Chapter 48

Ilanded on a small, sheltered hill with Tavion a few seconds after Raz landed with Anaria, relief loosening my chest when she stepped away from him, pale as a ghost but safe and sound, the wind ripping her dark cloak free.

I would never get used to her being out of my sight, to that irrational grip of fear I couldn't quite override with cold logic.

"That was awful." Anaria scrubbed her arms, her lips white. "Like I was being pulled apart."

"The ward was made to keep everyone out." I tried to smile over the pain still shuddering through my veins. "Be glad we crossed where the magic was the weakest or the effects would have been far worse." She nodded and stared to the east, her mouth falling open.

We were dressed in black; the witch gear was warm, well-made, and easy to move in. I had two curved witch blades hanging from my belt and still felt completely under prepared.

Before us, the entire Solarys army spread across the barren land like a plague, so many fires burning I couldn't count them all. Ten thousand soldiers waited down there for the king's next order, whatever that might be.

Most were not, inherently, bad males. Some had served the king for centuries, but I had to believe that even they could imagine a better future for this realm and for themselves.

"One more jump." I jerked my head at Raz. "Tristan and you. I'll take Simon."

"Fuck." Simon glared up at me. "Can't I just fucking fly there?"

"No," Raz and I said together. "They'll shoot you from the sky."

Zephryn refused to be parted from Torin, and while I hated leaving Anaria behind for even a few minutes, especially with the whole Solarys army slumbering a stone's throw away, the dragon would protect her.

"Do not let anything happen to her," Raziel growled, and Zephryn put his hand over his chest. A good male, that one.

"He won't," Simon murmured. "Now let's go before I change my mind." He'd puked for a solid ten minutes after we'd landed and still looked sickly. "I already told you, I can fly from here."

"You'd have to pass over the entire army, and it's hard to hide a golden owl, even in the dark. If you're spotted, we're all dead," Raziel said roughly. "Tough it out." Then they were gone.

We arrived at Tristan's a moment later, Simon already vomiting his guts up into the overgrown bushes, while I stared up at the DeVayne castle. And up. And up.

"Godsdamn. How much room does one family require?" I asked, awestruck despite my best efforts.

"According to my father, this amount was just enough. Though, to be fair, wyverns tended to have big families," Tristan said, his eyes coolly skimming over the building's ornate facade. "Welcome to Wingcrest Hold. Let me check the grounds. I'll be right back."

"We'll go get Anaria and Tavion. Two minutes."

Anaria was half frozen by the time Raz and I arrived on the small incline, the sounds of the army echoing against the quiet mountains behind us. All those small sounds built to a hushed roar—the neighing of horses, the hum of a thousand conversations. The clang of metal on metal and the drunken shouts of dangerous, bored males with nothing to do except fight each other.

Torin stood with her arms crossed, her eyes fixed on something in the far-off distance. She hadn't spoken more than two words since they'd returned from the Dearth, her eyes haunted.

"Ready?" I grasped Anaria's arms then hauled her firmly against me, basking in the scent of her. She smelled delicious, flowery and warm, my cock hardening the second her curves fit against me.

For one wild second I thought of taking her away from here.

Flying us somewhere on the other side of the world, where no one knew us, far away from war and ruin. I dipped my head and kissed her neck, her hands winding through my hair with practiced ease until Raz cleared his throat.

"We're coming," I grumbled, my voice like sandpaper, my cock straining against my trousers. I was a greedy bastard, but I breathed her in from the time our feet left the ground to the moment we touched down.

"Wow." Anaria's eyes flew wide. "That's…enormous."

"Wingcrest, Tristan called this place," I told her softly, letting her step out of my arms but only after I'd buried my nose in her hair one last time.

"A fucking monstrosity, is what that is," Tavion growled, sword already in his hand as he moved closer to Anaria.

Simon straightened, wiped his mouth, and glared at Raz. "That was worse the second fucking time. We go anywhere else, I'm flying."

"Works for me. One last trip and we'll return with Zephryn and Torin." Raz stared at Anaria with steely determination. "Stay close to Tavion and Simon. Do not leave their sides."

"Yes, sir." Anaria mockingly saluted, then went back to scanning the castle, her mouth falling open.

