She held her silence. For now.

“You set yourself up as rulers in my territory,” Charisemnon said, his eyes hot with a rage that had never died down. “How do you excuse this?”

Donael bowed low again. “There is no excuse.”

“Pretty words.” Michaela’s green eyes glowed as if backlit. “You are one of the oldest and most respected men here, and yet you expect us to believe you did not know of your brethren’s traitorous actions?”

“I focused too deep on my own luminescence,” Donael said, apology in every line of his body. “I let Gian and his coterie run things because it was easier than arguing and because it permitted me to walk the path without distractions.”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Elena muttered under her breath, “he’s as culpable as Gian.”

Wildfire blue eyes met hers. “I agree, Guild Hunter. But we must let this run through—there are certain rules to be observed.”

“That is akin to a general leaving his troops in the care of a lower-ranked soldier,” Titus said, folding his arms across his massive chest, his muscles bulging under the cream-colored linen of his shirt. That color reflected the feathers at the inner curve of his left wing, before they darkened slowly into a golden honey shade at the primaries, the change so gradual that it was impossible to say where one color ended and the other began.

His right wing was the opposite: golden honey at the inner curve, flowing out into pure cream primaries.

“The Gallery is a custom-built construction that has survived countless earth shakes, storms, and rains,” Favashi pointed out, dismissing Donael without a word. “Should it survive this storm, there is no need to destroy it even if we erase the Luminata.”

“Agreed.” That came from every one of the Cadre.

The Luminata, meanwhile, were beginning to turn a little green—and Donael no longer looked so confident in his self-appointed role as speaker for the sect. But he spoke again. “We cannot all be blamed for the actions of the few.”

Alexander stirred. “He is correct in one respect. We should separate the ones who truly seek luminescence from the ones who are here only because Lumia provides them a safe haven from angelic law.”

“Elijah,” Raphael said. “The mortal women we discovered, we need to speak to them.”

“I will fetch them,” Hannah said and disappeared from the room in a sweep of wings, to return a bare minute later, Josette and Sahar having clearly been stashed nearby.

The two were dressed in simple but exquisite gowns that must’ve come from Hannah, their hair braided neatly. Fear made their faces stark, their movements ragged as they followed Hannah to stand between her and Elijah.

“Can you identify the Luminata who visited you?” Hannah asked without prompting.

The women trembled.

“No harm will come to you.” It was Michaela who spoke. “You have the promise of the Cadre.”

Josette’s amber eyes met Elena’s at that instant. Elena gave her a slight nod.

“Yes,” the Frenchwoman whispered. “I know the ones who came to me.” She named them one by one. “I was willing,” she added in fairness. “They said I could go afterward.”

Space appeared around certain Luminata as their brethren drew away in a whisper of robes.

Finishing her list, Josette whispered to Sahar, who nodded and, standing up straight, began to recite her own list. “Two don’t give name, say to call him ‘Master.’” Her descriptions of those two were very precise.

More spaces opened up.

In the end, the women marked twelve Luminata, not counting Gian—who appeared to have saved his sadism for Majda and Jean-Baptiste.

Faces holding no arrogance now, nothing but terror, the twelve marked men obeyed an order to join their leader, all going down on their knees, heads bowed.

“We strayed off the path,” one whispered. “Please forgive us.”

Elena recognized that rough voice. Gervais. The man who had referred to the Luminata’s victims as “sluts and toys.” Gritting her teeth, she gripped Raphael’s hand hard to keep herself from stabbing the bastard right through his lying mouth.

Blood spurted from his mouth in the next instant.

Elena jerked, wondering if she had thrown the knife. Then his eyes began to bleed, as did his ears. She didn’t know which archangel in the circle had done that, but as his body fell twitching to the floor, his brethren began to beg for mercy.

“Silence!” Alexander’s voice filled the air, cutting off all other sound. “I do not care for mortal concerns except in my own territory,” he said, “but I care that vampires were Made without permission, that immortals were murdered, and that the Luminata believe themselves beyond all oversight. That ends today.”

“First,” Caliane murmured, “we must dig out every piece of the rot. Thirteen alone could not have done this.” She began to sing, a haunting, beautiful song that brought tears to Elena’s eyes and had Majda and Jean-Baptiste clinging to each other.

The most interesting affect, however, was on the Luminata.

A number seemed compelled to drag themselves to join their marked brethren, some literally crawling there on their hands and knees as they fought the pull, their faces distorted into a mask of horror as Caliane stripped away their free will.

For the first time, Elena couldn’t bring herself to care. These men had stolen others’ free will; the punishment suited the crime.