Page 150 of Silvercloak

He had abrother?

Lyrian looked up, reverent, lost in thought. “I am sorry, son. For your hand.”

Levan nodded once in return, his emotions carefully in check. There was no longer pain drawn around his eyes and mouth, as there had been in Saffron’s bed. Had he managed to find some relief? The whiteroot remedy Paliran offered Nissa, perhaps? Or was he simply a master at locking the pain away? She remembered how bland he’d kept his expression while impaled on the deminite shard and wondered.

Still stony-faced, Levan crossed to the storage closet and tugged at the faded brass handle. Inside was mostly empty but for the two large wooden crates withCOTTONandSILKstenciled on the sides.

“Still here.” Levan allowed himself the smallest sigh of relief, then levitated them both into the bedroom area. With a jerk of his wand, he ushered the crates out of the shack and back into the clearing.

They emerged to find the other six Bloodmoons gathered behind the neighboring abode, murmuring in low, urgent voices.

“What is it?” Levan demanded, straightening his crimson cloak and pulling himself tall.

“This just appeared,” muttered Castian, twitching like a dying insect from the lox withdrawals.

Saffron’s stomach curled into a fist as she followed their gaze.

A pearlescent barrier, as thin as a spider’s web but stronger than freshly forged steel.

Saffron knew what it was immediately. She’d spent many days and weeks of her life practicing how to conjure them.

“A perimeter dome,” she choked out.

Nobody could pass in or out until the conjurer dropped it. Not even withportari.

She hadn’t known whether Aspar would trust her intel again, since the last raid had been so utterly disastrous. And after the captain had heard the news of Tiernan’s death, she’d seemed almost ready to murder Saffron herself.

But she had trusted her informant, despite it all.

The Silvercloaks had followed the Bloodmoons to the Havenwood.

And now there was no way out.

LYRIAN SPAT A CURSE WORD SO VILE SAFF PHYSICALLY RECOILED.

The perimeter dome stretched over all twelve shacks, tucking itself behind each of the outer facing walls like a blanket. The domes could only be cast from inside them, which meant the Silvercloak responsible was in one of the shacks. Yet the enchanted windows held up, and from Saff’s vantage point, every single abode seemed just as abandoned as when they’d arrived.

Fear swelled in her chest like a balloon.

It all ended here; she knew that in her very bones.

“You,” Lyrian snarled at her, a few seconds before lunging for her throat, wielding his wand like a blade. “Sen ammort—”

Levan moved in a flash, tackling his father to the ground as Saff threw up a mattermantic spellshield.

Pinning his knees into the hollows of his father’s shoulders, Levan held his wand tip to Lyrian’s chin. “She didn’t do this. She’s branded, for hell’s sake. This is likely happening because of your idiocy on the docks.” Behind her shield, Saffron fought the urge to frown. Did he really still believe in her innocence? Or was he just trying to preventhis father from murdering her? “And if you make another attempt on her life, I’ll—”

“Less of the tavern brawling,” snapped Castian, hauling Levan off his father in a surprising show of strength—perhaps she was wind-wielding under her breath. “We might need Killoran.Sen exarman.” Saffron’s wand shot from her hand into Castian’s. “Neutralize her, don’t kill her. She’s leverage. If she’s theirs, they won’t let her die.”

I wouldn’t be so sure of that,thought Saffron, livid at herself for losing her wand, frantically recalibrating, reworking her plan. But the truth was, she didn’t have one. For the first time in many years, she did not have a plan. She felt trapped in some kind of liminal space, a terrible in-between, neither a Silvercloak nor a Bloodmoon, a helpless passenger in the upcoming wreckage.

Survive,she told herself.Just survive. That’s the only plan you need.

“Disarmament is not enough. She needs to hurt for this.” Climbing to his feet, the kingpin lifted his wand to his mouth. “Et vocos, Zirlit.”

Zirlit—the tall Nomarean mage with the monocle and macaw cane.

His response crackled through the kingpin’s wand immediately. “Fair featherroot.”

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