Chapter 63
Chapter sixty-three
Alistair
With enough drinks in him to take a bit of the edge off, Alistair sank into Dominick’s tiny bathtub. Working the soap into a lather, he washed off his arms and face the dust from a day of moving rubble and restoring homes. Everything had gone to shit.
When he traveled to Vasso’s manor the day before, he’d been frantic, checking every room twice. With every hour that passed, his stomach sank.
He knew where she was going. The only thing giving him ease was the brand on his ribs. That demon would have to protect her with his life if required.
None of that negated the fact that Lavinia wanted her daughter back, and Lavinia was the key to getting Theo out of prison. He could tell Dominick hadn’t slept much the past two days. The oracle was unstable, emotional—rightly so—but also a liability.
Unfortunately, Sera was already gone.
It had been harder than he anticipated to explain to Dominick that Sera was riding off into the unknown with the enemy. He saw the hurt in his eyes, then a hardened look of resentment.
She was with a demon, and a demon had killed Colton.
Al dumped a bucket of cool water over his head. Once dried and dressed in his dust-covered uniform, he exited.
“Let’s go,” Dominick said. He’d been set on getting Theo out all day. Too many times Al had explained that there were protocols and guard changes, and later would be better.
Al took two steps, grabbed Dominick’s arm, and traveled them to a hidden alcove near the tower.
“Asshole,” Dom got out before hurling into a bush.
Al patted his back twice and looked around for witnesses. “You’ll get used to it.”
The oracle righted himself and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. They were thirty paces from the tower entrance when Alistair stopped short. “I don’t know these guards.”
“That shouldn’t matter, since you’re a captain and the Council’s private pet.”
He curled his lip. “I’m not their pet.”
“Okay, okay.”
Alistair rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and approached the guards. “I need admittance.”
The two guards looked at each other, then at the bars sewn on the shoulder of his Legion uniform. “I’m sorry, Captain, we’ve been instructed not to let anyone pass. It came directly from the Council.”
Al thinned his lips to a straight line. “I’m here on behalf of the Council. I need to interrogate a prisoner.”
The guards continued to look puzzled. “Forgive us, sir, but we didn’t have orders…”
“I am ordering you now.” He put every ounce of authority into his next words. “Open the door.”
“But, sir, there aren’t any prisoners left. They emptied the cells. Anyone captive was led to the Menage an hour ago.”
Dominick sprinted toward the amphitheater before the guard could say another word. Alistair thanked both the guards, walked far enough that he was hidden, and traveled to the entrance where Dom was headed.
The oracle’s eyes went wide right before he slammed into Alistair’s chest.
“You need to be calm.”
Dom broke free of his grip. “You be fucking calm. The man I love is in there.” The oracle paused as if he hadn’t meant to say it.
“Exactly, and if you don’t want to end up on that podium next to him, we need to blend in and come up with a plan.”
“Travel in and get him,” Dom insisted.
“I don’t even know where he is.”
Dominick huffed, pushing past him into the arena.
The sun had retreated for the day, and all three moons were full, positioned low in the sky.
Al had somehow forgotten that tonight was solstice.
The entire coven would be up through the night, trickling into the Menage for the celebration.
He and Dom made their way to the Daedeth level but kept close to the exit.
There were no visible prisoners on or around the presentation platform, but a large tent had been erected toward the back of the arena’s dirt floor.
They had to be in there. But under what type of guard, he had no idea.
He’d only gotten a glimpse of Theo, and finding him among a slew of broken bodies wouldn’t be easy, nor quick.
It didn’t help that he hadn’t reported to Lavinia or the Council all day, and the fact that no one had come after him yet left him on edge.
The crowd changed and cheered as the five elders crossed the stage.
Thorne led them, then came Blackwell. Renata was in the middle, as always; she was followed by the aliato, and finally Lavinia.
All of them were dressed in coven-blue robes for the celebration.
Each of the elders sat upon their thrones, except Renata, who readied herself to address the crowd.
He couldn’t stop watching Lavinia, wondering if she’d orchestrated every move Renata was making.
There was no way Lavinia would be able to keep a continuous hold on all four members.
Although from what Dom had mentioned about Raphael being in the mastria’s residence, he supposed she only needed to worry about three.
Regardless, controlling three of them was a feat.
“Solarni coven!” Renata’s voice boomed. “Happy summer solstice!”
Al mustered a small clap, keeping his eye on Dom. The warlock sat there, hollow, and Al nudged his friend’s brother into applause. He didn’t want to chance someone watching them, mastria or otherwise.
“We have a treat for you tonight.” Renata smiled, and the four other Council members mirrored it.