By the time we returned with Torin and Zephryn, Tristan was back and Tavion had peeled the wood planks off a side door, mostly hidden by some overgrowth. "We're leaving the front doors boarded up in case a patrol comes by. We don't need the complication of a few missing soldiers to ruin our plan."

"Good thinking," I muttered.

"Let's go inside," Tristan said quietly, his voice strained. "I'll get a fire going. There is a permanent ward built into Wingcrest's foundations. Not as strong as some, but enough to keep us protected from prying eyes."

I paused and inhaled the stale air.

This place was old. Like…ancient old. Far older than the Wynter Palace, and I scanned the dusty, faded paintings lining the grand hall of flame-haired aristocrats and their children. Their grandchildren.

I found one of Tristan looking the same age as he was now, then bent down and squinted at the date below the signature. I licked my finger and rubbed off the dirt, then took a halting step back, mind reeling at the sheer impossibility of what I was seeing.

Tristan DeVayne, the serious, unassuming archer who didn't look a day over thirty…was at least six hundred years old.

Older than any of us, even Zephryn.

By the time we got settled, Tristan had a fire roaring in the fireplace—the mantle carved with two wyverns writhing together—the wards hummed with power around us, and we'd cracked open two bottles of very old, very fine liquor.

Things were looking up for the night when Torin set the pendant on the table between our half-full glasses.

The fist-sized stone was a deep red, facets reflecting every sliver of light in shades of crimson and ruby, the setting marked with runes I couldn't readily identify.

"I'd like to ask…a favor." She reached up and rubbed her throat. "Cosimo must be freed from this stone, which will come at a cost. He can decipher Anaria's pages and he's an excellent strategist. He's also a powerful mage, and he has valuable connections in Blackcastle."

"If they're still alive," Zephryn clarified.

"Yes, that." Torin peered out the window at the darkening sky. "Simon would be here, but he flew to the city on a…personal task that shouldn't take overly long. In the meantime, I want to assure you, Cosimo will be a valuable asset."

Anaria reached out and set her hand over the seer's. "You don't have to convince us to help, Torin. It's enough that he's your friend and in trouble." Anaria's genuinely kind smile made my chest swell, making it almost too hard to breathe.

She was fucking perfect. Every time I thought I'd seen every side to her, she showed me something new and I fell in love with her all over again.

"Whatever we can do to get him out, we will."

The seer blinked as she considered Anaria. "Thank you. That…this means everything to me, having Coz free."

"What does freeing him entail, and what is this cost?" I asked, not at all happy Simon was flying over the army right now and putting this entire mission at risk. "Some arcane spell or ritual?"

Torin shook her head. "Unfortunately…" She glanced at Zephryn, who winced. "We need someone who's experienced at imprisoning helpless creatures into enchanted artifacts."

"Cosimo might have something to say about you calling him helpless, Tor," Zeph rumbled, a touch of humor in his voice.

A rare smile flitted across the seer's face then was gone. "Don't tell him, then. Zeph will head to Trubahn's shop and leave word—only enough information to peak the mage's curiosity and lure him out here. He will undo the containment spell and set Cosimo free."

That sounded like another one of Torin's bullshite schemes where she left out about ninety percent of the actual plan.

"Can we kill him when he's finished?" Tavion growled, and I remembered he and Trubahn had some bad blood between them.

"No," Torin said emphatically, Zephryn's lips curling in disgust.

"He's an important enough figure in Southwell his disappearance would be noticed. And while he's evil, he's a necessary evil. With the absence of real magic in Solarys, Trubahn provides the medicines for Blackcastle, and certain…specialized weaponry for the army."

"He's a fucking slave owner," Zephryn hissed softly.

"We'll kill him when this is over and the magic is restored," Torin countered as if she was talking about hanging out the laundry. "Until then, he's useful."

"We have money, Tor." Zephryn stepped forward and my gut tightened even more at the glint of raw desperation in his eyes. "I will give him all the gold he desires if he helps us." But the dragon's gaze darkened when Torin shook her head, her face a haunted, desolate mask.

"We already know what Trubahn's asking price will be, and it's not gilder."

I'd metTrubahn on a handful of occasions and despised the mage progressively more each time.

