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Now I knew why the velvet black capes all the Masters wore looked so familiar.
I’d seen them before.
In the chest where Caishen and I had found the torches and the chipped knife.
The Masters all fanned out around the cave, taking their places on the carved amphitheatre, their black tourmaline masks making them seem like spectres from hell.
Peter stepped stiffly to my side.
He grabbed my hand on the altar and squeezed.
Victor didn’t stop him.
He merely smiled as if all our secrets were exposed, and he took such pleasure in winning.
Henri dropped his stare where Peter held me.
He trembled as if he was moments away from snapping.
I was proud of him.
So fucking proud that he hadn’t lost his temper. Hadn’t revealed himself.
Victor knew Peter and I were up to something, but he hadn’t said anything about Henri.
I sent up a prayer that he didn’t suspect him.
Didn’t know that Henri was as complicit as us.
He would survive.
He has to.
There’d been too much death.
Far, far too much death.
It was over for me.
I knew that as surely as I felt the binds holding me on this altar.
But it wasn’t over for Henri.
He could go on.
Could do what we had failed.
Please don’t give up. I begged with my twin flame-connected heart. Please get them out…somehow.
Henri staggered and came toward me.
No one said a word as he took my other hand, looking at Peter across the table as both men crowded over me and gave me the same heart-wrenching look.
I’m going to get you out of here. Henri’s ashy gaze vowed.
You can’t. I shrugged. Don’t give yourself away.
His lashes snapped closed as if he couldn’t breathe.
