Ciaran had been running full tilt down the dimly lit corridor when he crashed into me. He wore the same clothes I had left him in hours before, his hair still mussed from where I had run my hands through it, while he was buried inside me. Then, he had been open: vulnerable and raw. Now, the lines of his face were hard, his black eyes burned with anger as he beheld me and my ill-fated companions, burning and smashing their way through his city.
“What is the meaning of this?” Ciaran righted me, his arms on my shoulders as he looked over the top of my head and growled at the viscount. His eyes travelled down to meet mine. They were full of hurt and confusion and fear, his hands firm but gentle on my shoulders. I stepped away from him, even though my mind, body and soul were shouting to stay.
The viscount laughed that eerie cold laugh of his. “The meaning of this?” He spread his arms, gesturing to me and the gendarmes. “My old friend, you are harbouring an entire illegal community of criminals and heretics down here. I’ve merely brought law enforcement to try to rectify the situation. Thanks to this young lady’s direction, of course.”
Ciaran’s eyes met mine again. He still smelled like me. Good Goddess, did I smell like him too? I had thrown him against the wall with my magic. I had been so, so, so stupid. Would he be able to see that I was trapped in my own body? I’d given Ciaran every reason to believe I would turn on him. And fuck, I had brought the viscount here. The man who had killed his mother. The man who was the reason he had those twisted painful scars. I had done that. I may as well have betrayed him. This was just as bad. Worse.
Ciaran’s eyes roamed to my mouth, where hours ago he had pressed kisses, hot and insistent. They trailed down to my wrists. Could he see where I had been bound? Could he see where the gag had cut into my skin?
“The Seraphina I know would never lead you here. What have you done to her? What have you threatened?” Ciaran’s eyes lingered on the bruises around my wrists. My relief, that he could tell something was wrong, was short-lived, as I started screaming in my mind for him to run.
“Perhaps you don’t know her as well as you thought you did. Seraphina is my little songbird, reporting everything that exists in this cesspool of filth back to me,” the viscount lied, a disgusting, horrible lie that made me want to vomit, spit, scream—all three. All I could do was stand there like an idiot. Like the puppet I was.
Behind Ciaran, Elena ran full tilt down the corridor. She came to a halt behind him, eyeing me with terror.
“What the fuck, Seraphina.” She gasped. Ciaran held out a hand, stopping her from getting any closer. Her hands glowed with the same balls of energy that she’d used to take down the gendarmes as we ran through the cemetery.
“Easy,” Ciaran murmured. On the outside he was calm, but anger roiled under that placid surface. His eyes were so black they gobbled up the light. As we faced off in the corridor, I couldfeel the tension curling off him in waves. His shadow magic gathered around his shoulders. Was he remembering what had happened between himself and the viscount all those years ago? Was the pain still as fresh as it had been then, like a wound that would never quite heal? Why hadn’t he told me?
Fionn and Rory appeared behind Ciaran, as if from thin air. They stood behind their king—their general. They would defend him and his people. When they arrived, something clicked into place for Ciaran—like he had needed the solid assurance of their presence. He exploded.
Ciaran’s shadowsshot through the corridor, grabbing onto the two gendarmes closest to him and lifting them off the ground. His shadows had them by the throat.
Elena took that as her cue. She blasted those balls of energy from her hands into two more gendarmes. One hit the first gendarme square in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him, taking him down. She missed the second one by a centimetre, and he turned on her, about to charge. Fionn launched himself, forgoing magic altogether, and just grappled, fighting hand to hand with the fifth.
As I watched the chaos ensue, the viscount chuckled at my side. He didn’t make a move against my friends. The reason became clear: I was raising my right hand to my throat. I didn’t know when it had gotten there, but a tiny silver dagger had appeared between my fingers and thumb. The cold kiss of a honed silver blade pressed against the delicate skin of my neck. I pushed it in, drawing blood. I couldn’t stop myself.
Ciaran noticed first: he froze, his shadows retreating to his outstretched hands. The two gendarmes fell to the ground, grunting as they were released.
