Avoca dropped into the room through the window with a sigh. She looked run-down but straightened and dusted off her dress. “Nothing. There’s no sign of our horses or belongings”

Cyrene’s face fell. “I’ll have to ask Aralyn then.”

“She won’t like it,” Avoca said.

“I know.”

“It’ll delay us. Possibly a day. Maybe more.”

Cyrene chewed on her lip and stared out at the city of Alba. She’d hardly seen any of the city last night when she was dragged in by the Guild.

It was…drab.

There was no other way to put it. The buildings were dark and foreboding, glistening with fresh snow. Spires topped the spiraling towers that jutted from the forbidding churches that dotted the city. She had seen a half-dozen men dragging black robes enter the church down the street before the sun was fully up. The day was bitterly cold, bleak, and dreary. Whatever trickle of sun that had edged over the horizon was already obscured from view from the snow-heavy clouds blotting out the sky.

A knock at the door broke them apart. Avoca quickly hid her dagger, and Cyrene reached for the serenity that constantly evaded her.

Aralyn poked her head in. “We break fast in the formal dining room. Baths will be drawn for everyone henceforth. My husband has agreed to allow you to remain here on one condition—that he speak with you all first.”

Cyrene caught Avoca’s gaze, and she felt a warning tug through the bond. “That would be wonderful. Thank you for everything, Aralyn.”

“Of course. You’re my sister.”

Then, she was gone, and they had nothing to do but follow her downstairs. Orden and Ahlvie were already at the dining room table, and Orden seemed to be working over Lord Berg, as was his specialty. Cyrene remembered more and more why he was so valuable to their party. He could charm a snake.

Ahlvie seemed to be on his best behavior, which was never too far from his worst behavior. He sighed in relief when she and Avoca entered the room though, as if he knew he wouldn’t be able to control his mouth or inevitable facial expressions without them.

Avoca carefully moved around him and took the seat next to Orden instead. Cyrene grimaced. She had thought that Avoca and Ahlvie had fixed their issues, but it didn’t seem so. Cyrene quickly cleared the room and filled the gap next to Ahlvie. He shot her a grateful look, but she knew it was tinged with sadness. This was clearly eating at him.

“Lord Berg,” Cyrene said, nodding her head at him, “thank you so much for allowing us to remain in your home.”

He gave her a stern, reproachful look. “That remains to be seen. You’re Lady Berg’s sister then?”

Cyrene stifled a glare. “Yes.”

“Yes, sir,” he ground out.

Cyrene startled. “Yes…sir.”

“My wife is a kind soul. She doesn’t think about the consequences of her actions or how having foreigners on our doorstep might appear to the other lords and the citizens we represent. So, you’ll have to forgive me if I’m none too pleased that she went behind my back and allowed you all to stay here last night. Or that I’ll have to make explanations for your visit.”

“We understand that circumstances are not entirely satisfactory, but we hope we can help in any way that you need,” Orden said before she could open her mouth. He darted a quick glance at her that told her to keep her mouth shut and let him do the talking. “We’re here to assuage any concerns that you might have.”

“Don’t beat them down before I even arrive for the meal,” Aralyn said, appearing in a gorgeous black silk gown with full lace sleeves.

“My darling,” Lord Berg said with an affectionate smile.

She moved to his side and chastely placed a kiss on his cheek before taking the seat at his right. “Now, what is this business?”

“We’re waiting for two more,” Lord Berg told her.

And then the twins appeared, serene and pious, dressed head to toe in Kelltic fashion. Cyrene’s mouth nearly fell open. She had no idea where they had gotten such dresses in such a short period of time. It would have been nice for her to be outfitted to please Lord Berg as well. Because she could see on sight that he was much happier with their attire than Cyrene’s close-fit dress. At least Avoca had chosen not to wear pants.

“Good morning, Lord Berg,” Matilde said sweetly.

Cyrene gaped. Sweet was not in Mati’s repertoire.

“We’re pleased to be breaking fast with you this morning,” Vera said.

“Yes, well,” he said with a smile, “please take a seat. We have business to discuss.”

Aralyn sighed. “Business this early?”

“I know how you feel about this, darling. Please, keep out of the lord’s business.”

