Chapter 28 #2
“No offense, Eldress Valaina, but I have fought in many battles, alongside and against mortals. They either believe what they read in books to be truth, or they blindly, if not willingly, accept what someone else tells them.” Caedian’s gray gaze flicked to where the charmed ward flickered, where shadows passed and laughter ebbed, where the scent of mortal blood mingled with the perfumed air.
“Much like wolves, humans work in packs, and there is always a leader. Whoever is behind this must be of magical lineage.”
Rozalie’s brows pinched together, and she studied Caedian with an air of hesitation. “How can you be so certain?”
“Because the mortals have no justification.” Veros stood abruptly and shoved his timepiece into his pocket. Annoyance sparked in the rumble of his voice. “No purpose or cause. There’s been no discourse, no unrest. What reason would they have to seek some kind of vengeance against immortals?”
Rozalie toyed with the many necklaces she wore, the clinking of metal echoing softly. “Everything comes with a price, my lord. Especially magic.”
“That sounds rather ominous,” Valaina mused, pursing her deep red lips together.
“And telling,” Atlas countered, pinning the High Priestess with a look. “What do you know, Rozalie?”
She seemed unperturbed by the scrutiny of his glare, but her shoulders stiffened all the same. “There are…rumors.”
Atlas gestured, spreading both hands wide, waiting for her to elaborate.
Rozalie stood slowly, smoothing her burgundy and lace skirts. “As you know, the Coven of the Scarlet Moon ventures to the Marzena for certain goods. Herbs, spells, crystals?—”
“Get on with it, witch,” Davorin interjected.
“Hold your tongue, bloodsucker,” Atlas spat, his fists clenching. “Rozalie is a High Priestess, and while you may bed the Eldress of your clan, you are nothing in terms of rank.”
Davorin hissed. His eyes darkened to a shade of melted gold and his fangs elongated further, glinting like tiny white daggers. Caedian reached for the hilt of his sword, preparing to withdraw it, but Valaina glided between them in a flurry of silk and malice.
“Enough, Davorin,” she admonished, smacking him soundly upon the shoulder.
Atlas redirected his attention to Rozalie, but he felt the burning intensity of Veros’s gaze upon him.
If anything, her mention of the Marzena was all the confirmation he needed that they would have to venture to the underdark.
“Your dealings in the Marzena are your own, High Priestess. Please continue.”
“The hollow streets of the Marzena whisper of a dark power. One that seeks to restore what was lost.” Again, Rozalie fidgeted with her necklaces, this time clutching the silver one where a pendant shaped like the triple moon hung low. “The Azoura consider it an ill-fated omen.”
“What sort of dark power? An entity?” Veros kept his face guarded, but there was an undercurrent of trepidation lurking in the depths of his eyes. He reached into his pocket, clenching the timepiece in his hand. “A force outside our realm?”
“I could not say for certain, my lord. The Scarlet Moon does not loiter in the harrowing alleys of the Marzena.” She lifted her chin, the shafts of spilled light and languid shadows hardening the lines of her smooth face.
“Even witches know better than to linger for too long amiss the necrotic and vile.”
Atlas glanced over at Veros and gave him a solemn nod.
They would go to the Marzena sooner rather than later.
“Keep the members of your coven and clan safe at all costs, but make sure they are all constantly aware of their surroundings.” Atlas addressed them as a whole, ensuring they understood the urgency of the matter at hand.
If immortals were being hunted, the situation was going to become far more dire.
“We must listen for any information possible and never discount where it may come from, whether that be the Marzena, the docks, the parlors, or even the damned Mystic Obscura.”
“I despise that place.” Rozalie recoiled, her lips curling into a sneer. “I refuse to give any establishment a drop of my blood just for entry.”
Atlas winced.
If only he’d been so adamant in denying such a sinister request.
“A few members of our clan have done so, and though they admire the entertainment, they’ve recently claimed the quality of performers has been rather lackluster.” Valaina peered up at Davorin, snapping her fingers. “Though there is that one they all seem to obsess over. Which one was it again?”
Davorin plucked her hand out of the air and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “The hoop dancer, milazk.”
Atlas faltered.
“Hoop dancer,” he repeated numbly. “What does she look like?”
“I hear she’s absolutely stunning,” Valaina gushed, her frosty blue eyes warming with delight. “Positively ravishing.”
“She’s fae.” Davorin nodded and scraped his fangs along his bottom lip, crimson bleeding into the gold of his eyes. “Long, wavy hair. Dark like the wicked woods, easy to grab a fistful. Eyes the color of the Ladova Bay. Slender, elegant neck.”
Atlas damn near exploded. “That’s Everinne.”
His Everinne.
Davorin looked like he couldn’t wait to sink his fangs, and possibly something else, right into her.
“Everinne?” Valaina whipped around to face Atlas, her lashes fluttering back in shock. “As in the future Princess of Prava?”
When his mouth fell open to deflect, she offered an innocent lift of her shoulders. “Rumors spread fast in the Golden City, Your Highness.”
“What’s your future wife doing working at the Mystic Obscura?” Davorin asked, his brows lifting in silent challenge.
“It was a mistake.” His gaze cut to Veros. “A lapse in judgement. She’s going to quit as soon as we’re wed.”
Whether she wanted to or not.
Valaina stared at him, and though she was usually rather pale, right now it looked as though death had her by the neck and was refusing to let go. “Atlas, darling. It will not be so easy. Everinne won’t be able to just walk away. Not from the Mystic Obscura, and certainly not from Reine.”
His gut turned acidic. There was something ominous about the way Valaina spoke, something that filled him with a sensation he had not felt in many years.
Fear.
“What do you mean?” he demanded, alarm needling its way down his spine.
Davorin shook his head once. “There’s no way out.”
“Those who work at the Mystic Obscura never leave.” Valaina’s expression softened into one of sympathy, and her eyes shone with regret. “If Everinne has given them her blood, she belongs to them.”
Atlas’s heart lurched. Bile scalded the back of his throat. “How do you know this?”
Valaina shared a look with Davorin, squeezed his arm, and when she glanced back at Atlas, her face was solemn. “Reine told us.”
Fucking skies.
There had to be a way to get her out, to break her free from the Mystic Obscura’s clutches.
This was all Jarek’s fault. That damned demon summoner had lured her in, appealed to her reckless nature, then snared her in his web of deceit.
Worse, if they had a single drop of her blood, they would know what she was capable of, they would know about her power.
Atlas clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. If they used her for her magic, if they harmed her in any way, he would kill them all.
Atlas pushed up from his chair, pacing. He shoved his hands through his hair, his boots clicking soundly against the hardwood of the room. “There has to be something I can do.”
He wouldn’t leave her there. Not with Jarek. Not with Reine. Not with any of them.
“There is only one way.” Valaina’s voice was too soft, too quiet. He barely heard her over the erratic beating of his own fucking heart.
“Name it,” he growled. “Whatever the price, I’ll pay it.”
The light in Valaina’s eyes dimmed as she said, “If you want to get Everinne out, you’ll have to bargain for her life.”