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Lucius nodded, agreeing with her, but he did look to Demos, who was eyeing the long drive past the gate, where it ended at the imposing white doors inside. “Demos?”
“In this weather, it’s to be expected no one would be about, and that the gates would be left open in case someone needs sanctuary.”
“Fadon, open them,” Mari commanded, and Fadon pushed the gate all the way open until it slammed with a vibrating bang.
“Weapons at the ready,” Lucius called out as he waited for Fadon to return to his cervos. “Let’s go.”
And so they went forward, a line two-person wide, the clopping of tender-footed cervos the only sound around. Lucius looked behind him, looking for Sierra. He couldn’t see her, not with Demos and Fadon in the way, not with the many men behind them. So he turned his eyes forward as they neared the doors.
The front party dismounted, and as agreed prior, a few Ongahri from the middle led their unmounted cervos away to watch over them while Lucius and the first batch of Ongahri went inside.
That was the plan, anyway, to go inside. But when Lady Lordes yelled in a loud, clear voice, Lucius knew something had gone horribly wrong and that it was just the beginning.
“Sierra! She’s in danger,” the House Seer had said, causing all time to stop. Lucius, standing frozen, blinked.
Sierra? But she was…
He watched Fadon whip his head around, facing them, confusion plain on his face. Now, with a fervor that spoke of his True Alpha dynamic, Fadon wrapped his hands around the handles of those monstrous doors. In less than a fraction of a second he was thrown back at the same time a horrible snapping sounded. That was when Lucius felt like his guts were being burned, wrenching him and those beside him to their knees.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Demos
He heard the sound and knew, right then, that something had been unleashed. He was still on his mount, and quickly, he reined his cervos to the side, pulling the reins so that he could make out what was happening at a safe distance. Something had set off the Ongahri, bringing them to their knees in pain. Whatever it was, he felt it in his chest, his marks burning his skin like acid.
“Retreat!” he called out. Lucius, Mari, Ander… all of the front line were down on the frosted ground, wincing in pain. He looked around, trying to find Sierra, Phobius. He couldn’t find them.
Something tickled in the back of his mind, and he knew then that Sierra and Phobius had never ridden with them to the doors, that the two of them had colluded, tossing mirrors around for all of them to see one thing yet do another. Panic soared into his bloodstream, and in moments he was backing up, facing forward to make sure no one saw him. He shifted into his owl, faster than a blink. He flew high above the party below, noticing more Ongahri hunching forward, the cervos breaking into mayhem.
The gardens, he thought. Phobius knew the Basilica just as well as Demos did, and the western gardens, atop a flat area of ground, built on a hill that sloped down, leading to the water, the Iris Sea. That garden had an access door that would lead to a back hall inside the Basilica.
He had spelled his clothing just that morning, his boots, stockings, everything but the winter cloak, which he wouldn’t need once he was inside. As soon as he spotted the iron door, tucked away behind some elderberry bushes, he touched ground, shifted, and went inside.
His boots thudded on the hard stone of the hall until he made himself slow onto silent feet. Ahead, the hall was empty, the air unstirred and faintly smelling of the incense that burned in the inner court.
Demos frowned now as he thought of how he was to access the dungeon from here. For that was surely where his brother and Sierra had gone.
“By the Wind, Phobius,” he cursed. Such a fool’s errand, such a stupid risk!
So many scenarios flitted through his mind, that maybe Boriel wasn’t being held here, that his father wasn’t truly alive, that all of this had been some kind of collective vision, a ruse. And then of course, the most terrifying scenario, all the above had happened and Sierra was in danger.
He knew Phobius could take care of himself. No doubts there. But Sierra, with her good-natured heart, her benevolent intentions, was too easy to catch, to hurt, to trap. Boriel was strong enough to hold on, but Sierra, as strong as she was, was like an infant when it came down to it. Their father had been the most powerful Seraph in Titus’ long history. Crushing her would be like an ant smudged into his father’s fingers.
He picked up his pace, turning this corner and that, until he came upon a staircase that was tucked away inside a darkened alcove. Cold reached through his bones as he descended, the steps hard to make out in the waning light. When he finally reached the end, there was nothing there but a stone wall. The space was barely enough room to turn around. He felt around that stone, searching for some kind of recess, a notch, anything. There was nothing.
Frustrated, he ran back up the stairs and back into the hall. He had no choice—he’d have to go through the Basilica proper. He glanced down at his clothing. He’d need a—
“Here.”
A flash of white fabric flew towards his face just in time for him to catch it. Standing now before him was a familiar face. Auria.
Thank the Mother.
“We haven’t much time,” she said, her sharp features taut with seriousness. Beside her stood a beautiful woman with black, shiny hair, swept up and decorated with tiny, jeweled flags.
Spring and Summer. Which meant his father was definitely here. Who else was here?
He wasted no time asking questions, though. Instead, he donned the pristine white robes of the Order, quickly spelling them.
