He shoved his hands into the pockets of his hooded leather coat. “I’m going to perform a Blood Trace.”
I jolted.
Ketheron and I exchanged a look of deep concern.
My own son had found me through a Blood Trace spell that Sylas had performed upon him at his request. It was a brutal undertaking that could track a direct blood relation, which was technically supposed to be from child to parent.
“That spell is horrific enough without what you clearly intend to do—perform a reverse engineered version of it,” I warned Sylas.
“Not to mention, you also have a Death Seal in place,” Ketheron pointed out.
“Whatisthe Death Seal source?” I asked.
He’d never told me. I knew that Winter couldn’t be tracked through Velra, no one could use her to do that. With her Dark Fae side of her Wraith-Dark Fae hybridized nature, she’d fused her blood with Fae illusionary magic which would corrupt any attempt. But Sylas could only achieve that with his blood link to his son through a Death Seal, which involved murdering a being and melding that death with the Blood Trace results to make it appear that the one being tracked was deceased.
Sylas looked away.
An awful sign.
“Sylas?” I pressed.
He cleared his throat. “As you know, after everything that’s happened, including the fear surrounding Necromancy thanks to the actions of my father during the Hybrid Liberation War, I can’t go around fucking murdering people. Especially not for my own benefit.” His gaze flicked back to us. “But there was one being’s death that was most definitely sanctioned, one being who I dealt with in the aftermath to ensure there was no Valley of the Dead afterlife for him, no chance of resurrection. I had the forethought during those moments that this safeguard would be needed for Winter.”
“Hades,” Ketheron exclaimed, the realization hitting him, just as it did me.
“Morien Morgrave,” I uttered. “You used the essence of his death to create the Death Seal.”
“Only I bear the weight of that. Winter can’t feel it. It will never touch him. Nothing about that psychopath ever will.”
“Sylas, with a Death Seal in place, I can’t perform this spell,” Ketheron reminded him. “The seal needs to be overcome by a being who operates on the same twilight resonance as a necromancer. A Shadowmancer, a Wraith like Velra, or an experienced black magic user.”
“And we cannot rouse Ambrose awake before his body is ready,” I stated, just in case Sylas was now considering that. Ketheron had healed his injuries and I’d even fed him some of my Ancient blood. Ambrose would be well, but he wielded an immense amount of black magic so his body needed to settle, for if he was forced awake while in flux and recovery, there could very well be dangerous eruptions.
Sylas shot us both a withering look. “Hence me needing you, Ketheron, to supercharge the ring if things go badly. As amagical defibrillator. And you, Remnant, with your blood to get me back to full operational state swiftly after I’m revived.”
“You intend to perform the spell on yourself?” I choked.
“Of course.”
I shook my head vehemently. “Your loves will not react well to this.” I glared. “My son will not.”
“Your help is just the worst-case scenario. I’m not operating from a death wish mentality here. You know that.”
“And you know that they need you, that Winter needs you. He needs his family whole. You’re not doing this.”
He narrowed his eyes. “My son is in the hands of a madman intending to use him, to warp his mind for ends we aren’t even aware of yet. We’re having to keep this secret, even just the abduction aspect, let alone whatever Ruxnoth’s true intentions are. And the fucking massive deal it is that a True Celestial escaped the Severance unknown to anyone. For over two fucking decades. I can’t even risk telling Cassius, who Ketheron says actually knew this Ruxnoth being once upon a time, because his Soul Brand with Velra will make it impossible to keep it from her. And if she’s involved, all hell will break loose. Lazriel, too. She won’t be able to mask her panic and terror for our son. She’s in the Dark Fae Realm right now with King Darethor whose senses are elite-tier. That will alert him, the entire Realm, and then it’ll spread everywhere.” He clenched his fists as his magic starting sparking. “There is no fucking time! This needs to be done! And it needs to be done now!”
“Sylas, a necromancer needs to walk this plane. You die, even temporarily, and that will send out a shockwave to the higher echelons of the supernatural world. It will be seen as a catastrophic threat. Winter, even part necromancer, is not ready. He cannot do what you can. You cannot be reckless with your life. The days of ‘by any means necessary’ are long gone.”
Ketheron stepped forward and held up his hand, his eyes darting into the mansion. “Ambrose is awake.”
I had been so consumed with trying to get through to Sylas at both his worst and best right now, that I hadn’t felt the change to Ambrose’s resting heart rate immediately.
Then I listened, determining movement, him shifting on the sofa in the luxuriously furnished living room deep within the mansion behind us.
A surge of power had me choking, just a moment before a rush of black magic erupted between Ketheron and I, and directly in front of Sylas.
Ambrose materialized, staggering a little as he did.
