Page 178 of Turncloak

There was no way to win this argument—because Saffron was right. It was a reckless gamble with her life and freedom.

But there was also something else.

A careful hesitance, as though Saffron was…stalling. Waiting to see how the cards of the evening fell before calling a winner. Auria couldn’t blame her. In both the dock raid and the Havenwood, the Bloodmoons had appeared cornered then wriggled free.

“Either way, you’re going to be arrested,” Auria said softly. “It’s just a matter of whether you plead your own undercover case or not.”

Saffron’s face hardened. “Surely you aren’t going to arrest me.”

“I am,” Auria said, trying to convince herself of it. “It is lawful.”

The great conundrum of Auria’s life distilled into a single moment.

What do you do when lawful and right are not the same?

“Auria.” Horror peeled Saffron’s eyes wide as her hand clenched tighter around her wand.

“I can’t let you go back out there and fight against the silvers,” Auria whispered. “You know that.”

A ragged roar tore apart the night outside—louder than was really feasible, given the thickness of the creamstone walls. A shredding male scream of anguish. The sound seemed to pierce Saffron like a sword.

“With all due respect,” she said to Auria, “I don’t think you can stop me.”

She strode toward the exit, fear on her face, determination in her stride.

“Sen effigias,” Auria incanted, firing the statue curse at Saffron, but the turncloak feinted effortlessly, sending back one of her own before raising a spellshield around her body.

Auria dodged the statue curse with a lurch to the side, but it was close—too close. She’d never been skilled in dueling, her body slow and uncoordinated. She was a good shot, through many hundreds of hours of target practice, but the rest of her combat technique left a lot to be desired.

Trying to tackle Saffron to the ground would be a fool’s errand. Killoran had several inches of height and several stones of weight on Auria, plus a natural fighting ability and an arsenal full of mattermantic spellshields.

“Et vocos, Tenébo Jebat,” Auria muttered desperately into her wand tip, Saffron halfway to the exit.

“Here,” came Jebat’s panting voice.

“Requesting backup to the Saints hall.”

Jebat grunted. “We’re taking heavy fire out here. Be prepared to fight on your own.”

Auria rarely cursed, but every fiber in her body flinched.

Where was Sebran? He’d offered support. If he was already in the fray, he could use his physicality against Saff.

There wasn’t time.

Saffron was running, almost at the kiosk, and for a moment, Auria considered letting her flee into the night, to Mersina, to Nomaden, where the gnarled fingers of corrupt lawmakers could not drag her back to the gallows.

But from the look on Killoran’s face, it seemed she had no intention of fleeing. She was going to him. The kingpin, who had just roared as though his life was ending.

Auria couldn’t let Saffron spoil this arrest. Not when she’d already cost them the Havenwood mission. Once Saffron was in custody, once the reality of a harsh sentence was staring her in the face, then Auria could play to her strengths, convince Killoran to finally prove she’d been undercover.

“Saints, forgive me.” Auria aimed her wand at the statue of Aevari, the patron of Timeweaving. “Sen iruinan.” The statue shattered into a hundred jagged pieces. “Sen ascevolo.”

A hundred hunks of smashed stone hurtled through the air toward Saffron.

The mattermantic shield could only repel magic, not mortal materials.

Most of the rocks missed, but one particularly large piece slammed into Saffron’s temple. She hit the ground, not unconscious but severely dazed.