Page 90 of Silvercloak

Guiding the illusion with her wand tip, Saffron sent her mirrored self around the island. Levan saw the illusion, and the briefest flash of panic flared on his face. Then he seemed to remember Saffron’s skillset, and with a quick glance back at her, the curious fear melted away again.

Zares, however, was not so privy to Saffron’s tricks.

She stuck her head out around the island, hissing, “Az-ammorti.”

The curse struck the illusion—and passed through its insubstantial chest.

Straight at Levan.

“Sen praegelos,” Saff bellowed, the illusion dropping, the forked lightning still firing.

Time froze solid.

All except for her …

… and Rasso.

THE SILVER FALLOWWOLF DRAGGED ITS SLENDER BODY FROMbeneath Levan’s protective grip, fixing a pair of stark white eyes on Saffron. Emotion welled in the pale irises, as though the beast was seeing her for the first time.

Saff recalled what Aspar had said.

Praegelosis an abomination. Too reminiscent of timeweaving.

Did it remind Rasso of Lorissa, his long-lost mistress?

The fallowwolf approached her silkily, raising itself onto hind legs and resting a front paw on each of her collarbones. Another soulful gaze, and then a rough pink tongue licked her cheek.

Everything else remained frozen.

This moment was theirs alone.

And this time, unlike in the final assessment, the charm did not feel anywhere near as onerous to hold up. It was as though she had … support beams. A light, lifted feeling, as though she were carrying feathers instead of bricks. A gift from the fallowwolf—and from the giant block of ascenite at the center of the room.

But she knew it could not last forever, not when her well was already so low. She ruffled Rasso’s sweet ears, lowered him back to theground, and quickly crossed to Levan. His body was hunched atop a faded rug embroidered with a map of Mersina, the infamous isle of merchants, mercenaries, and mendicants. Saff grabbed one side of the rug and hauled it across the floor—not easy, given Levan’s bulk—so that when time resumed, Levan would not be in the firing line of the killing curse.

Rasso watched intently, head cocked, eyes bright.

Trembling from the exertion of holding time still, she wrapped around the island to where Zares stood in a semi-crouch, face still twisted from the casting of the spell. She wanted to useeffigias,to turn her to stone, but she wouldn’t be able to cast another spell while holding time still.

She looked around for something, anything, she might use to tie Zares up. Her gaze landed on the ascenite island—and the dull gray manacles bolted to the surface, one at each corner. The material seemed to absorb light, absorb energy, its surface darkening and then lightening in slow fading sweeps.

Deminite.

How the necromancer restrained her victims.

Using brute strength instead of magic, Saff hauled Zares’s gaunt body onto the counter, wrestling her stiff wrists into the top two corners, her dirt-streaked ankles into the bottom cuffs. She removed Zares’s grubby walnut wand from her claw-fingered hand, because while it wouldn’t be much use with deminite shackles, it was good Silvercloak practice to disarm captures.

The wound on Saffron’s arm dripped scarlet all over the star-shaped tiles, but adrenaline numbed the sting. Later she’d have to stitch it up with an old-fashioned needle and thread.

She surveyed the room one last time. Segal was still suspended in the deadly membrane, entirely lifeless, but his demise didn’t bring the sense of victory she thought it would. Because while the man who’d killed her parents was dead, the man whoreallykilled her parents was not. And so she felt nothing. Not vindication, not revulsion. Not even a vague sense of justice. Just a dull ebb of pride that she had wrested back control of this situation, where two hulking Bloodmoons had failed.

She glanced at Rasso, who stood by her feet like a loyal servant, and nodded.

Thepraegeloscharm dropped.

Levan crumpled to the ground. The killing curse splintered the back wall instead of his head. On the countertop, Zares let out a roar of frustration, confusion spreading over her face. She had been winning, and then, between one breath and the next, she wasn’t.

There was a split second in which Levan stared up at Saff, gaze ripe with surprise and something like awe, before he climbed hastily to his feet, shaking off the shock. He strode over to where Zares was pinned helplessly to the island.