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Heat builds, my breath shallow. Ghosts of his hands trail down me. His hot mouth against mine. The feel of his body beneath me as I kissed him senseless at the end of our night together. All these memories swirl and swirl until I can’t quite remember why this is a bad idea.

I glare viciously. “You’re just trying to distract me. You might be happy with lazing around, but I can’t sit by and do nothing. She needs us.”

He snorts and stands elegantly. He sweeps his hand. “Alright, magician. I’ll make you a deal. If you can stand up right now, I will help you on your suicidal mission that will surely fail.”

I snarl and whip off the sheets. “We’ll see about that, you ass⁠—”

The rest of my sentence is lost in a blur of mind-numbing agony. I come to, panting and trembling, tingling magic rippling to chase away the pain. Valen smirks evilly, his blue eyes glowing as he uses his magic to soothe my injuries.

“As I said, you need time to heal. My father will be here in the morning. And you will be my good, obedient magician in the meantime. Then I swear, we’ll free Astoria. Strategy is our best weapon.”

His patronizing pat on my head nearly sends me feral with rage, but he walks away before I can react, saying, “I’ll get you dinner and brew your next round of treatment.”

CHAPTER 12

VALEN

I am a coward, a failing I can only admit silently to myself while hiding in the east wing billiards room. Being in my father’s office was slowly driving me mad. I sent messages to not only him, but all the weavers he was meeting with and our closest allies to ensure the body within Astoria’s shop is, in fact, a trick. Staring blankly waiting for a response wasn’t helping, so I came here.

Lucas is fast asleep in my bed, resembling a corpse once again as my potions do their magic.

He’s damn lucky that he found himself in my capable hands. Healing spells and potions are a careful balancing act between agony and speed. The faster the healing, the more painful the process and more difficult it is to numb. The brews he swallowed with much complaint are as vicious as they are effective on a broken body. Not many healers can compound the right ingredients for a heavy sedative that would not slow the healing effects. If I had used a standard sedative, Lucas would be awake and screaming.

At least, I hope my new potion keeps him sedated. This is the first time I’m testing my theory on combining mandrake root with silken weed. If I’m right, he’ll sleep all night and awaken to a usable leg. Then he’ll need to take my next round of potions that are currently simmering to help with his tokens.

I twirl my crystal glass between my hands, staring at the amber liquid glinting within. I left the ice cube out, and the glass is warmed by my hold. It’s easier to watch the light sparkle in the heavy glass and scotch. Otherwise, I’d have to stare at the mahogany-paneled walls and dark leather furniture and remember when this house used to be filled with weavers nightly.

Visiting relatives, family friends, and business partners would rotate through this very room. My father loved cards, and there would always be a game to join. Cigar smoke and magic would be thick in the air, and my mother would stroll through the crowd like a glittering jewel, catching everyone’s eye. Her gloved hands would slide over each person, drawing them in like moths to her light. She’d collect their secrets while winning at cards or weave her agendas through conversation until people would believe they were their own ideas.

I squeeze my eyes closed with a soft groan. No, I cannot think of my family tonight. My already bruised heart from Astoria refusing to be with me is now sliced open from her imprisonment. Reliving memories of my mother and how she begged me to run with her is too much to bear.

Before she fled this house, she had been scared. I understand that. But I assumed my sister would leave me a trail to follow my family members in case I ever needed their help. That was my miscalculation: clinging too tightly to the hopes that our family would one day heal.

I take a burning gulp of the scotch to choke down the nostalgia. I don’t have the strength to revisit memories, not with Astoria in Alasdair’s clutches and Lucas recovering from the brink of death.

I should take a sedative too and go to bed, but I need to stay vigilant. The wards around the estate crackle, the power surge from the brewing nighttime storm overhead drawing my attention. The large windows provide me with the perfect view of the erratic weather that is making its way down the mountain to pool in the humans’ flat land.

A flash of light that could easily be confused with lightning, if not for its rainbow iridescence, nearly blinds me. I sit straighter, my glass clicking on the side table. For a moment, the dome of magic that generations of Bauers have worked to thicken to impenetrable strength is visible. But…

Is that a crack I see forming?

Awareness tingles up my arms, lifting the hairs there on end. The blue light of my eyes casts shadows as I scan the room.

I glide silently to standing, my senses stretching to brush against the heart of the estate. My father has the true connection to it, but the ring on my left hand allows me to do the same with a little effort. The wards seem in place, but I can’t shake this tingling awareness that something isn’t quite… right.

My magic dances between my fingertips in a soft swirl of energy. My footfalls are silent as I make my way through my family home, scanning every corner, inspecting every shadow until a cry echoes through the halls. My heart stops.

Lucas.

I sprint through the estate, magic flooding my system. I slam into my bedroom door and the force nearly rips it off the hinges. The overly sweet scent of dark magic hits me full force and I gag, covering my mouth instinctively. Stilling, my eyes widen as I behold my bedroom. A coating of dark slime oozes down the walls, its oily sheen reflecting my eyes’ light. The shadows are writhing like they’re alive, and my heart stops, my lip curling in a snarl. A black mist surrounds Lucas’ sleeping, sedated form. Each of his screams makes the mist pulse, loosely condensing to form the vague outline of a man.

My mind goes blank, and ice cracks along the walls, icicles dripping from the doorway. I practically fly across the room. The blankets are tangled around Lucas’ waist, his chest bare and pumping. The bandage I covered it with has slid off from the flooding of crimson fluid beneath. The scar burns the bright red of a deadly infection.

A millimeter of skin pops open along the old injury, blood bubbling out of it.

I have no plan. My heartbeat is roaring in my ears, my vision dulling in the corners. My magic pulses, encasing me, and instinct takes over. I have no idea how Alasdair is here or what he is doing, but I need to stop the damage he’s causing.

I pull my hand back, power swirling around it, and slam it forward to splay across the inflamed, open wound.