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Lio’s pale skin gleamed with escaping light magic, his hair and robes black with the deep darkness of Lyros’s ward. When Pakhne levitated from her chair, Cassia’s stomach dropped. Pakhne’s head fell back, her arms floating at her sides as if on currents of unseen magic.
Cassia felt the magic around her shift. Like a grave cloth dragged away from her mouth. Necromancy. Goddess help them. If the necromancer had dropped his concealment spells to focus on Lio…
Shouts sounded outside the tent. Cassia called over them, “Mak, we need more veils!”
It was too late. A dozen Hadrian soldiers burst inside, their lord himself in the lead, just as Mak’s spells closed around the tent.
Lord Hadrian’s gaze swept the scene before him, and Cassia knew how it must look to him. Lio and Lyros, casting magic at Pakhne. Mak looming over Perita in a ring of blood. Solia and Kella standing amid fallen Hadrian swords and embers still flickering with fire magic.
If Lord Hadrian called in the Aithourians, this night would end in even more death. Cassia sprang to her feet, ready to throw herself between the two forces, if that was what it took.
Even before her own instincts stopped her, Mak caught hold of her. “Don’t you set foot outside this ward. The Collector is right there!”
He was right. Cassia shouted from where she was, “Lord Hadrian, we’re here to defend you!”
“Cassia?” Astonishment flashed across his weathered face. But he didn’t lower his sword. At the sight of Mak holding her, his expression hardened.
He made rapid hand signs to his men. One darted for the exit. To get reinforcements?
“Hear me out!” Cassia cried to Lord Hadrian.
But his soldier staggered back from the tent flap, rubbing his head.
“No one leaves the tent until we settle this,” Mak said. “The wards come down when the swords do.”
“We’re trapped,” one of the soldiers whispered.
“Stand your ground,” Lord Hadrian ordered.
He gestured again, and four soldiers headed for Lio and Lyros, four more for Mak and Cassia. He led the rest at Solia and Kella.
“Stop!” Cassia cried. “We’re your allies!”
“Cassia,” her sister said in that tone of command, “let me be the one to prove it.”
“The warriors are women!” one of Lord Hadrian’s soldiers said in astonishment.
A line of fire raced across the ground, blocking the soldiers’ path. Solia strode through it and faced Lord Hadrian and his men alone.
“She killed your comrades,” Lord Hadrian said. “Don’t hesitate.”
They descended on her all at once, and Cassia swallowed a scream. Mak tightened his hold on her, this time in reassurance.
“She’s a Victor of Souls,” he reminded her.
Solia whirled through the soldiers, her scarf rippling around her like a dancing partner. Her gladius slashed, as if an extension of her own body. Her fist met flesh.
No blood spattered. There came no smell of burning skin. But swords clattered to the ground, and men let out grunts of surprise and pain. They fell at her feet, disarmed and groaning.
Kella called something to Solia, and Cassia’s sister let out a peal of laughter.
The sheer joy in her stopped Cassia’s breath in her chest. Solia had never looked so exhilarated.
At last, only Lord Hadrian was still standing. Solia adjusted her grip on her sword and faced the greatest warrior in Tenebra.
“They should not have underestimated me,” she said. “Neither should you.”
“Who are you?” he demanded.
