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43 THARAN

“How did you know where to find us?” Tharan asked, shutting the curtains in his room.

Lucius picked at his nails.

“I wouldn’t be a very good spy if I didn’t know how to uncover secrets.”

“I sent him a raven,” Roderick chimed in.

“And that.”

“Well, tell me what you know.”

“I know that Caiden is missing and accused of murder and judging by the Blood Riders I saw on the way here, Erissa and Gideon are behind it. I’m also guessing you think a Trinity Well is in the Court of Screams.”

“Correct,” Tharan said. “Aelia is missing too. We think they were both taken by Erissa.”

“Seems right. Likely, they’re setting a trap for you as well.”

“They are the trap. There is an ancient ritual site in the Court of Screams. We think that’s where the Well is. We need to get there before Erissa and Gideon do.”

“I’ve got my Shadow Hunters scouting in the Court of Screams as we speak. If they are there, my men will find them.”

“Very good. We have a guide who will take us tomorrow night.”

“We don’t need him. I will take us tonight.”

“When did you travel to the Court of Screams?” Roderick asked.

Lucius arched a brow.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on them for a while. The rest of the council liked to think they were content worshiping their false god, but I think they underestimated them. I think Erissa has had her claws in them for a long time.”

“What makes you think that?” Tharan asked.

“It’s her signature. She likes to make gods out of men she can control. She did it with Gideon and I bet she did it with the leader of the Court of Screams. Although, it could have been one of her sisters from her time in Crom’s inner circle.”

A chill ran down Tharan’s spine. Erissa had tried to seduce him once. Could she have been grooming him to be one of her “gods”? He didn’t want to think about how his life would have turned out had he succumbed to her advances.

“I hadn’t thought about there being more of them…” Tharan rubbed his chin with his palm nervously.

Lucius scoffed. “You know better than I Crom had thousands of followers. He was charming and handsome, and I’m sure Erissa wasn’t the only woman he made a zealot of.”

“True.” Tharan pulled back the honey-colored curtain, scanning the quaint town for any sign of the Blood Riders. He sighed. “I guess we better get going. Everyone, prepare. Meet me downstairs in an hour.”

Everyone agreed before heading to get ready.

“I’m going to warn the mayor,” Roderick said.

Tharan gave him a curt nod.

Hopper and Sumac lingered in Tharan’s room after the others left.

“I don’t want to hear it. I know you don’t want me to go, but I have to. I have original blood. I have to be the one who opens the Well. I have to be the one to save Aelia. I couldn’t live with myself if I just stayed here and let all of you go off and do my dirty work for me.”

“We won’t stop you,” Sumac said, tying back her short, black hair. “But if it comes to it, we will both gladly lay down our lives to protect you.”

An ache ripped through Tharan’s heart.

“I will not try to convince you otherwise. I know you both too well.”

“Then we are in agreement,” Hopper said, turning on his heel.

An unspoken knowing passed between Tharan and Sumac. They’d fought beside each other in battle and watched their comrades die together, but this was different somehow. A heaviness hung in the air, and without saying a word, Sumac turned and left.

Tharan took a deep breath as he donned his armor—the armor his father wore in battles for millennia. Thousands of tungsten laurel leaves woven together in a mail as hard as dragon scales. He braided his hair back in the traditional military fashion, one woven knot from forehead to back before twisting the bottom. Taking a razor, he shaved the stubble from his face and applied kohl around his eyes. A fearsome warrior stared back at him from the mirror—one he had not seen in a very long time.

The anticipation of a fight sent adrenaline coursing through his veins. Taking his curved sword from its sheath, he ran a damp cloth over its blade until it shone in the candlelight.

“Well, old friend, looks like we’ll be fighting again,” he whispered to the weapon he’d carried into battle hundreds of times. The thought of spilling blood never got easier. His stomach churned with a mixture of dread and anticipation.

Sheathing his sword again, he adjusted his armor one last time before heading down to the foyer of the inn where the others waited, each dressed in their respective armor. Even Amolie wore a boiled leather cuirass.

Lucius held a lantern in one hand.

“We better get going.”

Tharan nodded, and the group followed the wraith into the silent night.