Page 101 of Silvercloak

This was finally happening.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” muttered Lyrian, looking around with an air of paranoia.

Levan’s gaze snapped to his father. “What do you mean?”

Behind him, Bones stopped licking her paw.

“I thought the same,” Castian said, pursing her lips. “I ran dozens of these shipments with Vogolan and something just feels … different.”

“Different how?” Levan’s tone was urgent,knowing,as though he’d felt the same himself but couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

The drizzle still fell around them, the sound muffled by the repelling enchantment.

Castian tapped her wand to her lip, more sober than she was a few moments ago. “More people around than usual. The docks are usually deserted at this time of night.”

She pointed to two figures leaning against a large shipping container, muttering in low voices. Saff’s stomach twisted. Detectives Alirrol and Fevilan were not doing a particularly good job of feigning nonchalance. Their bodies were tightly drawn, their gazes darting.

Levan glared at the two interlopers, then muttered, “Excuse me.”

He strode off in the opposite direction.

“Where are you—Levan?” Lyrian snarled.

But the moment Levan hit the shadows, he melted into the darkness.

Saff stared after him, bowels in turmoil.

What had he just figured out? What was he going to do?

“Ten minutes until the boat docks,” said Lyrian crisply, the edges of his voice even harder since Vogolan’s death. “Segal, search the quay.” He dug a vial of clear liquid from his cloak pocket. “One of Vogolan’s last fading tinctures. Stick to the shadows. Listen in to conversations. If anything feels truly wrong, we scarper.”

Segal drank the tincture, and his contours faded to a vague smudge. True invisibility was incredibly difficult to brew, but in the inky night, this was close enough. He slunk away in the direction they came.

As they waited for the boat to arrive, Lyrian and Aviruna muttered in low voices. Saff was too jittery to pick up most of it, but they seemed to be discussing the Whitewings. Saff knew she should be concentrating on what might be the final piece of intel she gleaned from this operation, but her mind corkscrewed violently over where exactly Levan had disappeared to.

With a brain as ruthlessly efficient as his, was there a chance he’d figured everything out? The thought choked all the breath from her lungs.

Several agonizing minutes later, Levan reappeared, slightly out of breath. His crimson cloak was rumpled, and he hastily rearranged it. Saff stared inquiringly at him, but he actively averted his gaze.

Soon, a well-lit trader boat glided against the fenders on the edge of the dock, its Bloodmoon banderole hanging sodden and limp. A mage stood on the upper deck, manipulating the mooring ropes with her wand so that they looped in midair and tossed themselves over the bollards.

Bones made no effort to move, even when a rope almost lassoed her throat, even when the mage on the boat hissed at her.

“Let’s go,” muttered Lyrian, starting toward the vessel.

“We shouldn’t board the boat,” Levan said, gaze raking over the docks. “Castian says something doesn’t feel right. We should stand back. Watch but not interfere.”

Lyrian glared at his son, as though he’d suggested razing the entire city of Kylgard. “We need to oversee the offloading of every single pallet. Make sure none of thesevocksever steal from us again.”

As the kingpin turned back to the vessel, Levan grabbed his arm to stop him, and Lyrian shot him a look so vitriolic it took Saff by surprise.

“You’re not the kingpin, son. I am.” Lyrian’s voice was a low, malicious hiss, so far from its usual marble coolness. “Remember yourself.”

Levan dropped his grip, cheeks pinkening with anger.

“Where did you go?” Saff whispered to Levan as they reluctantly followed Lyrian and Castian to the gangway.

Levan fixed her with a hard stare that made her feel like he knew everything. A stare that filled her with a cold, viscous dread.