Darcy’s blood was all she could see. All she could smell.

“Your control is admirable, Lady Stagston.” said the inquisitor, and Beatrice looked up at last to find that his sword gleamed as spotless and pearlescent as though he’d never used it. “But I have felt your truth, and I will not leave this house until I have seen the proof of it. I will not leave this house without you.”

Sheathing his weapon, the inquisitor called something out which Beatrice, in her deepening shock, could not decipher. The door opened as one of his attendant knights, a Lion mage, entered to cauterize Darcy’s wound. All the while the Hyena mage made hardly a sound, her expression betraying only the barest hint of pain. Indeed, she was bafflingly serene.

Piling in shortly thereafter came Jemison, Charles and Arron—their intermingled scents perfuming the air with overwhelming intensity as their emotions ran high.

The Tiger shifter was all wild, barely contained fury, while Charles had walls built up so thick his face may as well have been carved from stone. But it was Arron’s expression which struck Beatrice deepest. There was a rage in his eye that she had never seen there before, a hatred that burned white-hot as he stared at the inquisitor.

Beatrice’s attention was drawn from him only by the clanking of D’artanien’s armor as he rushed to join them. At the sight of her guardian she released a quite involuntary whimper, rushing to cower at his ankles, her entire body trembling. Outside the greenhouse, the rain and winds picked up and the first soft growl of thunder could be heard. Beatrice missed and longed for her family so keenly then that it took her like a bolt to her already battered heart.

I didn’t think he’d do it. I didn’t think he’d do it.

But she’d been wrong, and now Darcy had lost a part of herself forever.

I didn’t think he’d do it.

“Darcy, you may go. Tend to the wound and rest,” ordered the inquisitor. And Darcy obeyed, briefly meeting her gaze as she removed herself with Jemison at her side, one hand placed at her back in support. The expression of pure gratitude, of adoration which Beatrice then glimpsed upon her wife’s countenance left her reeling well after she’d looked away. Off to Beatrice’s right, Arron stood firm.

“You may return to your post, Boleyn,” said the Lord High Inquisitor, dismissing his Lion mage. Then, ignoring Arron entirely, he fixed his disconcertingly warm gaze on Charles.

“If you would be so kind as to summon Lord Gray, I would be most obliged to you.”

Both Charles and Arron froze on the spot. The former as if turned to stone, the latter as of a predator ready to spring…all tensed muscles and wild eyes.

Lord High Inquisitor Metzger smiled benignly.

“I…” Charles’ jaw clenched. For a heartbeat, Beatrice was sure he would refuse. And then he seemed to swallow something back.

“Very well,” he resolved at last, flashing a glance sideways to Arron. “A moment.” Then he turned and left them. But Arron’s feet planted on the spot, and his eye turned to the inquisitor.

“I assure you, Wolf. No harm shall come to your little witch in this house.”

Arron didn’t budge or look away or answer. Merely set his jaw more firmly and stood his ground. The inquisitor shrugged.

“As you will.” Then he turned his horrible lie of a smile upon Beatrice, who with no small effort forced herself back into human form.

“A handsome man, isn’t he, your Lord Gray? And a deeply talented mage, as well. Though much reduced these days.”

Examining his face as he spoke, Beatrice caught the barest hint of a smirk behind the smile. Her blood boiled.

“Are you fond of him, I wonder?”

As Beatrice’s entire body tensed, the inquisitor chuckled.

“We were quite fond of him too, in the League. He never made it to full knighthood, of course. And though we were forced to cast him away, he is still very much ours…and forever shall be.”

Beatrice gasped as the implication of his words settled in, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. Then her fingers twisted together, clasping almost as if in prayer, and she fell to her knees before him.

“Please, don’t hurt him. Don’t take any more of him. Please.”

“Summon a portal,” said the inquisitor. “And I shall have no need to.”

“I cannot—”

“Spare me your lies, little witch, and spare Lord Gray his hands. Show me the truth.”

At that she looked up into his bright, kindly eyes and through to the man behind them, and a hatred burst forth from her heart so great she felt her ribs might crack from its force. She stood, hands curling into fists at her sides.

