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Bastian roared, “Impossible!” just as the portal locked into place.
She was panting by the end, and sweat trickled down her face and back. But it was secure. It had worked. She hadn’t been sure she could master the bangle as a demi-Doma, but her magical blood was too strong.
“What in the gods’ names …” Thea whispered in awe.
“A portal,” Kivrin said reverently. “Created by the daughter of a Doma.”
Kerrigan nodded. He’d known all along. She understood why he’d kept it from her. She understood it all now.
“Go,” she yelled to her friends. “Get through the portal. Quickly!”
With wide, shocked eyes, they all rushed for the portal entrance. Their figures disappeared through the iridescent doorway in ones and twos. It was large enough to get Tieran and Netta through as well. That had been part of the problem. It would have taken less power to create something large enough just for people, but she wouldn’t leave the dragons behind.
Something has changed within you, Tieran noted.
“So much has changed,” she told him. “I will explain more, along with our bond, when we’re safe.”
His golden eyes widened. We can be bonded?
“A new sort of bond,” she promised. “Now, get safe.”
Bastian was nearly upon them when the last of her friends helped her father through the portal. She could see the fury in Bastian’s eyes, even through his stupid mask. He had thought this would be an easy victory. He had come himself after all.
And she was getting away.
“We removed your magic!” he roared.
Fordham linked their fingers together and smirked. “He’s a little behind.”
“Isn’t he?” Kerrigan held her hands up, gesturing obscenely at Bastian’s furious face. “Guess you didn’t do a good enough job.”
Then, she and Fordham stepped through the portal. It sucked against her before she safely walked through into the mountains around the House of Shadows. She could almost still hear Bastian’s rage on the other side.
“Well?” Fordham asked.
She lifted her hand and let the portal collapse. The extra thread of magic was almost too much. She grasped his shoulder for support. Immediately, his arm came around her to hold her up. Her vision blurred and Fordham’s voice was distant
“Kerrigan,” he said earnestly, “did you use too much?”
She blinked a few times and tried to bring her eyes back into focus.
“How did you do that?” Clover asked.
“It’s a long story,” Fordham said.
Black formed in her vision.
“Escaping was a victory. It won’t be enough next time. Now, he knows that my magic is back, but I wanted to face down Bastian and the Red Masks on our terms. We’ll face them, and we’ll win.”
She watched her friends’ expressions shift from shock to approval. They had endured without her in this hellscape. Enduring wasn’t enough. Surviving wasn’t enough. What had happened in this world in her absence would never be good enough.
And now … it was time to fight back.
55
The Betrayal
ISA
Isa eyed the guard who stood at her back as she strode toward Bastian’s private chambers. He had come to find her sometime earlier and insisted on escorting her the entire way.
“You really don’t have to continue. I know the way.”
He nodded his head demurely. “Orders are orders.”
She ground her teeth together and continued purposefully forward. Things had been on high alert since Kivrin’s mysterious disappearance. The guards who had been on duty had been disciplined, but no one could make out how he had gotten out. A Fae male who couldn’t even put weight on his destroyed legs.
The Father had raged about it for days, breaking artifacts and swearing up and down that someone would be held accountable. Eventually, the brunt of it fell on the poor guard she had dosed with a hallucinogenic. She'd barely felt a pang of remorse when he was beheaded in the open as a traitor. As long as it didn’t come back to her, she didn’t care.
And the Father suspected nothing.
The guard moved past her and knocked on the door. “I have Isa, as requested, Your Excellency.”
“Let her in,” the Father said.
Isa brushed past the guard and walked inside her father’s sanctum. The lights were low to match the dying sun on the horizon. She stumbled a step when she saw that he wore the metallic red mask that was the indicator of his rank among the Red Masks. A blood-red cloak flowed out behind him, and he was otherwise in all-black robes. He looked like he was about to walk onto a battlefield.
She dropped to a knee. “Father.”
“My Isa,” he said. She made to rise, but he tsked. “Stay where you are.”
She wanted to bark a protest, but the shift in the air kept her where she was. Her head bowed. Her knee protesting the hard gray stone. Her stomach twisting in worry.
“You look magnificent,” she told him. “To what battle are you charging into next?”
“Not into … but a battle I have just walked out of.”
