Rory paled.
“Why are you bothering to hide your thoughts? You’re practically screaming,” said Zeppler. “Gwen can’t be right. There is no way you can get control of your ring even if we take you out of those cuffs.” He held up the box. “Because the ring itself is sealed tight in lead.”
Rory stared very hard at the steps. Arthur could almost see him fighting—and failing—not to think.
Zeppler paused again. “Look at me,” he suddenly said, much more harshly.
One of the henchmen jammed his gun under Rory’s chin and forced it up. Rory glared at Zeppler with deep hatred.
Zeppler stared at him. “You genuinely believe you can do that with the wind?”
“After what you and your lackeys have done to Ace?” Rory said darkly. “Try me.”
Zeppler’s expression had the first shades of uncertainty Arthur had seen all night. His eyes tracked down to the tiny ring box in his gloved hand.
Then he sharply jerked his head up. “Change in plans,” he said bitingly. “We siphon the wind magic out of the Tempest Ring immediately. Giovacchini can’t hurt anyone but himself with psychometry, and I can take what I want from his mind. Let him keep that magic. Without the power of the relic to augment him, we’ll bind him with blood magic and have him scry relics day and night.” He pointed at Arthur. “And I’ll keep his lover on as a guard, in case we ever do need leverage.”
Arthur’s heart plummeted as Rory’s face fell, such despair in his expression that Arthur wanted to scream.
“Gwen told you that you were outmatched. That I’m unstoppable. You should have listened.” Zeppler had new greed in his eyes as he reached for the top of the box with his ungloved hand, his finger still wet with blood. “I do love relics,” he said, and popped the ring box open.
There was a flash of gold in the headlights.
Rory swallowed and looked away, his shoulders drooping, his expression defeated.
Zeppler’s lips curled in a nasty smile. “You feel no connection to your relic through your lead cuffs, do you?” He picked up the ring and slid it on his finger, dropping the box to the ground as he held his hand up in triumph. “The Tempest Ring’s magic will be mine.”
The ring caught the light—a solid band on Zeppler’s finger, no jewels, only smooth gold.
That doesn’t look right, Arthur thought, before he could stop himself—
But Zeppler’s face had frozen in an expression of horror.
“Baron?” Becker said with alarm, quickly getting to his feet. “Baron, what’s going on?”
Zeppler didn’t answer. He didn’t move.
“Zeppler,” said Becker, reaching for him.
At the touch, Zeppler toppled over like a statue. He lay unmoving, in an unnatural rigor, eyes open and staring blankly up at the stars.
Becker took a sharp breath, falling to his knees at Zeppler’s side. “Zeppler?” He spoke in rapid German, his hands on Zeppler’s shoulders.
Zeppler never twitched.
Becker whipped his head toward Arthur, furious. “What did he do to the baron?” He looked at Rory. “What have you done?”
“Nothing!” Rory said.
“Liar.” Becker’s expression twisted with fury. He got to his feet, and pointed at Arthur. “Get me the truth. Beat it out of him.”
No,Arthur’s brain screamed, as his body snapped to attention. Fear crossed Rory’s face. He was still in handcuffs, two guards still on him, holding him in place.
No. No, no, no—
Becker’s lip curled. “Break his bones. Make him bleed—”
He suddenly stopped, mid order, his eyes going wide with shock as an expression of joy crossed Rory’s face. Their eyes were locked on the same empty patch of air.
