Chapter 26

CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX

Zahir returned to Venice that afternoon to find a message waiting for him from Arkon. He unfolded and scanned the lines.

Two arrests have been successful. They are being held in the Doge’s prison. Tea and torture at 5? – Arkon.

Zahir laughed and tucked the letter into his robe. He would clear this mess up with the Cabal so he could focus on more important things, like how flexible Ezra could be in the positions he had in mind.

Zahir ran his hands through his hair and tried to push away thoughts of her. At least he had some kind of answer for why he couldn’t get enough of her. Your consort.

It would rattle every djinn in the Republic when he told them such a bond was possible. They had always scoffed at the shifters and how ridiculous they got over their mates. They acted little better than beasts. Zahir was now regretting every teasing remark he had sent in Domenico’s direction. Ezra had him feeling like a lovesick idiot, and he barely knew her. She had turned him into an overprotective, possessive beast, and he wanted nothing more than to tear the Cabal to bloody shreds.

The cells underneath the Doge’s palace were worn and ancient, with small doorways and narrow corridors. The marble on the floor was soft and bowed looking from the thousands of feet that had trampled it over the centuries.

Arkon was waiting for Zahir at the top of the stairs leading to the cells that had been made especially for mages. He looked more disheveled than usual, with smudges of ash on his face and on the cuffs of his sleeves.

Zahir rubbed at the ash on his cheek. "Big night, Grand Sorcerer?"

"Big night and a big day. I haven’t actually been to sleep yet." Arkon looked him over. "Where have you been?"

"I went to see the old king." Zahir waved off his questioning gaze. "I’ll tell you about it later. Have you learned anything from our guests yet?"

Arkon shook his head. "I haven’t even laid eyes on them. I have been waiting for you. They were picked up less than an hour ago, and I’ve had more important things to do."

"Hopefully, they will be able to tell us about their strange mage friend who has been causing trouble in the city. Ezra said he had an accent that she didn’t recognize."

Arkon rested his hand on Zahir’s shoulder. "You can sit this one out if you need to. I know she means a lot to you."

"And that’s the reason that I can’t. They put slave bonds on my consort," Zahir hissed, his temper already flaring.

"Your consort?" Arkon demanded, eyebrows so high they got lost under his wild curls.

"I’ll tell you later." It wasn’t the place to discuss the revelation of djinn having mates.

"Looks like you’ll be telling me a lot later." Arkon opened the cell door. "After you, old friend."

Zahir picked up the edge of his robes so they wouldn’t touch the dirty marble ground and ducked into the narrow cell. The two Cabal members were chained to the walls with iron spell-marked manacles.

They both had the decency to look frightened at the appearance of the King of Wands. Their eyes went even wider when the Grand Sorcerer joined the party.

Zahir looked at the older man. "Zachariah, I assume?"

"Yes? What is this about? Why have we been brought here?" he replied and straightened his shoulders.

Zahir had to admire his confidence, but as he looked at them, all he could see was the bonds around Ezra’s beautiful arms and her back torn to shreds. Confidence wasn’t going to save him. There wasn’t a god, djinn, or doge that could stop Zahir from ensuring this man was dog meat.

"We have it under good authority that you and your Cabal of the Wise are seeking to create golems to sell to the Varangians," Arkon said, leaning against the back wall and looking thoroughly bored.

Zachariah snorted. "What authority? Who has been telling you such lies?"

The other man, Giuseppe, had a fine sheen of sweat on his face. He didn’t have the confidence of his master, which made him smarter than he looked.

Zahir moved to stand directly in front of Zachariah. "You should be very careful about the next words that come out of your mouth," he said softly. His power was feeling erratic, and it wanted to do such horrible things. "Now, where are the golems?"

"I don’t have any golems," Zachariah replied stubbornly.

"Maybe not working ones, but they have definitely been sculpted, ready for animation. Isn’t that right, Giuseppe?" Zahir turned on the other man.

"Y-You can’t arrest me for sculpting what I like," he stammered.

Arkon chuckled from the shadows. "We can arrest you for whatever the fuck we like, boy. We are the Council of Ten."

Zahir crossed his arms. "All right, if you don’t want to talk about the golems, let’s talk about the murder of Judah Eliyahu and the slave bonds you put on Ezra. I have seen them with my own eyes, so try and deny it, and it won’t end well for you."

"That bitch went to you?" Zachariah hissed in outrage and spat. "I should have known she would betray us. I never thought she would lower herself to spread her legs for a fucking abomination."

Zahir’s vision went red as the sands he’d been born in. He heard Arkon saying something, but he was too far gone. He grabbed Zachariah’s head with both hands, and his power tore into his mind. Zahir got flashes of memory—a man who must’ve been Judah showing Zachariah his marvels, Ezra screaming as the bonds fused to her flesh, a dark workroom filled with unseeing eyes, a man with pale hair and cold eyes speaking in Varangian, a golden ring carved with magic.

"Zahir! Stop!" Arkon shouted and pulled him away. Zahir snarled wordlessly at the sorcerer for pulling him free. Zachariah slumped on the floor. He started to laugh, a horrible bubbling laughter of madness.

"Torture me all you like, King of the Djinn," he spat. "You are already too late. Ezra is gone. The golems will have life, and the Varangians will wipe the djinn from the Republic forever." Blood bubbled out of his mouth and ears, and he slid sideways on the cell floor and passed out.

Zahir turned to the artist. Piss stained the front of the man’s pants, and he was shaking, his eyes glued to Zachariah.

"You had better be more co-operative if you don’t want to end up like him," Arkon said, getting in between Zahir and Giuseppe. He shot a warning look over his shoulder. It took all of Zahir’s willpower to back off.

"You have five minutes, sorcerer," he growled.

"Look, boy, my friend here is very partial to Ezra, so tell me quickly where she is," Arkon said, drawing Giuseppe’s attention to him.

"The mage, Vlad… Ah, Vladek is his full name. He went to Zachariah today and said that Ezra needed to be taken into the workshop to animate the golems. They sent for her right before we were arrested," Giuseppe babbled.

"This Vladek… He is Varangian, isn’t he? Has a penchant for magical whips?" Zahir asked, his voice going deadly cold.

Giuseppe nodded. "Yes. He was sent by his master, Ingvar Hardrada, to see what the holdup was on the delivery. Please. I was brought into this just as an artist."

"But you knew what you were making," Arkon said.

"I didn’t think they were serious! Once you’re in the Cabal, there is no getting out."

Zahir moved, grabbed the man by his throat, and pinned him to the cell wall. "Where did they take Ezra? Address, now!"

Giuseppe sobbed and croaked out, "It’s on the Fondamenta Fornasa Vecia. It’s the building closest to the water. The quickest way into the workshop is through the gondola shed. The house is full of wards." He was starting to cry as he rattled off further instructions. "She’s already going to be there, and if she gives them what they want, Vlad will kill her or, worse, take her back to Varangia to help him build more soldiers. I heard him talking to Zachariah about trading for her, getting her permanently out of Venice so they could work on the golems without the secrecy."

Arkon pulled Zahir away to the far corner of the cell. "Go to Ezra. I will stay here and try to find out more about this Varangian mage. I told you there was someone else in the empire doing magic for them. They have pushed this propaganda about the Wolf Mage. It could be a cover to hide the other magic users."

"I don’t care about the bloody war, Arkon!" Zahir snapped, and magic shivered over his skin. "I’m going to get my fucking consort."