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Idonea pressed her hand to the door again. The metal hummed like a living thing beneath her touch.
Her muscles shook with exhaustion, but a tired smile tugged at her mouth.
She would go further tomorrow. She had to.
Idonea guided Lance to the bedroom. He curled beside her the moment she collapsed onto the mattress.
She stared at the sigil on the door until sleep dragged her under.
Chapter 29
Idonea found herself alone for the day, not even Kitsa graced her door. Which was a blessing for there was a lot of blood near the door.
Her arms and ribs ached from cleaning and fighting, while her head pounded from thoughts of the Grand Templar. At curfew, the Templars made sure to lock her in again. Not that she’d left.
She exhaled and crossed to the window. The frame creaked as she leaned into it, tracing a thread of Current along her palm. Since breaking through the Lodamante’s chokehold, the Current obeyed her eagerly, humming at her command. She pushed a needle of Current outward.
The latch on the door snapped open. She slid out silently, cutting across the night towards the stables. She would wait there. The Grand Templar had promised to draw the daemon out, and she needed to see how.
And why Lysander still hadn’t returned.
The thought sat heavy, an iron stone in her stomach.
She pressed her back against the stable’s shadowed doorframe.
Boots on snow, disciplined, unhurried. Her breath hitched. The Grand Templar strode at the head of a company of armed Templars, his cloak brushing along the frost.
And bound between two of them, shrouded in a pale robe, was Kitsa. Idonea’s stomach heaved — they had dressed her like an offering. Her nails bit into the splintered wood.
Daemons don't want innocence. They want anchors.
Kitsa writhed against the Templars’ hold, her shrill voice carrying into the night. “Let me go!”
The men dragged her like she weighed nothing, the snow sprayed under her kicking feet.
“Brother Alcaeus,” she sobbed, turning her head desperately.
Alcaeus walked near the rear guard, his face pale, his jaw locked tight. Idonea’s heart clenched. He didn’t speak, but she saw the storm in his eyes. He hated this as much as she did, yet he did nothing.
Idonea remained in the shadows, her body rigid. Every part of her screamed to rush out, to shield Kitsa, to spit defiance into the Grand Templar’s face. But another part held her still. This was her chance to watch him. To see the truth beneath the Grand Templar’s mask when no audience but his loyalists surrounded him.
Did Alcaeus know what was about to happen? Did he suspect the Grand Templar’s true intent?
When the procession moved down the trail, Idonea crept after them, keeping low, boots sinking silently into the thin crust of snow.
Kitsa’s screams grew faint as they approached the river. A Templar hefted her over his shoulder like a sack of flour, her legs kicking, her sobs slicing through the cold.
Idonea’s teeth ground together.
They crossed the icy water with quick efficiency, Kitsa’s thrashing barely slowing them.
They stopped at a clearing among the trees. Torches guttered as the Grand Templar ordered them extinguished. One of the Templars lashed Kitsa to a tree. Rope bit into her arms, and her voice broke into ragged sobs.
Idonea’s stomach twisted. How could Alcaeus stand by? How could he not tear her free? Yet still he said nothing, bound by their chain of command.
The Grand Templar stepped into the centre, the circle of Templars closing around him. Idonea crouched low, edging closer. The cold air was sharp in her lungs. She reached out with her senses, brushing against the Current; it recoiled instantly. Something vast moved beyond the veil, a disturbance that rattled the marrow of her bones.
Her hair prickled against her scalp. The forest light dimmed unnaturally. The silence was unbearable.