But when Zephryn returned and snarled, "That fucking bastard is on his way," I knew by the end of this meeting I would hate the mage. He was a piece of shite, trapping hopeless shifters into lifelong contracts through trickery and the sheer desperation of his victims.

But…if he could free that astrologer from the necklace…

Trubahn arrived an hour late in a grandiose carriage, the kind that rattled and clanged and called attention to itself. I nearly killed the fool then. If Torin hadn't insisted the mage was the only one in Solarys who could free Cosimo, I would have.

The mage was tall, thin to the point of being desiccated, with thin blond hair pulled back in a long tail, clothing that bordered on foppish, and hands that were busy, plucking at his high collar and smoothing his hair as if they didn't know how to keep still.

Tristan and Raziel were outside monitoring the outskirts of the property for anyone who might have followed the mage, and Simon hadn't yet returned from his mysterious personal task that should have waited until the king was dead.

I was deciding if it was worth my while to just kill the mage right now, when Torin swept forward and dipped her head to the arrogant, preening piece of shite.

"Trubahn, it has been a long time."

"Torin. I don't see you on this side of the ward very often." His cruel lips twisted into a parody of a smile. "Though I don't suppose there's anything civilized in Caladrius these days, is there?"

His cunning gaze raked over us, cataloguing each of our faces for future reference. By the time he'd finished, his eyes were slightly wide, as if he realized together we were worth a king's fortune.

"Illustrious company you're keeping these days, Torin."

"Well, desperate times and all," Torin said breezily before she ushered him into the once-grand dining room, the web-covered chandeliers hovering over the long, dusty table like ghostly specters.

"What do you make of this?" She waved her hand at the pendant on the table, the deep red stone at the center glimmering faintly in the candlelight.

The mage worked hard to keep his face emotionless, but greed flickered in his eyes and curled his thin, bloodless lips. "You brought me all this way for a trinket?"

"Yes," she said simply. "I'd like your professional opinion, Trubahn. Do you happen to recognize the work?"

"It's a clever piece," he hedged as he rounded the table, making no attempt to touch the necklace. "See that marking right there?" He pointed to the symbol at the top, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. "That's from Old Valarian, from before the Age of the Fae."

"So this isn't a contemporary piece?"

"Gods, no." The mage couldn't keep the edge of excitement from his voice now, his eyes brightening as he leaned closer. "This is the oldest relic from that time I've ever seen, and in near-perfect condition."

"Pre-Valarian?" Torin was the picture of innocent curiosity. "Are you sure?"

He sniggered. "Quite sure. As you know, I specialize in anything that predates the Fae arriving on these shores, and this stone…this red stone, sometimes called the gods-stone, hasn't been seen since the days of Old Valarian when the witches ruled here. Before the Fae even arrived on these shores."

His eyes glimmered, as if he gazed upon a dragon's hoard. "That stone is worth more than all the gilder stored in the Shadow King's coffers."

Gods, that stone…

I didn't dare do anything except stand there with a faintly bored expression on my face. Anaria had sat upon an entire throne made out of those crystals, thousands of them. Beside me, Zephryn had painted the same disinterest across his face, but when his eyes met mine, I knew two things.

Cosimo would be free by the end of tonight.

And Trubahn's chances of surviving until tomorrow were very, very slim.

The mage glared at Torin. "Who did you steal this from? The Fae King?"

"I'm no thief," Torin countered, her gaze serene.

"That was a gift, a very long time ago, from a lover." Torin's white eyes were lined with silver. "But the pendant was cursed, and somehow…somehow, he became trapped inside. I've been trying to get him out for centuries." Tears soaked her cheeks. If I didn't know she was acting, I would have bought this entire masquerade.

"I would do anything to get him out." She glanced to the pendant, her lips trembling. "Anything. Please, Trubahn. We've been friends a long time. If you undo the spell, the pendant is yours."

"I just told you that stone is priceless."

"I don't care about money." She shook her head miserably. "I've tried everything else, gone everywhere, even to the witches. You're my last resort. Please." She swallowed, her delicate throat bobbing. "I'll give you the pendant. It's yours if you can get him out."