“Very well, my lord,” she said, though the words came out just above a whisper. Gathering all the power of her hatred, she brought up her hand, and—just as she’d seen Demitri do in Gray’s shared memories—she released it in a sudden and directed burst. Arron exhaled in horror—dashing forward as if he could stop her. But it was too late. Colors exploded, coalesced and whirled in the air directly behind the Lord High Inquisitor, resolving into the form of a large mirror just as he turned on his heel to face it.

For a heartbeat, Beatrice observed the inquisitor’s astonished reflection as he tried to make sense of what he saw. And then she leapt forth and, with absolutely all of her might, shoved at his back. She’d caught him off guard and upset his balance, the mirror’s surface rippling where his head briefly touched it. But then he righted himself, shouting for his Lion mage as he turned to face her. Bands of metal whipped from his sleeves, clamping about her wrists and neck once more and dragging her back. In the next instant, Arron was upon him, his fist smashing into the inquisitor’s brow with such force it sent him reeling, tumbling backward. The Jaguar fell through the mirror and disappeared beyond just as the other knight entered, sword drawn and glowing red with flame. Beatrice’s metal collar and shackles fell limp, freeing her to move.

As Arron rounded to face the Lion and D’artanien brandished the sword of bone, the mirror portal flickered. Its reflection drained of color, and Beatrice’s face drained of blood. Before she could finish screaming her guardian’s name, a mass of dripping darkness forced itself through the portal. It roared, and her hands flew up against the blinding flash just in time—barely able to make the beast out through squinted eyes and parted fingers as it surged through the air. Arron leapt backward, narrowly avoiding the dazzling razors of its teeth as it hurtled past him and straight for the Lion.

The knight bellowed, bringing his blade up to meet the creature’s parted jaws, eyes squeezed shut, face contorted with pain. But the flames went out on contact, and the monster’s mouth closed over sword and screaming man alike, nearly severing the mage in half as the thing writhed and fed. There was a clanking of metal and a sudden flare of golden light that warmed the entire room for half a heartbeat. And just as suddenly, the glow was gone—swallowed up inside the diamondrake’s darkness as its body warped and bubbled.

Then the sword of bone, radiant with shadow, crashed down upon it. The monster shrieked, a sound that sawed at Beatrice’s veins like rusted blades. What was left of the Lion knight’s body dropped to the floor as the diamondrake was swallowed in upon itself and vanished into the blade.

Beatrice, Arron and D’artanien looked to one another, all breathing hard. Even D’artanien’s empty chest rose and fell. And then the Suit took his borrowed weapon to the portal, and Beatrice covered her ears as—in a great arc—he swung the sword through it.

The mirror unleashed a clashing abomination of a noise as it shattered out of existence. In the next heartbeat, the door banged open yet again. At its other side was Charles, frozen as he looked upon the aftermath of their struggle. His mouth worked silently for a moment before his words would come.

“Wh-what have you done?”

Beatrice struggled to answer, for it was only just beginning to sink in for her as well.

“I…I could not let him hurt Lord Gray,” was all she could manage. But when Charles’ brows slammed together and he took a step into the room, eyes fixed on her, Arron moved to block his path.

“He…threatened Gray,” said Arron. And though his words came slowly at first, the sound of his voice was a balm to the open wound of Beatrice’s spirit. “So she summoned a portal. We pushed him through, and one of those…things came out, attacked the Lion. The Suit destroyed it.”

“You…just pushed him through…” Charles’ voice trailed off in shocked disbelief. There was the sound of footsteps out in the hall, and then Jemison appeared, crowding in behind the still-shocked Silver and putting a hand to his shoulder.

“Charles, have you seen Gray? I—oh. Oh spirits.” The Tiger’s eyes had drifted past the other man and out over the balcony, going wide as they fixed on the corpse. “That’s…not good…”

“No,” agreed Charles. “Indeed it is not. And as for Gray…I cannot find him anywhere, nor can Darcy’s spirits. He is gone.”