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Enough for her to tug at that little piece of her magic, to send her aether coursing through his veins, infecting every part of him.

She gave a silent command, and he swallowed. One mouthful. Two. She pulled back, standing to her full height. Her heart thumped, her stomach turned, but as she gazed down at this traitor, at the blood smeared across his lips, cheeks, and chin, she thought only about the spell and the very next step.

Her mind curled around his, invading every dark corner, every hidden recess. An entire lifetime of memories and thoughts and secrets laid bare before her.

She retreated. His mind wasn’t hers to pillage. That would be their master’s privilege.

“He’s ready,” Carin said, and stepped back. “He’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” She continued to watch, taking in every movement and twitch. Even though Vaughn’s magic had been drained slowly and methodically over the last three days, he was older and more powerful. He could still put up a fight if she let her guard down.

“Good.” Aneirin crossed an ankle over his knee. “Now, Vaughn. Tell me about the time mage.”

Vaughn resisted at first, but a tug on the spell was all it took to set him babbling. About the human girl that had snuck into the Vale relay, about her warning to Ryme, about the spells inscribed on her arm and what they concealed. On and on, the details spilled out of him.

Occasionally, she felt a faint nudge of resistance, so she would delve deeper, digging in her claws and prying apart those memories he seemed so reticent to share. Forcing the words past his lips.

Desire. Lust.

He had wanted this girl. He had known what she was, sensed the magic in her blood from the beginning. But he had still wanted her because she had reminded him of someone else. Someone he couldn’t have. They were so similar, and he just wanted a taste. One little taste before he had to turn her over.

It was that single moment of cruel stupidity that had cost him. Carin saw the gun, felt his memory of that cool barrel pressed against his chin.

The pain of that single gunshot to the head reverberated through her.

And then the explosion of energy and light and magic that erupted from the girl—just the memory was enough to leave Carin blind and breathless, grasping at the spell.

The time mage, little more than a child, had caught him unaware.

Vaughn was panting when he finally finished the full account, and blood streaked with spittle dripped from his open mouth. He looked up, his eyes wide and pleading. He had stopped struggling against his bindings, and his body lay prone.

Aneirin didn’t speak for several long moments. His fingers drummed against his thigh as the lightning flickered, a low rumble of thunder quickly following. Carin found herself taking a step back as she felt the aether around him begin to ripple.

Finally, Aneirin rose from his seat and began to circle the panting shadow mage, still kneeling in a patch of blood-soaked hay.

“Nowthat,” Aneirin mused, “is a very different story than the one you originally told me.”

Even the storm raging outside quieted, holding its breath as the predator homed in on its prey.

“So, if I am to understand you correctly,” Aneirin went on, “the first time mage to appear in over two centuries stumbled into your post like a gift from above, and instead of trying to woo her, instead of using charm and tact to play on her sympathies—you attacked her; you attempted to rape her; and then, worst of all, youlosther.” Aneirin ticked off each sin on those bony, too-pale fingers.

Vaughn rasped, “But Sire—”

“Shut him up!”

Carin flinched at the snarled command, quickly tightening her grip on the spell.

Vaughn whimpered, and then quieted.

Aneirin clenched and unclenched his fists. His attention flicked to Carin. “Tell me—how long have I been planning this assault?”

“Two and a half centuries,” Carin mumbled hoarsely. Although the war had been raging quietly in the background for far, far longer. Their master—or rather the thing inside him—was old. Older than the oldest immortals, older than she could even begin to fathom. He had been planning his revenge, plotting to bring down the heavens, since before time began.

“Yes,” Aneirin crooned with an almost imperceptible nod of his head. “Two and a half centuries since we lost our last time mage. Two and a half centuries since we forfeited what would’ve been complete control of Tempris. It has taken two and a half centuries to regroup, to build our army, to choose our moment.”

With a sweep of his cloak, Aneirin crouched, tucking a finger underneath the shadow mage’s chin and forcing his eyes up. “Vaughn,” he said, almost gentle. Vaughn started to shake in earnest. “I have no need for sentient stupidity. So, I’m going to give you one chance. One chance to tell me something—anything—that might convince me not to turn you into one of my puppets. Tell me, Carin.” Another flash of those teeth. “Would you recommendascensionto our friend here?”

Carin clamped her lips together and shook her head. Even after a year, she could still feel that gaping hole in her anima, where a piece of her soul had been carved out, the wound left to fester. She had never wanted to come to Tempris, to join this cause. She had only been at the tavern that night because Asher had dared her, said that she was too prim to ever step foot in a common bar.

But Aneirin, who had called himself something different back then, had found her and made his offer. And when she refused, he had taken away her ability to say no. He had turned her into one of his ascended, that piece of her soul passed around to his cronies like a leash.