Page 44 of A Fury Of Shadows

“No.” Barquiel shrugged. “I would know.” He glanced at the motionless men on the beds. “You should be able to tell if you touch them. Oscar is on the mend. And Nikolai should wake up soon. Whatever Mae Jin put inside Oscar just stunned him.”

Vedran hesitated. His nails sank into his palms.

“You believe neither of them will suffer any permanent damage from that witch’s magic?” he asked in a more measured tone. “I can still sense some of it inside Oscar.”

“No, they won’t.”

Barquiel wished to an extent that his answer were a lie. He could just about tolerate Oscar in small doses. Seeing the sorcerer meet his demise would not upset him.

Vedran’s shoulders loosened fractionally. Barquiel could tell how much the question had cost him. The Sorcerer King was a man used to having all the answers.

Having to rely on me when he is at his weakest is probably sticking in his craw.

Of all the Sorcerer Kings he’d worked with since the first man Azazel gifted with magic, Vedran was the one he trusted the least. Not just because the demon couldn’t get a read on the guy.

Vedran Borojevic had been born with the kind of twisted soul that would have made him a perfect commander in Hell’s army. Satanael himself would have been impressed by his ideas and deeds.

Barquiel had realized a long time ago that it wasn’t just that the man was evil. He had an insatiable appetite. For power. For authority. For absolute dominion over all humankind.

To put it simply, Vedran wanted to be a god.

Anyone who didn’t know him would assume he was the product of a miserable childhood, unloved and rejected by those he had held dear. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

Vedran had been born the fifth son of a wealthy, noble couple. His parents and siblings had doted on him from the moment he opened his eyes and had gifted him with everything he had ever wished for. Not a single member of his family had been a sorcerer or a witch.

Which had made killing them with magic child’s play.

Vedran had been thirteen at the time, nearly an adult in the eyes of the sixteenth century European society he had grown up in. He had also been a Dark Council member and an apprentice to the incumbent Sorcerer King for three whole years.

When his master had asked him why he murdered his kin, his reply had chilled the air in the Dark Council chamber.

“Because they weren’t needed. Their existence was a shackle that would only have gotten in the way of my plans.”

That day, Barquiel had realized something fundamental about the boy who would become the next Sorcerer King. For the young Vedran, executing his family had been a matter of expedience and another way to show his devotion to his master.

Now that he sat on the throne, he expected the same from his followers, as well as his own flesh and blood. Hence theTrial of Blood,the custom he had revived and which had seen Oscar and Nikolai emerge as the sole survivors of a brutal ritual that had claimed the lives of all their siblings.

Barquiel suppressed a grimace.

The magic community had always believed that the Sorcerer King was a direct descendant of the previous ruler. This was yet another lie, one often perpetuated by the sorcerer who occupied that role at the time.

The fact of the matter was that only those powerful enough to survive the secret rite they had to undergo to inherit the mantle of the Sorcerer King could be considered candidates for the throne. For that purpose, several potential heirs were chosen, not just from the current king’s bloodline if they satisfied the stringent criteria, but from the wider magic community at large. Succession didn’t adhere so much to a hereditary monarchy as it did a meritocracy.

A sound drew Barquiel’s gaze and had Vedran’s head snapping around. Oscar moaned softly.

The Dark Council sorcerers and witches scattered in Vedran’s path as he stormed across the room. Oscar blinked his eyes open when his sire stopped beside his bed.

“Fa—father?” he mumbled.

Pain scored deep lines in the sorcerer’s pale face.

“It’s okay,” Vedran said stiffly. “You’re safe now.”

The Sorcerer King touched his son’s forehead. Oscar swallowed. His eyelids fluttered closed.

Those in the infirmary might assume what they were witnessing was the love of a father for his children. Barquiel knew otherwise. The only person Vedran cared about was himself. His sons were just a means to an end.

The demon couldn’t help but feel a sliver of admiration for Mae Jin as he observed the motionless sorcerers.Say what you want about the girl, she knows how to fight dirty when she needs to.

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