“Now that I have your attention, I think we should be able to talk.” The viscount’s voice was dripping with arrogance. Elena and Fionn froze as they noticed me standing with the knife to my own throat. “Call off your dog, Ciaran, or she dies.” He nodded toward Rory, who had conjured ropes that were now twining up the legs of the stupidest looking gendarme.
“Rory. Enough,” Ciaran barked. “You have our attention. Let her drop the knife,” Ciaran pleaded, voice cracking with desperation. My heart squeezed at the sound of it. I tried to force my way through the mud in my mind, but the viscount’s hold was still too strong.
The viscount let out a sardonic laugh. “Does this bring back memories, Ciaran? I wonder, will you be able to save the one you love this time?” I was going to vomit. “Do you think you’ll shriek until you wet yourself like you did then?” He smiled, his face as casual as he’d been when he was holding court at Montmartre. He hadn’t even broken a sweat.
Ciaran raised his hands in surrender, his eyes wide and wild, staring at the silver blade at my throat. I had never seen anger like I saw on his face in that moment.
“Good.” The viscount nodded to his gendarmes, who quickly incapacitated Ciaran, Rory, Elena and Fionn. “Seraphina, love, take us somewhere we can all talk.” The viscount’s casual use of Ciaran’s term of endearment for me made me recoil. We were at a standstill. I needed to dosomething.Anything.
The viscount was at a disadvantage here. He did not know the lay of the land. He was relying on my knowledge to give him an edge. And so I found the first crack in his hold on me. His magic hadn’t been specific enough when he asked me to take them somewhere. I found I was able to insert my own will, nomatter how infinitesimally small it was. I would not waste the opportunity.
I led us toward the corridor that turned north, toward the Bowl. Elena had spoken of the space’s raw ability to amplify magic. I had no idea if it would be useful, but I figured that with five magic wielders against the power of one, we could benefit from some magical amplification.
The gendarme who held Ciaran captive walked beside me, close enough that his shoulder brushed against mine. I walked with that dagger still pressed to my own throat. Ciaran’s eyes burned into my skin, but I couldn’t even turn my head to look at him. Inside my mind I was pounding against the walls that the viscount had up around me. The viscount’s hold could not stop the single tear that rolled down my cheek. I hoped that Ciaran saw it for what it was.
The corridorsthat led to the Bowl were empty. Hopefully that meant that Ciaran had told everyone to take cover and hide while these dangerous intruders invaded their city.
I led our bizarre group into the Bowl—this sacred space Beneath Lutesse. The viscount defiled it with his very presence. I prayed that the Goddess would be on our side for the coming battle. Because it would be a battle.
As we walked, I tried to formulate some kind of plan. The viscount had been using a lot of magic to control me for such a long time. Thanks to my lessons with Rory, I knew magic was not unlimited, and it always took a toll. Erik de Barras would be at the bottom of his reserve of power sooner or later. Surely at some point he would be too weak to fight against Ciaran, Rory, Fionn and Elena while controlling me. The only thingkeeping my friends from striking was this Goddess-forsaken knife against my throat. I searched within myself for any cracks in his control over me. If I could wiggle a toe on my own, I would take it.
Being with Ciaran had done something to the walls I had built up inside myself. When our magic was entwined together, I had found the place where it slumbered within me. Lying to myself, for the majority of my adult life, had kept my magic behind walls that I couldn’t access. Not unless I gave up control—like when I sang or got overly emotional. But now? I had smashed those walls. And I could feel the place where the magic lived. It had been drained in the cemetery, when I raged at the sky. But it was replenishing.
Too slowly, that spark returned to me, filling my veins with raw elemental power. After my spectacular meltdown, I knew where those black flames lived within me. I knew where the wind and ice dwelled. I just needed access. It made the viscount’s hold that much more frustrating. So, I kept searching for cracks.
SHE DEMANDS A SACRIFICE
The next crack in the viscount’s hold appeared as he whistled and took in the Bowl. “Nice place you have down here.” He looked around, his eyes landing on the stage at the bottom of the carved rock amphitheatre. “Shame it’s being used for such filth and depravity…”