Aralyn shot him a derisive smile. She had never been known to keep out of anyone’s business as far as Cyrene knew.

“Now that you’re all here, I need to clear up one thing before we can allow you to remain in my residence,” Lord Berg said. He steepled his fingers in front of his face and leaned his elbows on the table. His sharp dark eyes peered down at each of them from the length of the mahogany table. “Are you or are you not fugitives of the Guild?”

Aralyn gasped. “What?”

No one else said a word. They all stared straight ahead at Lord Berg, wondering who was going to field that question.

“Cyrene, is that true?” Aralyn demanded.

Cyrene slowly turned to face her sister. Clearly, the notion was tantamount to treason in this strange land. Admitting that, yes, somehow, they had become embroiled with the enemy could mean they would be handed over. Lying and saying they hadn’t could hardly be a better alternative.

“Silence?” Lord Berg asked. “Well, that’s confirmation enough.”

“How?” Aralyn sputtered. “How could you have gotten tangled up with…them?”

There was real fear in her voice. Cyrene wondered what Aralyn would think if she knew what Cyrene could do.

“A mistake,” Cyrene said. “We traveled onto land that we were unaware belonged to them, and they enslaved us for it without explanation.”

“A grave offense,” Lord Berg said.

“Cyrene, how could you?”

“This is not her fault,” Matilde smoothly cut in. “It was a tactical error on our part. By the time we realized where we were, it was too late.”

“My Lord, if I may,” Orden said with a flourish, “we need not bring you into this matter at all. The Guild doesn’t know where we reside at the present. We’d be happy to keep it that way.”

“And how do you suppose you will be able to do that?” Lord Berg asked with a pointed stare.

“We plan to leave to ensure your safety in the matter,” Cyrene said.

She knew it was the only way to keep them out of it. She didn’t want her sister tangled up with the Guild. She had a happy life here. Someone should at the very least.

“You’re leaving already?” Aralyn asked. Her voice was tight.

Cyrene could already see her withdrawing back in on herself.

Lord Berg put his hand on hers. “It’s for the best. Think of Laine.”

“If you could spare horses and supplies, it would be greatly appreciated,” Vera said.

“Yes,” Aralyn said, strong but distant. “I’ll arrange it all myself.”

She pushed her chair back, as if to leave at once to attend to it, but Lord Berg stopped her.

“You have put my family in grave danger. We can harbor you for one more night, but if you remain, we will be forced to turn you in.”

Aralyn was shaking by his side, but she didn’t defy him. Not in this.

“We understand,” Cyrene said.

Her eyes followed her sister as she wrenched her hand free of her husband’s and walked briskly out of the room.

Cyrene shoved her chair back to follow, but a tug on the bond from Avoca told her to stay where she was. She remained seated. Her heart was pounding, and she ached to go after her sister, but all she would bring her…all she’d brought anyone was disaster.

That black pit opened wide in her core, and she felt herself spiraling. Sitting in a roomful of people, demands being met, plans being made, and she was lost. Her blood magic called to her like an itch she couldn’t scratch. It whispered and taunted and teased. If she could just fill that void, then she wouldn’t have to sit idly by and take orders from some trussed up lord. She could comfort her sister. She could rule.

Dark, deep thoughts.

Buried.

Forgotten.

Once, she had been encased by them because of Maelia’s death. The feeling of emptiness, of fault. Here again, this was her fault.

But…

But Maelia wasn’t her fault.

She slowly retreated out of that darkness.

This was an accident. She hadn’t even known she would see her sister. Had never considered that fact. She loved Aralyn and would do what she could so that her own problems didn’t fall on her sister’s shoulders.

“Then, it’s settled,” Orden said.

And it was over.

Aralyn returned when food was served. She ate scarcely for a woman in her condition and said not a word.

“I should say something to her,” Cyrene said, edging for the door again.

“If you think you must,” Avoca said.

Hours had passed. Aralyn had busied herself with their preparations. They were going to leave before dawn and try to sneak out of the city before anyone got wind of them. That meant a whole lot of sitting around and doing nothing.

Patience had never been one of her virtues.

“She must be so upset with me.”

