Seph gripped the end of a pew and pulled himself upright. “Madison?' he said cautiously. ”It's really you, isn't it? But, you're … shifting.“ He reached for her hands, and when Snowbeard said, ”Careful!" he ignored it.

It was like gripping a live wire—power mingling and colliding in their fingertips. Seph's touch seemed to anchor her, and she held on tight, gazing hungrily into his face. His green eyes were clear now, no longer muddy with pain. He leaned down and kissed her, another exchange of potent power, leaving Madison overwhelmed with guilt and gratitude.

He knows what I did, he knows what I am, and he doesn't hate me.

“Nick. So it was you.” Jack's voice was icy cold.

Madison turned. She'd forgotten anyone else was there.

Jack slid his dagger free and pointed it at Nick, his blue eyes brilliant against a face pale with anger. “You were Demus—the wizard who established the guilds, who … who wrote the Covenant.”

Nick was silent for so long that Seph thought the old wizard would not answer. When he spoke, he could scarcely be heard. “Yes. I led the original conspiracy against Lady Aidan. It was a long time ago, Jack. I was…very ambitious. Very full of myself. I saw no reason we should answer to a dragon, no matter how wise and virtuous she was. The price of living so very long is that one sees the error of one's ways.”

“And the tournaments? They were your idea, too?” Jack's voice shook.

Nick bowed his head against this assault. "I did not anticipate the level of destruction that resulted from putting such devastating power in the hands of flawed human beings. It was not only the Weir who were dying, but thousands of Anaweir, in battles that raged all around the globe. We were destroying the earth, as well—poisoning the atmosphere, sullying our waterways, drenching the ground in blood.

“So. With the help of some confederates, I wrote the Covenant, convinced representatives of the guilds to sign, and persuaded the nation of wizards that magical disaster would strike if we did not adhere to it. I created a legend and enforced it with magic. Those who violated it paid the price. No small feat, but then, I was in my prime.” He looked up at Jack. “I know this is difficult to believe, but the Game saved thousands of lives.”

“Just not the lives of warriors,” Jack said bitterly. “We're expendable.”

Snowbeard slumped into the nearest pew, his eyes still fixed on Madison. “At one time, that seemed … a reasonable trade-off.”

“A reasonable trade-off?” Jack's voice rose. “And now Ellen's lying out there with a mortal wound—”

As if to add punctuation to this statement, a flaming missile smashed through the stained-glass window above the altar, sending shards of glass flying toward them. Seph put up a hand, and the shrapnel dropped to the floor as if it had hit an invisible barrier. “They're getting close,” he said. “We'd better go.”

But Madison put her hand on Nick's shoulder. He flinched violently when she touched him, and she pulled back her hand. “What changed you?” she asked.

He smiled, his face crinkling into familiar lines. “Why, my dear, I fell in love. One of your May-December affairs, my … fifteenth bride. I was totally smitten. I had no idea she carried warrior blood. When our son was born a warrior, I tried to conceal him. When the Roses took him for the Game, I—ah—freed him and fled to America. That was in 1802.” He rubbed his hand over his face. "Jack, your great-great-grandmother Susannah was my many-greats granddaughter.''

Jack stopped pacing and swung round, looking not a little horrified. “You mean you're my…grandfather?”

“So to speak. With a great many greats. I very much resembled you as a young man. Though not quite so … muscular.” Nick shook off the memory. “In recent years, I've tried to remake the hierarchy of the guilds, but found I'd lost power over it. My power has waned, while the system has taken on a life of its own. When Jason brought the Dragonheart, I was hopeful that it might be a link to the lost Lady. A last chance.”

“What… was it, exactly?” Seph asked. “The Dragonheart, I mean.”

Nick shrugged. “The Dragonheart is the Lady's encoded memory. Both her essence and the source of power given up by the Lady to the Weirguilds.”

Outside, the fighting rolled toward them, its advance marked by the percussive tread of explosions. Flames flickered outside, casting bizarre shadows on the walls and floor, and thick smoke seeped in around the windows.

“Well, none of this is going to matter to any of us before long,” Seph said. “They're in. Obviously.”

“So. I guess this is the end, then,” Fitch said, pressing his fist over his heart. “I have to say, it's been really …” He swallowed hard. “I wouldn't have missed it,” he added, his voice faint in the cavernous sanctuary.

