The statues of Otto’s ancestors, half-hidden within the alcoves flanking the entrance, greeted the guests like serpentine gatekeepers.
Ronin slid his gaze to the statue on the right. Behind which, he hoped, were Bonecleaver and Mireille’s sword. Assuming Layla had done her part this morning.
Unlike his prior visit, there was no stripped and cleaned body laying atop the altar. Instead, it held a small pyramid of glowing anastasium stones.
Ronin shivered as he took a seat at the bench farthest from the altar. And closest to the alcove.
Layla sauntered up the aisle in her skin-tight leather uniform, her throwing knives a glittering corset around her waist and her white and black braids bouncing against her back. She threw him a quick glance as she passed, which he returned with a wink.
The plan was still on.
Yes, it wasverymuch on. Even more so after last night. His chest ached. He didn’t want Mireille anywhere near Otto. Regardless of whether the Deathstalker had claimed he wasn’t going to harm her. Ronin didn’t trust a thing the slimy bastard said.
Layla had come to fetch Mireille soon after she’d changed into her costume this morning, to bring her to Otto as he made his final preparations.
That had been nearly an hour ago. Ronin had spent the time pacing around the suite, going through the plan over and over in his head.
As soon as Mireille took the stage, Layla would grab Nostrata at knifepoint, threaten the ancient Deathstalker’s life if Otto refused to reveal the flute. And as soon as he saw Layla move, Ronin would grab Bonecleaver and Mireille’s sword to take on Kosera.
But there were too many unknowns, too many factors that could go so poorly. What if they were rushed by the guests? What if Otto had some other trick up his sleeve?
Ronin tried to calm himself as hushed silence fell upon the room. Otto’s slow, measured footsteps echoed up the aisle, followed by theclackandhissof Nostrata’s cane and feathered robe.
Ronin startled at the billionaire’s suit—simple, stark white. Not a hint of pattern or color to be found. A giant fucking red flag.
Otto surveyed the guests, offering subtle nods and bows as he approached the altar, now flanked by Layla and Kosera. He took a brief moment to run his fingers along the stones before turning to address the crowd.
Ronin swore he felt a chill breeze sweep through the room, quivering the torches.
Otto folded his hands at his waist, his black fingernails a stark contrast with his pale skin. “And so, friends, we have reached the pinnacle of our time together. At the very moment when the sun is at the pinnacle of the sky. The time of day when change comes upon the world. When the light slips away to begin its solemn march toward darkness.”
Nostrata huffed a cough behind him, leaning heavily on her snake-head cane with its fire opal. She appeared far weaker than she had the night of the seance. As if her life-force had been drained by the multitude of readings she’d performed over the past twenty-four hours.
“An appropriate time,” Otto continued. “One carefully chosen to mirror your own impending transformations.”
The guests tittered in hushed excitement, and Ronin wondered how he was the only one in the room to recognize the cold menace in Otto’s smile.
“But”—Otto raised a single finger—“before we seek our gifts from the Creator, we must first upend the story of our third and final false deity. Faurana the Mother, High Goddess of Land and Life.” Otto dipped his head, emitting a disdainful chuckle. “Land and life. The very things Adelphinae herself has provided to our world. Faurana’s stories are the most egregious, are they not?”
Otto took a long, pregnant pause, letting his words settle upon the crowd.
“The High Gods do not exist. And in denying our Creator, the Erabis family and their so-called Empire have stolen something from each and every one of you.”
Ronin flicked his gaze toward Layla, her expression carefully smug as she bobbed her head in agreement.
“After today’s performance, we will use a powerful artifact to call upon a weapon that Adelphinae herself has left in this world for us. A weapon that will bless you with the elemental power that has faded from your bloodlines. Should she deem you worthy, of course.”
“What happens if we’renotworthy?” Nero Beruglia piped up. Ronin was heartened by the biting edge in the male’s tone. Nervous, fearful whispers rippled across the guests, along with several audible remarks of hesitation.
“An impossibility, dear friends,” Otto preened. “The point of these performances has been to open your eyes, crumble any faith you may have had in the High Gods, allow the doubt to creep in. As long as Adelphinae can sense that you are open to accepting her into your heart, you will be fine. There is nothing to fear.” The crowd fell silent, but Ronin noticed many of them glancing toward the crypt’s exit. “But first! Please sit back and enjoy this final performance. A dance, performed by the prima ballerina of the Kheimos Company herself—Mireille Valette!”
Ronin held his breath as Mireille glided into the room, her pointe shoes thudding against the stone. Her tutu rustled with every step, and the torchlight gleamed off the jewels scattered across her bodice. Her copper hair was piled atop her head in a tight bun, exposing the elegant lines of her neck and back.
Though her gait was fierce, Ronin couldn’t help thinking how small and fragile she looked in that costume. He fought the urge to dash out of his seat, scoop her up, and carry her far, far away from the monster holding court ahead of her.
Arriving at the altar, she turned to face the crowd, arms loose at her sides. Poised and ready to launch into her solo.
Otto’s viper eyes devoured her body with blatant covetousness, and Ronin’s wolf snarled.
