I blinked the last of the gate’s static from my eyes and took in the full effect of the Draconi fortress, an impenetrable stronghold rising from the center of the island like a lonely sentinel surrounded by lesser minions.
I shouldn’t be impressed… but gods, this place was magnificent.
Towering walls ringed the entire structure, wards crawling across their surface in glittering lines, the magic stark against dark, square-cut stone. Monumental towers punctuated the corners, narrow slits glowing faintly. An imposing keep thrust up from the center, all sharp angles and no ornament—a place built for defense, not beauty.
In the open courtyard, Draconi soldiers moved in precise lines, training even at this late hour. The crack of blades meeting, the thud of heavy bodies colliding, and barked commands echoed against those high walls in a harsh, brutalstaccato rhythm.
Everywhere I looked, there was rigid order.
Lethal efficiency.
This place had forged Nico into what he was. A world where the only things that mattered were authority and obedience. It struck me that our chaotic little revolution was in direct opposition to this unflinching control.
To the long-held Dynasty tenants of honor and duty.
Values Severin held in high esteem. Values he might betray us over.
I crouched down, staring across the courtyard to where Giovanni stood with Severin Draconi, heads bent, voices too low to carry.
Moonlight gleaming off his bald head, Severin was dressed in the plain, dark uniform of his military Brotherhood rather than a noble’s finery. He had a quiet, noble strength that was dangerous in its own right—I’d sensed his latent power at the Blood Compact—but my uncle represented a different sort of danger, the kind that would plunge a dagger into his back without hesitation.
I crept as far forward as I could, only catching a word here and there whenever the wind changed in my favor, but not enough to tell me if Severin was betraying us.
“It’s a simple fucking favor, and you can’t grant me that?” My uncle threw his hands up, his curse—unbecoming for a man of the cloth—still ringing off the high walls.
What favor?I leaned forward, a twig snapped beneath my knee, and Giovanni’s gaze focused on my hiding spot. Miraculously, a patrol of soldiers jogged past, sweat highlighting every muscle, and before I could second-guess myself, I dove through the gate back to Venice.
Then I climbed back onto that roof and waited.
What favor?
If Severin had turned on us, then I knew how this would end.
All the monsters were going to die, but before they did, I would drag them screaming into the light so everyone could witness their sins.
3
DANTE DOMINICO
Four Weeks Ago
When I rose to consciousness, heat hit me in the face, followed by consuming pain.
This wasn’t the gentle warmth of an Italian summer, but the hungry kind that sucked every drop of moisture out of my skin, leaving it cracked and bleeding.
Then there was the stench. A reek that coated the inside of my mouth and crept down my throat, a bitterness tasting of something far worse than death. Sun-baked stone. Blood spilled for sport. Suffering and fear and piss. The metallic tang of rusted iron, and beneath it all, the acrid smoke of torches kept burning too long in air that never saw the sun.
The Fossa.
I braced myself against the pain, then opened my eyes, already knowing what I’d see.
A familiar rough-hewn ceiling hung low, iron bars formed the front of the cell, and containment sigils were etched liberally into the metal, humming with power. Chains hung from the walls, bolted into the stone, and the shackles on the other ends… I lifted my hand.
Banded around my wrists and ankles.
Cold iron, leaching any residual power from me like water down a drain.
Above the horror, my fingers smelled like my wife. A faint stain of her blood was still beneath my nails, and I closed my eyes, letting that scent ground me to reality. Citrus and lavender.