Lavinia was definitely in charge. “For years, a treasonous witch has been working against us. Some previous Council members thought it wise to let her live.” The crowd booed, and Renata’s smile widened.
“We have found her. We bring her before you today to pay for her crimes.”
Two guards pulled a figure between them up the steps. A chain was wrapped around her ankles with so little slack it prevented her from stepping high enough to reach the platform. The guards gripped her beneath her arms and dragged her up the remaining steps.
Al flinched at each thud of her shins against marble.
They threw Ophelia to her knees in front of the chairs.
The crowd seemed hungry for a retribution they didn’t understand, nor care to. Every one of the Council members looked placated… except Thorne. The typical rosy color of her cheeks was gone. The corner of her mouth ticked downward instead of up.
“Stand, witch!” Chair Renata ordered.
Slowly, Ophelia raised herself to her feet, and Alistair’s stomach lurched when he saw her face.
They’d shaved her head, and raw wounds showed in open patches across her scalp.
Her eyes were swollen and purple, her nose bent and bloody.
Her lip split down the middle as if it had been done with a knife.
The bottom half of her jaw was painted a yellowish green, and below it, she wore a simple frock covered in dirt and blood.
Alistair scanned the length of her and swallowed when he got to her hands.
Missing fingers, for sure, but he couldn’t tell how many with how tightly she kept her fists clenched.
All that, and she still held her head high while Renata spoke.
“Ophelia Fray, you have been sentenced to death for your actions against the Council and coven. These include coercion, selling secrets to the enemy, conspiring against your kind, and the manipulation of our most vulnerable. You have violated the sacred laws of Solarni.”
The aliato, Raphael, rose from his gilded throne and pulled his sword from its scabbard. Magic emanated from the blade as he took his stance directly behind Ophelia.
Renata’s voice rang out. “Kneel.”
Ophelia closed her eyes and began moving her lips. But she did not kneel.
The crowd chanted. “Kneel, kneel, kneel.”
Al shifted closer to Dom, who had been stunned into silence. Alistair could only imagine the thoughts rushing through his head as he pictured Theo there instead of Ophelia.
Al placed his hand on the warlock’s shoulder.
“Kneel!” Renata bellowed.
Ophelia’s eyes snapped open. They were wild, a glowing aqua. The oracle raised her hands high above her head, and in one fell swoop, she broke apart the onyx manacles that bound her wrists.
Alistair stood. It should have been impossible. The onyx should have eaten away at her magic. There should be none left.
“Puti la, Nubenia, iz vas lanca.”
Release me, Nubenia, from your chains.
A pillar of blue magic swirled around the oracle, surrounding her.
Renata reared back.
It was impossible—impossible, but he was seeing it with his own eyes. Raphael swung his sword at the magical force surrounding Ophelia. Before he could strike her down, the witch disintegrated.
A surge of power erupted from the spot where she stood.
Alistair stepped in front of Dominick, shielding him from the blast wave of raw magic that rushed over the entire Menage.
The heat of it seared his skin even behind his shield, and those seated closest to the platform were blown back.
The entire first row of spectators in the lower level was dead, their bodies burned to char on the floor.
“Get up,” he yelled over the screams of coven members desperate to get out of the exit. It was pandemonium. He ripped Dominick to his feet. “Try not to puke.”
In an instant, they were at the base of the marble staircase. If there had been a way, he would have thanked the witch. Ophelia’s distraction was exactly what he needed to find Theo.
“Captain Alcott! Over here!” Chair Thorne motioned for him to come to her. Dominick gagged but kept up. The chair’s eyebrows had been seared off, and she was holding the sleeve of her robe close to keep her arm elevated. “Follow me,” she said.
“Where is the aliato?” Al asked.
“I have no idea,” Chair Thorne said, looking over her shoulder as if the winged beast would appear.
Thorne led them to the tent on the far end of the arena and pulled back the flap. Alistair coughed at the stench. It reeked of piss and unwashed bodies. The rotting scent of festering wounds surrounded almost every coven member inside.
“Can you move them?” Chair Thorne asked, her face filled with panic. She must have barely gotten off the platform before Ophelia exploded. That arm was definitely broken.
“All of them?” he asked.
“Get as many of them out as possible, Captain. That’s an order!”
“Where do you want me to bring them?”
“Anywhere, as long as it’s far away from the Citadel and Lavinia Wildrick.” Thorne’s jaw clenched.
Alistair nodded, delicately took her wrist in his hand, and pushed a flow of healing magic into her. She sighed against the pain. “Don’t puke.”