Page 105 of Silvercloak

Saints.Had he seen the illusion?

Surely not. Surely the sight of his dead mother would’ve felled him where he stood.

As he dragged her up from the ground, she lifted Rasso with her, pressing his cowering face into her chest.

A visible ache darted over Levan’s face at the sight of them, and then he muttered, “Conjure a shield.”

She dropped the illusion and incanted, “Ans clyptus.”

The spellshield leapt into a glimmering sheet of raw magic.

Saff took a split second to look around. The sky was torn apart with lightning and ash and flames and immense towers of water that refused to fall. The boat’s deck was shredded by spell starbursts, its wood splintered and hanging apart. A strong smell of burnt coffee hung on the air, as though a pallet had caught fire somewhere in the hold.

Levan ushered Saffron and Rasso inside the top deck of the boat. The layout was similar to the boat they’d taken to Port Ouran, only smaller, and with fewer sleeping quarters. The lanterns bolted to the corridor walls flickered and blinked with every thunderclap, as though cowering from the din of the docks.

Saff peered back toward the deck, where the kingpin’s gaze swung wildly from port to starboard, eyes peeled wide, as though he’d seen a ghost. His lips mouthed the wordLorissa,but no sound came out. Standing bolt upright amidst the countless flying curses, she had no idea how the kingpin hadn’t been struck byeffigiasyet.

Perhaps Levan had conjured a ward or shield around him—it would explain why he’d needed Saffron to conjureclyptus.

“Your father …”

“I’m going back for him and Aviruna,” he said through gritted teeth, and it was clear he was holdingsomething. “I had to get you and Rasso out first.”

Was he trying to repay some perceived debt from Zares’s house? Is that where this misplaced trust came from? Or did he genuinely care?

Emotions warred in Saffron’s mind. She didn’twantto escape this situation. She wanted to watch as every last Bloodmoon was arrested and hauled off to Duncarzus. And yet some ridiculous, traitorous part of her was touched that Levan had put her above his own flesh and blood.

The enchanted necklace weighed heavy against her clavicle.

They ducked into a cabin containing a narrow bunk bed and a small desk. The porthole had been smashed in the furor, the floorboards littered with shards of glass. Levan took up half the cabin with his hulking frame, his lemon-mint smell, the tang of something metallic.

Saff pressed herself behind the bunk, so she couldn’t be struck with stray spells through the open porthole, and reassuringly stroked Rasso’s fur, sticky with honeywine.

“Wait here for now,” Levan ordered. “I think we’re overpowering them, but they’ve scattered.”

Saints.

This was all going wrong.

“Once I’ve got my father and Aviruna, I’ll useportarito get us away from the docks.”

Saffron stared at him. “Butportariis outlawed in—”

“I have an imported wand from Bellandry.” His voice was terse, hurried. “It hasn’t had the spell stripped out of it.”

Oh.“Is that how you—”

“I’ll explain later.” He held the door open a sliver and peered out into the corridor, every inch of him alert, precisely poised, like an archer atop the battlements of a besieged city. “Look after Rasso. And if someone comes, Silver …” His face softened almost imperceptibly. “You don’t have to kill. I know they were your friends. Just neutralize them and wait for me.”

Levan slipped into the corridor, met immediately with a female roar of, “Sen effigias.”

The voice was so shrill, so piercing, that Saff didn’t recognize it. Fear had a funny way of strangling pitches. The spell must have struck the wall instead of Levan, because the cabin-side splintered from the impact.

“Sen ammorten,” came Levan’s unflinching response, and a body hit the deck.

Horror tied a knot around Saff’s heart.

Who was that?