Chapter Thirty

Dawn wasn’t here yet—but it was close. The black sky had softened to a deep, dark blue, and the rainclouds had broken up enough for the crescent moon to peek out, its faint light reflecting on the choppy water.

Half a mile ahead, Admiralty Point was a featureless silhouette jutting into the inlet.

The powerboat bounced across the waves, the roar of its outboard motor deafening me. I clutched my seat, pressed against Zylas’s side on the sunken U-shaped bench in the boat’s bow. Uncle Jack stood at the helm beneath a small canopy, a hand on the steering wheel as he squinted at the dark inlet.

On my other side, Amalia hunched her shoulders from the cold. And beside her, Zora sat with her feet set wide and not one but two swords braced against her shoulder with their sheathed points resting on the floor.

Noticing my attention, she flashed a grin.

I’d tried to talk her out of coming. I’d told her to go back to her guildmates—and she’d replied that I was her guildmate too. She was coming with us whether we wanted her to or not.

“Wondering about this?” she shouted over the icy wind, patting one of her swords. “I told you I’d be prepared to fight Nazhivēr.”

I looked again at the weapon. The new sword was a two-handed bastard sword like her usual one—meaning it was huge—and though its hilt was plain, the pommel featured a smooth crystalline orb etched with an Arcana array. That weapon was more than mere steel.

Amalia frowned. “Is a sword really going to make a difference against a demon?”

“When it’s this sword, yes.” Zora quirked an eyebrow. “Especially since I mortgaged my house to buy it.”

My eyes bulged. “You mortgaged your house?”

She caressed the inscription on the pommel. “Her name is Khione’s Wrath.”

“What kind of spell—” I began.

A stab of sharp chagrin from Zylas hit me and I broke off to follow his gaze. The landmass we were speeding toward was no longer dark. A pinkish glow emanated from the highest point on its crest.

“The portal,” I whispered in horror, the wind whipping my voice away.

We’d taken too long. We’d gone to the Crow and Hammer to stop Xever and Nazhivēr, and though we’d saved all the lives Nazhivēr would’ve extinguished without us there to battle him, we’d failed—and we’d lost the one advantage we could’ve gained by beating Xever to the portal.

A flicker of unexpected emotion darted from Zylas to me. My gaze swung to him, my brow furrowed in confusion.

“We still have time,” Amalia said bracingly, her ponytail blowing out behind her like a flag. “The portal takes a while to actually open. It won’t happen until dawn breaks.”

Uncle Jack slowed the boat as we closed in on the shore. The sky had lightened slightly, illuminating a short, rickety wooden dock extending into the water. Reducing speed even more, he guided the boat up to the dock.

We moored the boat and disembarked as quickly as possible, then we were rushing onto the grassy bank beyond the dock, where a rotting log cabin sat among overgrown shrubbery. Zylas took the lead, and I followed behind him as he angled onto a dirt track that led toward the hilltop. As towering spruces closed in around us, the pink glow of the portal disappeared from view.

Apprehension bordering on terror rolled through me. Over the past couple days, we’d set up access to a boat and located a spot to moor, but for all our preparation, we had no idea what to expect. We knew only that we would face Xever, Saul, Nazhivēr, and a number of other demons controlled by the two sorcerers.

I could feel Zylas’s impatience as we trudged up the hillside, the humans tripping and stumbling on the uneven path in the darkness. My breath rasped in my chest, legs burning. How much farther? How close were we to cresting the hill?

Just when I thought I couldn’t hike any farther, Zylas paused, his head tilted.

“Wait here,” he told the others, then scooped me against his side and sprang for the nearest tree, an ancient spruce with a broad trunk. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, pressed against his chest as he rushed upward. As we cleared the forest canopy, he braced his feet on a thin branch.

Through a gap in the needle-covered boughs, we looked across the hilltop.

A space the size of a football field had been cleared of trees and the topsoil scraped away, revealing the granite foundation beneath. A large portion of the hard stone had been smoothed, creating a natural floor upon which Xever had laid out his arrays.

Shivering dread crawled through me as I took in the labyrinth of interconnecting rings, lines, and runes.

I recognized the portal array, set dead center on the flat granite. Two smaller circular arrays had been carved out nearby, forming a triangle of Arcana. Parts of the two smaller ones looked disconcertingly familiar.

Within one of the smaller circles, a human figure stood. Xever. I was certain of it.

Another human stood on the other side of the portal, his arms raised as though in supplication. Saul, I was betting. He’d completed the incantation needed for the portal and was waiting for it to open.

But they weren’t alone on the rocky plateau.

Dark shapes, varying in size and appendages, stood in a silent, unmoving line near the arrays.

Demons.

Eleven of them.

A Dīnen from every House except the Twelfth, summoned and enslaved by Xever. How he could control them all, I didn’t know. How he’d coerced them into contracts when he could only promise his soul to a single demon, I couldn’t guess. But I knew that every one of those demons was at least semiautonomous and likely in control of his magic.

How could Zylas make it through eleven demons? With the exception of Tahēsh, who’d already been injured, Zylas had never killed a demon from the first rank of Houses.

And because demons could sense one another’s power, all eleven already knew the Vh’alyir Dīnen was close.

It was impossible. If we went any farther, we would die. There was no way to win.

Zylas’s arm tightened around my middle. “We will find a way, amavrah.”

“What if we don’t?” I whispered.

His crimson eyes turned to me, our faces inches apart. “Vh’renith vē thāit.”

A memory from months ago whispered in my mind.

“Are you afraid you’d lose in a fight?” I’d asked him.

“Vh’renith vē thāit,” he’d growled in answer.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I never lose.”

Among demons, losing meant death. Zylas might not always win, but he never lost. But tonight, we’d either succeed or we’d die. Victory or death.

Regardless of the outcome, I would lose him forever.

Gripping his shoulders, I stretched up and kissed him. His arm crushed me against his chest as his mouth moved with mine with matching intensity. Our final kiss. Our final farewell, because there would be no time for goodbyes after this.

I wanted this moment to last forever, but in mere seconds he was sliding down the trunk, and then his feet were back on the ground, and then his arm was slipping away from me.

A minute later, I stood ten feet from the granite plateau, hidden in the trees. The portal’s glow competed with the brightening sky.

The line of waiting demons was positioned between us and the arrays, a mere thirty yards away. They’d already sensed Zylas. They knew which direction they needed to guard.