Seph reached into his jacket and pulled out the bottle of flame. He gazed at it a moment, then opened his hand so that it fell, smashing on the stone floor.

“Listen,” Seph said. “The rest of you, get Ellen and go down in the crypt and out the tunnel to the lake. They won't know how many of us there are. They've broken through the walls, so there may be a way out.”

“And what will you be doing?” Will asked suspiciously.

“I'll hold them off as long as I can. You know, to give you a head start with Ellen. Then I'll come meet you,” Seph said lightly.

“Right,” Will said, not buying it. “Not a chance. We all go, or nobody goes.”

“This is my fault,” Madison said. “I am so sorry. I was just…just trying to save Grace and J.R., and I've ruined everything. You had one little chance, and I wrecked it. Now Jason's dead and Ellen's hurt, the Dragonheart's gone, and they're coming for us.”

“Madison,” Seph began, but she knew better than to look at him.

“Anyway, you all go on. I'll go out there and see if I can suck the power out of some of them. It's worth a try.”

“Madison.” This time it was Nick. “That won't work now. Not in the way you mean. You don't draw power anymore. But…”

“Don't argue with me; my mind is made up.” She felt almost peaceful now that she'd made her decision.

“No,” Seph said. “You didn't want to be involved in this in the first place. We pulled you into it, and now…”

“Listen to me!” Nick Snowbeard's voice boomed out with something of its old force, and everyone stopped talking. “Madison,” he continued in a softer voice. “You do indeed have the means to save us all, but you must act quickly and with intelligence. I can teach you some things, but there's not much time.”

“How? With what?” She looked around at the others, who seemed as puzzled as she.

“With the Dragonheart.”

She looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. “The Dragonheart is gone.”

“You are mistaken.” Nick stood, and pressed his fingers to the base of her collarbone. “The Dragonheart is here.”

“What?” Madison looked totally bewildered.

Nick smiled grimly. “Madison, like it or not, you are, shall we say, the Dragon Heir.”

Chapter Thirty-seven The Dragon Heir

When it came down to the final assault, Jessamine Longbranch was surprised at the lack of resistance at the wall. After the days and weeks of siege warfare, it seemed the rebels' strength was far less than had been believed. In fact, the Roses had taken their greatest losses outside the perimeter—from inter-House battles and a diabolical series of nonmagical mines and explosive devices that infested the ground between the walls.

It was a mark of ill breeding for wizards to use such tactics against their fellow gifted.

In the end, they sliced through the Weirwall in three places. When the armies poured into the town, the rebels dissipated like smoke. The Roses sent flame howling up the streets and alleys of Trinity, but it was like hunting Stardust.

Still, Jess was unsettled by the fact that Joseph McCauley, Jack Swift, and Ellen Stephenson were conspicuously absent. Her greatest fear was that somehow they'd found a way to escape with the Dragonheart and were even now making their way to a rendezvous with Hastings and Downey.

No sign of Madison Moss, either. But there could be no doubt that the Dragonheart was still close by, somewhere near the center of town. Now her objective was to get to it ahead of Geoffrey Wylie and the Red Rose.

So when she came through the wall, she did not linger to finish off the last defenders. Leaving the cleanup to others, she led a score of her most trusted lieutenants toward the source of the power that welled from the city core.

The town was in ruins. Its once-picturesque square fumed black smoke into the dawn, surrounded by blasted storefronts and littered with broken glass. Its gingerbread Victorian homes were ablaze. The streets were deserted, the Anaweir residents nowhere to be seen.

Jess saw movement off to her left and right, a flash of red livery. Not rebels, but some of her purported allies. She sent flame spiraling out in both directions and heard screams as they connected. She could do with a little less competition.

She quickened her pace to an undignified trot. If she could find the Dragonheart, so could anyone else.

She rounded a corner and all but skidded to a stop, swearing forcefully. Ahead stood a large stone church, like a great ship swimming in a sea of wizards—Red Rose, White Rose, and some brave indeterminate fools who had taken the new ecumenicalism to heart.

She was late. She took a quick count and shook her head.

Geoffrey Wylie greeted her on the church steps, a big smile on his ugly face, his shields firmly in place against a surprise attack from the sanctuary. Or his allies. “Jess! So glad you could come. We've demanded the surrender of the Dragonheart and are awaiting the rebels' response.”

Jess shook back her hair and delivered a withering sneer. “Really, Geoffrey. Why are you even negotiating with them?”