“The head belongs to an oracle.” Aelindor’s voice went flat. “Xander and his sorcerers used dark magic to preserve it. Keep it alive after they murdered her. The oracle is now trapped in a glass case for eternity, leaving Xander the sole audience for her visions.”
I shuddered. That was a terrible fate. I hoped I’d never meet this evil Collector.
The train burst from a tunnel. The sky darkened. Thick clouds churned overhead, pressing down. And there, across the vast plain running parallel to the tracks, was the DarkVeil.
An unbroken curtain of shadows stretched from ground to sky. Living darkness. It ran to the horizon in both directions. Within it, deep chasms dropped into eternity.
Even from this distance, I felt a sudden pull.
Fuck no.That wasn’t home.
A second later, I understood that the longing came from the creature in me. It felt something in that void. Recognition. Kinship.
Icy water crashed through me. I shouldn’t have come. The Sorting had missed the creature in me, but the DarkVeil wasn’t a test. It was judgment. If whatever ancient evil lurking within the Veil sensed what lived inside me, and if those demons recognized one of their own?—
My palms went slick. My throat closed. I gripped the seat’s edge to keep my hands from shaking, forced my breathing steady, my face blank. Showing my turmoil and fear in front of the heirs would be my downfall.
Beneath the mask, every scenario I ran ended badly.
Shit.
Then, suddenly, a swarm of demonic things poured across the plain and surged toward the train. A blink, and they were already here. Slamming into the carriages. Clawing and tearing at the armored walls. Before I could shoot to my feet, a pair of red eyes locked onto mine through the cracking window.
Not Nikolai’s crimson. His were predatory but magnetic. These were hollow. Vile.
“Demons!” I screamed.
“We’re under attack!” Drakken roared.
33
MAX
“The wards aren’t holding,” Caspian shouted. “Those fuckers are getting through.”
The train rocked. Another impact slammed the carriage sideways. Metal groaned. Stormglass lanterns swung wildly overhead. The engine hadn’t been breached—the train kept speed—but the demons had latched onto the hull, clawing at the armor. Cracks spidered across the windows. At this rate, they’d breach in minutes. Or the train would jump the tracks and roll.
Advisors gripped the table’s edge. Pale faces. Tight jaws.
My heart rammed my ribs. I gestured urgently at Frost for a weapon. The Fae aide had already pulled me behind him.
“Away from the windows, cadet.” He drew a dagger from his hip sheath and offered it hilt-first. He watched me grip the blade with a wary expression, as if unsure whether I’d use it on the enemy or my own foot.
“Rooftop,” Aelindor said to both heirs.
Caspian’s answering howl punched the windows and vibrated through the steel floor. He shrugged off his fatigues. Tactical gear underneath: breakaway seams, minimal fastenings, built for mid-combat shifting. Fur was already rippling across his shoulders.
“Everyone else stays in the cabin.” Drakken was already moving. “Aelindor, Caspian, and I go topside. Spartans in the other carriages are moving.”
Every officer volunteered to join them.
“The roof can’t hold a platoon. And most of you aren’t trained for high-caste demons.” His voice killed the argument before it formed. “I won’t burn lives for nothing.” His gaze flicked to me involuntarily before darting away.
“There are thirteen of them!” I shouted.
Every head turned. I didn’t care what this would cost me. Thirteen dark signatures burned in the magical matrix of my mind. Each one a dark dot pulling at the surrounding light.
“Stay down here, cadet,” Drakken ordered. Then he was through the roof hatch.
