Page 193

By the time we return to the Ardyn safe house, dawn feels impossibly far away and the district sounds like it is breathing through cracked ribs.

The infernal pressure under the streets has changed since Vaerith’s retreat. It no longer pounds in open summoning cycles, but it hums beneath everything like distant thunder trapped under stone. I feel it through my boots when we cross the threshold. I feel it in my teeth when Sable bars the door behind us. I feel it in the back of my throat, where the air tastes faintly of sulfur, rainwater, cedar smoke, and the bitter alchemical paste Sable smeared over half the ward nails while muttering threats against architecture.

The safe house is warm, crowded, and too quiet for the amount of fear inside it. Rhazek stands near the hearth, arms folded, his gold-red gaze fixed on me before I even get my coat off. Sable drops three satchels onto the table with a clatter, then points at the chair nearest the fire.

“Sit,” she says.

I glance down at myself. “I’m barely smoking.”

“That was not a request for your medical opinion.”

Isolde shuts the door behind us and peels damp gloves from her fingers. Rain has darkened her sleeves and loosened strands of hair around her face, but she still carries herself like the trade hall floor is under her feet and a clerk is waiting for her next sentence. Only the bond tells the truth. Exhaustion moves through her in a deep undertow, threaded with triumph, anger, and the sharp edge of coming danger.

I sit because all three of them look prepared to make me if I don’t.

Rhazek crosses the room and sets two fingers beneath my jaw, turning my face toward the firelight. I let him, though every old reflex in me dislikes being examined. His gaze tracks the glow in my eyes, the shape of the horns I have stopped hiding for the moment, the faint gold lines still buried beneath my skin.

“Your aura has settled,” he says.

“Great. I always wanted a review.”

His fingers shift to the side of my throat. Infernal script flickers briefly around his knuckles. “Your core integrated the devourer’s current and the containment construct. The structure is cohesive.”

Sable’s shoulders loosen slightly. “That sounds good.”

Rhazek looks at her. “It is necessary.”

Isolde steps closer, her expression sharpening. “What are you avoiding?”

Rhazek lowers his hand from my throat. “Vaerith’s final ritual preparations are underway.”

The room goes still.

Sable turns toward the shuttered window as if she might see through timber and storm. “Final?”

“He lost civic control, council allegiance, public narrative, and the first devourer. His remaining path is escalation.” Rhazek’s eyes return to me. “The next summoning will be stronger than the courtyard breach.”

I flex my fingers once against my knee. The hunger stirs, alert but steady, like a blade lifted from its sheath without being swung. “How much stronger?”

“Strong enough that if you lose control in the middle of it, the district burns.”

Sable swears softly and shoves a small brown bottle into Isolde’s hand. “Stabilizing tincture. Bitter as guilt, works fast, don’t argue.”

Isolde studies the bottle. “For me?”

“For anyone standing too close to him while he decides to become a lightning rod with emotional issues.” Sable turns on me, eyes bright with fear and temper. “And you. Listen carefully, because I love you, but I am absolutely sick of watching you learn important lessons while glowing ominously.”

“I’m listening.”

“Tomorrow, you cannot rely on Isolde, me, or Rhazek to steady you at the critical moment. We can help, we can anchor, we can shove the world into better shape around you, but when the hunger rises, you command it. You do not beg it. You do not wrestle it until everything nearby catches fire. You command it.”

The words land heavily because she is right.

I look at Isolde.

Her face is calm, but the bond warms with fierce agreement.

“I know,” I say.