Page 109 of Silvercloak

Levan’s healing words sent a peal of grief through her chest. They always reminded her of her mother—and of her parents’ final moments.

That sacred incantation coming from someone likehimfelt like a sick joke from the Saints. He had an unexpected mastery of enchantments, like her father, and yet he could heal as easily as he could breathe, like her mother. He readLost Dragonbornlike Mal, and pored over ancient languages like Merin, and kept his emotions tightly guarded like Nissa. It was like he’d been specifically designed by some cruel deity to torment her.

From a mage as powerful as Levan, one healing spell was all it took.

Nissa’s back arched as though she’d been struck by Aspar’s lightning, and she gasped an unsaintly amount of air into her lungs. Her bronze eyes peeled open, shining andfurious,as though embers burned behind them.

For a second, Saffron hated Levan for how easily he’d done something so miraculous, for how much power he had at his fingertips, for the fact he did not choose to use that power for good.He used it to sever hands and torture necromancers.

“Killor?” Nissa was still dazed, but her voice was remarkably clear.

“H-hold on,” Levan said weakly to Saffron, after another hideous coughing fit had shaken through his lungs. One of his palms clasped the wrists of his father and Castian, and he extended the hand that still held his wand.

Behind him, Auria and Aspar stormed across the outer deck.

They had mere moments toportariout of here.

“Killor,” Nissa repeated, coughs wracking her own weakened lungs. She grabbed Saffron’s wrist hard enough to bruise. “The tracing charm. It’snovissan vestigas.Works around half the time.”

Auria and Aspar entered the mouth of the corridor, each with a velvine perched upon their shoulders. The felines’ eyes flared purple as they purred fresh pleasure into their mages. Aspar’s palm bled; she clutched a blisblade in one hand and her wand in the other.

Auria’s eyes found Saff’s, and she recoiled with shock at the sight of her old friend in a scarlet cloak.

Saffron pressed her lips to Nissa’s forehead. Raw emotion spilled from her like blood from a wound. The grief of her death, the relief of her resurrection, the unrelenting fear of what was about to happen to them all.

Levan’s hand closed around hers, warm and fierce and terrible. She let go of Nissa and grabbed Rasso by the scruff.

“Et portari, Cryptmouth Tunnel.”

The world folded itself around them, and everything went white.

THE NEXT THING SAFFRONknew, they were on their knees in the warded tunnels. It felt a little like regaining consciousness after fainting: a gap in awareness, a distinct disorientation, a sickening swoop in the stomach and the vision.

The other three Bloodmoons, all now conscious, were hacking up their lungs, sucking in deep lungfuls of unpoisoned air. Saffron couldn’t even bring herself to pretend. She could barely see, hear, think.

They must know she had betrayed them.

She wouldn’t be killed. The prophecy showed as much.

But the same could not be said for Mal and Merin.

A frightened animal clambered up her throat, the fear writhing and alive. She clung to Rasso, who was panting by her side. The tears over Nissa’s almost-death were already drying on her face, leaving behind a salted crust.

Perhaps if she didn’t move, didn’t breathe, she could stay suspended in this liminal moment. Perhaps she could—

“What in all thehellsjust happened?” snarled Lyrian, the vitriol in his voice caustic and pure.

Castian lay flat on her back, red-rimmed eyes pressed shut. “We were raided,” she hissed in dizzy disbelief. “Segal’s still there. How did the cloaks know about the shipment?”

Levan sat up gingerly, leaning his back against the cold stone wall. His body did not tremble or shake, the way most mage’s would after expending so much raw power. “You said something didn’t feel right, so I reached out to my rat in the Silvercloaks. They confirmed a squad was moving against us. I got to the lox just in time. Stashed it up near Novarin.”

Saff reeled from the cascade of revelations. First, that Levan was powerful enough toportariall the way to Novarin, which was hundreds of miles away.

But that was hardly the most pressing concern.

He had aratin the Silvercloaks.

Did he mean the Grand Arbiter? Would Dematus have been privy to the plans for the raid? Surely Aspar wouldn’t have told Dematus what they were doing ahead of time, knowing the Grand Arbiter was dirty. Unless Dematus herself had tendrils snaking into the ranks of Silvercloaks …

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