"You must truly be desperate to call in a favor to me." Trubahn's gloating smile brightened as he surveyed us, his body falling into the swaggering stance of a male who knew he had the upper hand.

"Never in my wildest dreams did I think tonight would offer such riches." He held his withered hand over the pendant and the pendant—the entire table—trembled. "It's a simple enough spell to break, given you have some skill. But I'm afraid the pendant won't be enough."

"What else do you want?" Torin said quietly, wiping her face. "If I have the means to grant your price, it is yours."

"Where is Simon hiding?" I wanted to claw Trubahn's crooning, malicious words from his throat, right before I slit it, ear to grinning ear. "Where is my favorite owl shifter?"

"He didn't come with us. He's still in Caladrius," Torin muttered stubbornly, but her gaze drifted to the doorway, worry flashing in her eyes.

If Simon wasn't back, if he was still in Blackcastle, then this entire night was fucked.

Trubahn smiled. "You always were a terrible liar, Torin. Tell the shifter to get his arse in here where we can strike a new bargain, or"—he waved a limp, careless hand—"your lover can stay trapped in that stone for another few centuries until you're more agreeable."

Torin's shoulders slumped, the very picture of defeated. "I'll…I'll go find Simon."

Then she was gone, leaving us staring at each other. Or rather, all of us planning how to kill the mage in slow, creative ways, while he preened, so fucking sure he'd owned us tonight. Zephryn was barely even breathing, holding himself back from carving Trubahn's head off his skinny neck. But Torin was right. We couldn't kill the mage.

Not yet.

"What does the mark mean?" I nodded to the necklace. "You said Old Valarian, but I never learned the language."

His lips curled up. "Of course you didn't. Military grunts never learn the finer points of history; they are far too busy fighting wars for their betters."

I let the insult roll off me with a shrug. "That's not an answer, unless you don't know." I laughed. "No harm in not being an arrogant know-it-all who actually doesn't know a thing."

Trubahn's shaky, pissed-off intake of breath was totally worth Zephryn's furious glare.

"That is the Vanguard Conclave's insignia, an ancient witch coven, once the most powerful force on this continent until the Fae came and wiped them out," Trubahn said stiffly like he had a ten- foot rod shoved up his arse.

"They worshipped the Old Gods, though they called them something different—the Mystara or some such bullshite."

Anaria was all ears, keenly focused on the mage, dissecting every single word. As if they held some secret she'd been searching for, and I wondered if this had anything to do with her fascination with the library.

Or with the coven itself.

"This Vanguard Conclave…are you sure they were wiped out?" I asked, staring at that deep red stone, the color of freshly spilled blood. "I mean, there are always survivors."

Torin wasn't back yet, which meant Simon wasn't back, which meant I had to keep this pompous arsehole talking.

"Killed or driven into their holes. What does it matter? The witches were gone by the time the Fae took this land. Except for a few isolated covens, they never reorganized into anything relevant. Healers and charlatans, mostly."

"Where would this conclave have ruled from?" I asked softly, intrigued by Anaria's sudden interest in this line of questioning. "Or does that city even still exist?"

"There is a theory that Tempeste was built upon the ruins of an ancient city called Etherium." Trubahn paused, eyes landing on me as if he was reevaluating what he saw.

"According to the historians, it was once a great center for knowledge. A library to rival all others. They say that before our people conquered these lands, there was an alliance between Darkhold and Etherium that lasted ten millennia."

An ancient alliance between the dragons and the witches?

Zephryn went on alert as well, and I didn't envy the mage one bit, not with how closely the dragon tracked him. And where the fuck was Simon?

The mage shook his head. "But after all this time, that is only speculation. No one knows for sure what lies beneath Tempeste, and now…it hardly matters. Soon enough, I expect Tempeste, like Etherium, will be taken over by the forest."

"What does the writing say?" I craned my head, scanning over the unfamiliar runes.

"This says, ‘From the darkest shadows, shine thebrightest flames.' And that is an exact translation," he boasted as if he couldn't help himself.

"Here is Simon." Torin reappeared, the windswept owl shifter in tow as if he'd just made a frantic journey over the biggest army in three realms and been scolded for arriving late.

