Bowen Johnstone-Jameson did not show himself, but Rohan recognized the man’s handiwork well enough, and he knew instinctively that there would be no record of this midnight rescue, no record that Rohan or Nora had been there at all. There would be no leaks. The story that did make its way to the press would be carefully controlled.
A natural disaster. A tragedy. Please respect the privacy of the victims.
And that list of victims would doubtlessly be highly curated.
Rohan’s only real question, once he’d managed to slip away, was who was pulling Bowen Johnstone-Jameson’s string—and how.
Like a homing pigeon, Rohan returned to the Devil’s Mercy. No one intercepted him or tried to block his access, and when he arrived in the underground palace that had once been his home, it was readily apparent the Mercy was empty, except for a lone figure awaiting him in the atrium.
“Proprietor,” Rohan greeted. “Or do you still prefer Duchess?”
“My duke passed away yesterday morning,” Zella said. “I should have been by his side, but I was not.”
“I take it you’ve been busy,” Rohan said.
“I take it you’re here for a reason?” That she issued her retort as a question told Rohan she absolutely already knew the answer.
“You left me to die.” Rohan arched a brow. “If I was capable of being offended, I might be offended about that.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you made it out.” Zella delicately cocked her own brow. “I expected nothing less.”
If she wanted to waltz, Rohan would waltz. “You knew what Nora was up to, didn’t you? You knew she was following us, and you knew why.”
Zella was the one who’d sent the Hawthornes to Rohan, the one who’d brought Rohan and two of those Hawthornes into the maze, the one who’d set off heading in a different direction with Grayson and Xander at the same time.All the more misdirection.
And because of all of that misdirection, Nora had slipped in unnoticed.
“You never betrayed Alice Hawthorne, did you?” Rohan could just almost see how the pieces fit together. “Whatever deal you struck with the true believer, you never intended to uphold it.”
“I would have,” Zella said, “if the woman I struck that deal with had survived.”
“You knew she wouldn’t.” Rohan was certain of that. Zella had won herself the Devil’s Mercyandbeen complicit in the destruction of the Gilded Blade, thereby freeing herself from a leash of any sort. “How soon, I wonder, did Bowen Johnstone-Jameson descend on the disaster site? How terribly convenient that he had every reason to be there, giventhat his nephew owned the place. Care to share what kind of chit you or Alice held that allowed you to call in a favor of this magnitude?”
“Does it matter?”
Rohan studied her for a moment. “I suppose not.”
“She’s gone now.” Zella’s head bowed slightly. “Alice.” That was real grief in her tone.
The old woman meant something to her. Nearly as much as her duke.“My condolences,” Rohan said. “If indeed Alice Hawthorne reallyisgone this time.”
Zella seemed to come to a decision then. She turned with characteristic grace and called back over her shoulder, “Follow me.”
In the inner sanctum, Zella handed Rohan a USB drive, then nodded toward a laptop. “Go right ahead.”
Rohan wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when he came here—a job offer, perhaps, or exile, but not this. Willing to see where it went, he plugged the drive into the laptop.
It contained a single file. A very large video file. He pulled it up. Footage.
On the screen, there was an empty room, circular, made of stone, and lit only by a ring of torches. There was one arched entry, and in the middle of the room, there was a raised dais. On the dais sat three golden chalices.
Having read the letters between the first Proprietor and his Ascendant, Rohan knew exactly what he was looking at.The final trial.
“Go to twenty-four, fifteen, fifty-three,” Zella said.
Rohan did exactly that, and when he pressed Play again, the stone room was no longer empty. Three girls in dirty, tattered ballgowns stood in front of the dais. Rohan’s gaze went first to the one he did not recognize.
“Nora’s sister, I presume?” Rohan said. “Freya.” The name was no sooner out of his mouth than there was a flash of metal on the screen.A knife.And just like that, pale-haired Freya had one arm locked around her target’s neck, her other hand holding a knife to the girl’s throat.