“She’s not upset with you. She’s sad that she won’t get more time with you.”

“That makes it doubly horrible. My sister has never wanted to spend time with me.”

Avoca grinned. “There is not a person alive who wouldn’t want to spend more time with you.”

“Ceis’f?”

“He’s a Leif. He doesn’t count.”

Cyrene laughed. “Fine.”

“I know you love her, but it is best that we depart now. Make amends with her in the morning when she has cooled down.” Avoca gripped her shoulder. “Our mission is important for the safety of all of Emporia. You are on a Creator-blessed journey. We will find a way to make this all right for the rest of the world so that you will never again have to be separated from your sister like this.”

Cyrene gave her a sad smile. She wished she were so sure about what Avoca had said. Was she on a Creator-blessed mission? Was she this preordained Heir of the Light? Even though she knew that Kael was a Dremylon, following in Viktor’s footsteps, she sometimes wondered if she was the dark side of the coin.

If the darkness that swept through her would blot out the light for good.

If she were destined to love him…and break him.

Just as Viktor had done to Serafina.

Her nasty thoughts chased her into a whirlwind nightmare.

A hand reaching out through the darkness.

A beachside cabin in ruins.

The tears of a grief-stricken mother aching for her baby.

Her mind going blank.

A coin flipping in her hand. Heads or tails? Heads or tails?

She waited for it to land. She craned forward, desperate to find the answer. But it was snatched midair. And then she was screaming. In pain or madness?

She was wrenched out of bed. A hand slapped her face.

“Wake up,” a gruff voice barked.

Her body was coated in a film of sweat. Her hair matted to her face. Her eyes wild with alarm and the lingering disorientation of the nightmare.

But then she realized who had woken her…and she wanted to scream all over again.

“You,” she managed to get out. Her voice was rough, as if she’d actually been screaming.

“Me,” the commander said.

His grin was feral. His cheekbones sharp and dangerous in the shadows. He was in all black with a hood covering the dark hair underneath. His muscular body weighed her down, and she suddenly realized that they were alone, in her bedroom, and he was on top of her.

“Get off of me,” she said, struggling to free herself.

He laughed harshly. “You think I’m going to let you go, spitfire? After what you did to the Guild?”

“You got what you deserved,” she snapped.

“Burning down our building and murdering our people is what we deserved?”

“You would have done the same to us.”

“Perhaps. But it is not what I deserved.”

His eyes traveled down the length of her body. She hadn’t realized how exposed she was. In her nightmare, she had kicked off her covers, and she was now lying in nothing but her thin shift.

“Then, why haven’t you killed me already?”

“There are many things I would like to do to you, but killing you right here, like this…low on my list.”

Cyrene flushed uncomfortably as his gray eyes probed her.

“Killing you slowly is much higher on my list.”

“How did you even find me?”

“I followed your pretty blonde friend last night.”

“You’ve known all day, and you’re just now here?”

Warning bells rang in her head. Something felt wrong about that.

“They don’t know that you’re here,” she said slowly as it dawned on her. “You’re here on your own.”

The commander tensed like a coiled viper waiting to strike. “Don’t speak of what you don’t know.”

Cyrene eased out from under his taut body and sat up. Their eyes locked. “You’re here for something else.”

“Are you offering?” His hand landed on her thigh, and he arched an eyebrow.

She doubted many women had said no to that face. And, with the sexual tension between them palpable, she wasn’t sure if she would have said no if they had met in another way.

She placed her hand on top of his. “What would you do if I was?”

He edged forward until his lips were a breath away. She stayed stark still, knowing she was prey to a predator.

“You couldn’t handle it.”

She laughed to ease the tension between them. “You’re here about the magic, not me.”

“Maybe both.”

“If you were going to turn us in, you would have done so already.”

The commander closely assessed her for a long-drawn-out minute. “How did you do it? How did you manipulate your energy in such a way?”

“Answers are currency, Commander. What are you going to give me for them?”

“Your life,” he spat.

“How about our horses, belongings, and a way out of here?”

Cyrene wasn’t sure if the commander was going to either stab her or kiss her, but he stalled and then stuck out his hand.

They shook.

Deal.