Francine flexed her wrists. “It’s like the external doors.”
Julian shook his head. “No. Those are an intermediary between the shadows and the outside world. These are…”
Lance called from the steps, “We thought it might be some sort of lockdown protocol—”
“Yes, of course, but not one we actively created.” Her eyes flicked up to Julian. “Did we?”
“There are several other rooms sealed off the same way. With doors, not floors. Or trapdoors, or whatever this thing is.”
Remember.Julian forced his mind back to the moment he wanted to remember least: Francine in his arms, all the magic of his people surrounding them, and death closing in on all sides. What had he done, in those final moments?
He met Francine’s eyes. What hadtheydone?
An enchantment reborn. The halls they’d walked through to get here were the same as he remembered from his childhood, and from the day he’d spent exploring with Francine. They’d restored everything as it had been for the last thousand years.
But—more walls. Or doors.
He concentrated. His mind lanced away from the memory like it was a poisoned knife.
Of course.
“We weren’t the only people in the fortress while it was breaking,” Francine said quietly.
All those pinpricks of his magic. Nikolaidis and his rat friend. The other soldiers and VIPs fighting to steal what they could from his home. And behind them, the echo of the soldier who had collared him and fallen out of the shadows into instant death.
And all the other deaths this place had seen, which had also left no trace. His sister. His brother-in-law. Their parents and grandparents and the whole crackling, dried-up family tree.
He hadn’t wanted any more deaths to haunt these halls.
“A lockdown protocol…” Francine mused aloud. The silvery light of their mate bond faded when they weren’t focusing on it, still there but less visible, but as she grabbed his shoulder, it shone bright. “To stop the explosion from reaching further. Like those external doors. I wonder—”
She spread her fingers. Magic shimmered all around them.
And stopped.
“On second thoughts,” she continued, her voice wry, “let’s get back to the steps before we try to open this.”
47
Francine
The obsidian floor melted away, revealing the wide pit of the stairwell and the narrow stairs that wound around its edge, down, down into the darkness. Julian frowned, and lights flickered into existence all the way down.
“It’s all there,” Francine murmured.
“Not all.” He directed her attention to the broken edges. Not frayed, as when the enchantment was disintegrating, but shattered.
“We can fix it, though,” she said confidently.
“Yes.”
Which meant a long, slow walk down the endless stairs, or…
He rolled his shoulders back. Her eyes followed the movement appreciatively. “You haven’t seen my dragon form, have you?”
“I’ve been carried around by you in dragon formtwice,” she reminded him.
“Never in circumstances that allowed for much observation of what it actually looks like.”