"Excellent." Trubahn couldn't look more pompous if he'd tried. "This is what will happen. Before I undo the spell, Simon will swear a blood oath to me, because unlike last time, I will not tolerate my slaves leaving my service at their whim."

"Caladrius was under attack, if you remember," Torin pointed out evenly. "Simon only came to assist me because the Citadelle was under attack."

Never mind that we were the ones attacking.

"I don't care if all of Caladrius falls into the Great Pit and is consumed by fire. I own you for the rest of your immortal life, not a few measly decades like before." Trubahn pulled out a blade and pointed to the floor. "Kneel and hold out your hand."

Simon obeyed, eyes gleaming with savage fury when Trubahn slashed his outstretched palm in one brutal swipe.

Trubahn dragged the bloody knife across his own palm then pressed the edge to the wound on Simon's hand, the air in the room humming, setting the dusty crystals vibrating. "You will return with me to the shop. I have your old cage waiting, though I suppose there will be no more messages going back and forth from Tempeste now that Solok is dead."

His roving gaze landed on Anaria and my blood iced over as I fought my impulse to shield her from this fucking arsehole. He would sell us out the second he got back to Blackcastle.

"Let's get this over with"—Simon jerked his head at the pendant—"now that you have what you wanted."

"You are all fools." Trubahn's dead eyes raked over us. "This was a simple spell, so simple you could have done this yourself, Torin." He held his hand out over the pendant and the stone danced across the tabletop, the silver chain clinking before a flash of red light sent us all stumbling back.

A brawny male lay curled on the table, long, dark hair obscuring his face, leaving only one pointed ear visible, tipped with an intricate gold tip. A sob escaped from Torin, and she threw herself over him, fingers dragging over his matted hair, murmuring softly.

Zephryn's and Simon's eyes gleamed, but neither of them moved, as if they were waiting for their next cue. Fuck, I supposed we all were.

"Thank you." Torin wiped her nose and eased onto her feet, the dark-haired male on the table huddling tighter into himself as if the light hurt. As if the air was too cold, everything too, too loud after being locked in that shard of stone.

"There. Desperation makes people make mistakes, Torin, and you just made a grave one." Trubahn jerked his head toward the door. "Simon, wait for me in the carriage. I shall join you shortly."

"Yes, Trubahn," Simon said in a broken whisper before he made for the door, head bowed.

"He is mine now, and there is nothing you can do to get him back. Simon breaks that bond, and he dies. I wonder what he's feeling right now knowing you traded him away for…that." Trubahn sneered at the sight of the dark-haired astrologer.

All I could picture was the tip of my sword pressed over the mage's cold, dead heart and the satisfaction I'd feel at shoving that blade in deep.

Not often had I experienced this depth of rage, but if Torin hadn't guaranteed this bastard's survival, he'd already be bleeding out on the floor.

"Simon trusts me. And I trust him, something you wouldn't understand," Torin said evenly "Can you sit up?" She offered her hand to the male curled so tightly into a ball. "I know…I know it's been a long time since you've been free. But you must try." Her voice trembled, that part, at least, not an act, when he took her hand, his fingers curling around hers.

I frowned.

This male didn't look like an astrologer.

This was a battle-hardened warrior, his powerful body layered with muscle, every brawny inch peppered with scars. The kind that came from brutal, hand-to-hand fighting.

Who the fuck was this?

Torin helped the astrologer slowly sit up, his tangled hair hiding his face, while Zephryn threw a moldy blanket over him, one he'd found upstairs, no doubt. Torin adjusted the fabric, whispering the entire time.

Trubahn snatched the pendant off the table, cradling the brightly colored stone in both hands, his face a mask of barely restrained greed. Which meant the mage's back was to Cosimo when the astrologer raised his head enough for me to fully glimpse his face.

Pure, unadulterated savagery lurked there, his blue eyes glimmering with hate and a fair amount of madness when they met mine.

The madness, I understood from being locked away for so long, but I set my hand on my sword and shifted so I blocked his path to Anaria in case he decided to go rogue. Zephryn noticed and warned me off with a barely perceptible shake of his head.

"Hello, Trubahn," Cosimo purred, turning that cruel smile toward the mage, who looked up from his prize then reeled back in shock when the astrologer leapt gracefully off the table.

"It's been a long time."