wielder. An attuned sorcerer or a djinn could sense it.

Gio crossed his arms. "If you say it’s not her, then I believe you, old friend. We just need to come up with some kind of response because the whole of the Republic is angry about it. We need to find a way to deescalate and fast."

"I know, and I am thinking about it, Gio. I promise. I don’t want you to worry about me," Arkon said.

"Then don’t disappear for three fucking days again," Gio growled. He wasn’t a shifter, but like all of them, he’d definitely picked up some bad habits from being around so many of them. Arkon’s eyes caught a flash of red and gold and spotted Carmella Aladoro talking with Zahir. She was stunning as usual in a scarlet gown. Gio followed his gaze, and his pissed off expression melted a little.

"You should forget about me and go and dance with Carmella. It will make you feel better," Arkon said and shot the beautiful lady in question a cheeky little wave.

"Don’t be an ass, Arkon."

"Do it or I will, Gio. She’s all alone, and you know that she won’t be for long."

Gio let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Stay out of my personal life, sorcerer."

"Sorry. I’d love to stay and chat with you, my doge, but there’s a lovely woman who needs my attention," Arkon said and began to move away. Gio grabbed him by the bicep and tugged him back.

"You need to go and eat something first. You’re getting too skinny, and I don’t want you getting sick," Gio said and pushed him gently towards the buffet tables.

Arkon laughed softly at his ridiculous friend who finally took his advice and went to speak with Carmella. Gio was one of the scariest, smartest men Arkon had ever met, but if someone didn’t give the clueless git a hint, he’d never get there on his own.

An hour later, Arkon had managed to smile through all the speeches and congratulations for the battle in Rogotin. Sophia and Nico had been decorated with special medals from Gio, and all seemed to be going well.

Sophia was wearing a magnificent crown that Nico had gifted her, and Nico couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Whether or not it was because he was worried she would try and steal something, Arkon could only guess. Now that they had finally mated, Nico seemed to have grown his brain cells back and become the ruthless commander they knew and loved once more, instead of the love-struck, erratic serpent he had been while chasing Sophia.

The D’Argentos were a formidable team now that they had stopped fighting each other, and they had been busy recruiting pirates all over the Adriatic into the service of the Venetian Navy.

Arkon watched everyone about him enjoying themselves except for him. Sure, he could play the game and do it with a certain amount of style, but there was an itch under his skin he couldn’t scratch. His magic was flaring up and down like a warning system. Maybe he had been too drunk in the last week, and his body was trying to sort itself out. He needed a good sleep, and he would be right again.

He was melting into the shadows, getting ready to make a sneaky escape when a rush of magic crashed into him. He whirled, trying to make sense of what he was feeling.

The doors to the ballroom blew open and time seemed to slow. Arkon pushed through the crowd and walked into the center of the dance floor, trying to find the source of the disruption. His skin tingled; the hair on the back of his neck rose in warning.

It can’t be…not here…

Like they had been reduced to wooden puppets, the crowd parted, and a silver wolf, the size of a pony, padded across the ballroom, leaving frosted footprints in her wake. Arkon didn’t move as the wolf walked slowly towards him, enclosing him in a wave of winter forest and dark chocolate.

The wolf began to shiver and shift. A naked woman was suddenly standing before him, her skin lit up with pale blue and silver runes that matched the color of her eyes.

Arkon took off his coat and gently put it around her shoulders. She looked up at him, a small grin lifting the corners of her wide mouth. "Hello, Arkon."

His face broke into his first real smile in months. "Hello, Zarya."