CHAPTER 1
“Your Grace,your reckless actions have endangered not only the reputation of the Royal Institute for the Arcane, but the very safety of London’s citizens!”
Evander Ravenwood met the hostile gaze of Lord Horace Beckett, Minister of Arcane Affairs, without flinching. The man’s jowls quivered with barely suppressed fury as he leaned across the polished mahogany table that separated them, in the oppressive room deep within the Palace of Westminster where the Parliamentary committee had convened.
“I would hardly characterise the rescue of twenty-nine innocent people as reckless, my Lord,” Evander replied coolly.
A muscle jumped in Beckett’s florid cheek at his tone.
Evander’s reputation as the Ice Mage referred less to his magical abilities than to his legendary aloofness. A movement on his left caught his eye.
General Sir Edmund Hartwick, Head of the War Office, steepled his fingers under his chin and regarded Evander with the calculating stare of a man who had sent countless soldiers to their deaths without losing a single night’s sleep.
“The duke makes a fair point, Beckett,” Hartwick said, his voice deceptively mild. “Though I find myself troubled by other aspects of this… unfortunate affair.”
The deliberate pause was not lost on Evander.
A trickle of perspiration dampened his nape. The Parliamentary committee chamber was smaller than he had anticipated, which only intensified the suffocating atmosphere. Heavy oak panelling absorbed what little light filtered through the tall, narrow windows. Though winter had begun to spread its icy grip across London, the furnaces heating the Houses of Parliament made the room feel like the height of summer.
The seven members of the special investigative committee were arranged in a semi-circle before him, the light behind them making it difficult to see their faces and their elevated position designed to intimidate where he sat in the middle of the chamber.
It was working rather better than Evander cared to admit. A bitter taste filled his mouth. This hearing was beginning to feel more like an inquisition than a parliamentary investigation. He realised now why Commander Winterbourne had repeatedly cautioned him to be mindful of his words in front of the committee.
Evander’s lips pressed into a thin line.
Thank goodness they didn’t call Viggo to answer questions. He would have punched the wall by now. Or someone’s face.
Imagining the scandal his lover could have caused lightened Evander’s mood slightly. Viggo Stonewall was a veritable force of nature and no one knew this better than Evander.
“The events at the Royal Institute occurred over two weeks ago,” Hartwick continued, his pale eyes never leaving Evander’s face. “Yet we have precious little to show for the Metropolitan Police’s investigation. The mastermind behind this incident remains at large. The nature of the experiments conductedbeneath one of our most esteemed institutions remains unclear. And we are left with a facility in ruins and many victims requiring extensive—andexpensive—care.”
“Inspector Grayson and Miss Shaw are still compiling their reports.” Evander kept his tone measured despite the frustration building in his chest. “These matters take time, General. The underground facility was extensive and the evidence many years in the making?—“
“Evidence!” Beckett slammed his palm on the table, making two committee members start and a third knock over a glass of water. “What we have, your Grace, is a disaster of monumental proportions. Dark magic practised beneath the Institute. Shadow creatures roaming the halls. Citizens subjected to unspeakable experiments.” His voice dropped to a venomous hiss, seemingly oblivious to the committee member shooting an accusing look at him while she dabbed damp paperwork with a handkerchief. “And at the centre of it all, an Archmage who seems to attract chaos wherever he treads!”
Evander’s fingers tightened imperceptibly on the arms of his chair.
And there it was. The crux of the matter. Unstated, yet painfully clear to all.
It was becoming evident that the line of inquiry the committee had adopted wasn’t directed at the debacle at the Royal Institute for the Arcane, but rather at his status as an Archmage.
Evander was acutely aware of the eyes upon him as he struggled to contain his displeasure at being so unfairly put on the spot—not only those of the committee, but the clerk recording every word in the corner, and the two stoic-faced constables standing guard by the doors.
“My abilities have been instrumental in saving lives,” Evander said silkily. “Both at the Institute and in previous investigations.”
Hartwick’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly. Several committee members stiffened, equally picking up the subtle warning underscoring his words.
“Your abilities,” Lady Adele Farrington interjected from the far left, “are precisely what concern us, your Grace.” The elderly mage regarded him with sharp grey eyes that told him she’d detected his shot across the bows and had every intention of ignoring it. “An Archmage of your power, working for the police rather than serving the Crown directly. One might question where your true loyalties lie.”
The accusation hung in the air like a poisoned dart.
Magic flared through Evander’s veins as his vexation escalated. He suppressed his powers with an iron will and forced himself to breathe steadily before he spoke.
“My loyalty has never been in question. I serve justice, Lady Farrington. As I have since the day I joined the Arcane Division.”
His words echoed through the chamber, cold and hard.
A couple of committee members shifted uneasily in their seats, evidently unnerved at the way Evander was being treated.
