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Clare’s heart tripped. “What have you done?”
Zilas ignored her, still focused on Venn. “Clare is dying tonight. There’s nothing you can do to stop that. If you attack me, I’ll kill her here and now, then I’ll kill you and Vera, just like I killed her sister. And of course, poor little Sidrah would have to die as well.”
Clare sucked in a breath. “Sidrah?”
The knife in her side pressed deeper—a warning to keep still. “She’s a pretty thing. Far younger than I usually terrorize. I actually feel a little bad for scaring her.”
Clare’s ears rang. “Where is she? Have you hurt her?”
“No. But I’m prepared to.” His attention shifted back to Venn. “It’s your choice. Either everyone dies, or you let me leave with Clare.”
Vera was shaking on the bed, her fingers digging into Venn’s arm.
Venn’s brown eyes flashed to Clare. Muscles in his arms rippled beneath his uniform, but he didn’t move.
“It’s all right, Venn,” Clare said, a tremble riding her words. She fought to steady her voice. “Stay with Vera.”
His dark eyebrows drew together, his body tensed.
The Rose sighed. “I suppose you might need a little more persuasion. Don’t worry, I came prepared.” With a short whistle, a Mortisian man entered the bedroom. He held a small crossbow loaded with a dart, and he aimed it at Vera’s chest.
Venn ground his teeth. “Don’t do this, Zilas.”
The assassin huffed a short laugh. “First Bennick begs me, and now you do the same. It makes me wonder why men even bother fighting wars. Simply find the thing your opponent loves, and they’ll be on their knees—victory is simple.” Zilas tightened his hold on Clare, still speaking to Venn. “Do me a favor, won’t you? When you see Bennick, tell him how you gave me Clare without a fight, all to save the womanyoulove.”
Clare’s pulse skipped, and hope surged.Bennick was alive.
“He’s going to hate you, Venn,” Zilas continued. “I hadn’t realized how much that meant to me until this moment, but it’s fates-blasted perfect.”
Venn’s nostrils flared, but otherwise he remained still. One eye remained fixed on the crossbow, still leveled at Vera.
Zilas looked to his hired man. “Keep them here for a quarter hour. That’s all the time I’ll need.” He dragged Clare into the sitting room, his knife still held against her side.
As they crossed to the door, Clare caught sight of Bridget. The maid was crumpled behind the settee, easily hidden from the view of the suite’s main door. Bridget wasn’t moving, and Clare could see blood at her temple. She prayed it hadn’t been a killing blow, and that the woman was only unconscious.
“Keep cooperating, and no one else has to die,” Zilas told her. “If an alarm is raised, Venn, Vera, and Sidrah will be killed.”
She gritted her teeth. “What did you do to Bennick?”
“He’s currently battling the effects of a rather potent Rydenic potion that will leave him unconscious for several hours.”
The reassurance that he would be all right loosened some of the tightness in her chest, but her fear remained. Bennick had fallen into the Rose’s trap. He was unconscious, Venn was pinned, and Walters was missing—dead?
Clare had no choice but to face this demon alone.
Panic swirled, but resolve steeled her spine. She would not die without a fight, even if she couldn’t fight yet. She didn’t know where Sidrah was, and she would not risk Venn and Vera’s lives. She had already lost one family—she would not lose the only one she had left. Once Zilas led her far enough away, she would strike.
Zilas pulled her into the empty corridor, forcing her toward the south end of the manor—away from the main staircase. This section of the house was dark, and farther from the ballroom.
“The island of Dorma suites you, Clare,” Zilas said. “You look lovely.”
She didn’t bother summoning a response. The man was only taunting her.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I think it’s suited Bennick as well. He’s been much more relaxed here. It made it all too easy to keep an eye on you. I got fairly close a few different times, but you never saw me. Not at the theater, or the museum—certainly not at your special meeting place by the stream.”
Chills skated over her skin. The thought of this man watching her—watchingthem—made her sick.
They reached the end of the hall and Zilas pulled her into a musty bedroom that clearly hadn’t been used in some time. Zilas moved confidently toward the corner of the room. “Did you know,” he said conversationally, “years ago, Dorma was constantly being raided by pirates? These older manors were built with that in mind.” He kept hold of her, but his other hand—still wrapped around the hilt of the knife—moved as he ran his fingertips along the side of some wooden paneling. “Each wing had an escape route so residents wouldn’t be trapped on the upper floors in the event of an attack. It was quite ingenious.” There was a click, and a thin door jumped open from the paneling, revealing a narrow staircase. Zilas moved his grip to her shoulder. “After you.”
