Parthenia beat against the iron-studded door with a meaty fist as the rain fell hard and fast, clinking against our stolen armor as we stood in the tower’s shadow, tense and ready for the door to open.

When no answer came, Parthenia knocked again. After long moments, a small latch at eye level swung open. A warm, wavering glow filtered through the slit as a pair of blue eyes peered out. Quickly, I lowered my face, as if shielding my eyes from the stinging rain.

“Marcus?” the Dorian asked, spying Parthenia’s newest borrowed face. “That you?”

Parthenia gave an impatient nod, gesturing with a hand for the Imperial to open the door.

The male just stood there, eyes narrowed. “You’re on patrol for another three hours. If the Captain catches you here, he’ll strap you so hard you won’t be able to wear a shirt for a week.”

Peleus nudged her to the side. “Come on, man,” he said, all traces of his Myridian accent gone. “Open up. We have a prisoner. We need to get this lout into a cell so we can get back to our post.”

“Prisoner? The General Prince ordered all prisoners moved to the palace dungeons. He doesn’t want anyone else housed here while the Korai is in the tower.”

“Well, he’ll want to see this one,” Peleus said, glancing to where I stood a few steps away, one end of a rope held in my hands. Dacian stood at the other end in his own clothing, his hands tied before him. “We found this one here skulking along the walls. Probably looking for a way to sneak the rest of his comrades into the city. Thought the General Prince would want to question him.”

I yanked on the rope, pulling Dacian into the small sliver of light spilling from the open latch. Yellow eyes gleaming, Dacian flashed the Imperial a toothy smile, canines far too long to be remotely human.

Despite the heavy door between them, the guard took a quick step back. “Gods . . . is that a—”

“A Myridian,” Peleus supplied. “One of those mongrels who follows that half-breed bastard of a lord.”

Dacian pulled against his bonds. “I am one of the Seven,” his deep voice growled.

The Dorian’s eyes flashed between Peleus and Dacian. “Why would he admit that?”

Peleus threw his hands in the air, raindrops flying. “How am I supposed to know? Above my pay grade, friend. Will you let us put him in a holding cell or not?”

“As I said, you’ll have to take him to the palace dungeons.”

Parthenia grunted, low and impatient, shooting Peleus an irritable look. Peleus glanced at her, then nodded. “You’re right Marcus, the Captain really will have our hides if we do that. It would take our entire shift to get him there. And with no one to take our post…” A click of his tongue. “If this one got into the city, imagine who might be right behind him.”

For a while, the Dorian was quiet. Thunder rolled. Cold rain ran chilly fingers down my spine. Finally, the male sighed. “Fine. I suppose you’ve got a point. The General Prince isn’t here, but there is a lord upstairs who might wish to question your prisoner.”

The latch closed then, the light going with it. Peleus reached for the blade strapped to his hip. Over the beat of the rain and the growling thunder, a heavy lock clanked. I gathered my power, the chill of it filling my veins as the door swung open.

The guard stepped aside to let us enter. The circular room was warm, coals glowing in a brazier in the center of the chamber. Built into the far wall was the mouth of a spiral stone staircase. The rest of the room housed shelves and hooks. Weapons were there, along with fetters and prison records gathering dust.

“Damn,” the Imperial said as a gust of cold wind blew in with the rain. “That storm came on fast.”

I followed Peleus over the threshold, giving Dacian a quick jerk to pull him along. He put up a feigned fight, but finally stumbled through the door.

Parthenia was already by the brazier, warming her hands. She stood with a hip slightly cocked, legs too close together. It was disturbingly feminine in her burly form. The Imperial looked her over with a frown.

I cleared my throat, drawing his attention. “Looks like it’s going to be a nasty day for the Prince’s wedding,” I said, imitating the guard’s Hyperion-born accent.

He nodded. “I certainly don’t envy the duty you’re pulling tonight. You should take a minute. Get warm while you can.”

Peleus nodded his thanks. “From what we’ve heard, your duty hasn’t been an easy one either. They’re saying the Korai’s causing trouble.”

The Imperial whistled. “That’s certainly true.”

Cold anger filled my gut, spilling out until it was difficult to keep my magic contained within my skin. “What kind of trouble are we talking about?”

“Well, she’s quite the fiery little thing. Literally. Set fire to the top floor. Twice. When the General Prince came out of her chamber, his clothing was singed. Slaves had to bring her new furniture because she turned everything in there to charcoal.”

Parthenia laughed. Loud and snorting and far too high-pitched for the sound to belong to anyone named Marcus.

We all stared. The Imperial’s jaw hung open.

The sudden change in the room startled her. Then the realization hit her and a hand rose, too late, to her mouth.

“You’re . . . you’re not Marcus.”

I sighed. “No, friend, she’s not. Though after spending about thirty seconds watching Marcus, I can’t say he was much of a loss to your ranks.”

The Imperial’s Dorian blue eyes were as round as saucers. “Sh . . . sh . . . she?” He backed up until he ran into a shelf, sending a bottle of ink and a few pieces of rusted chain clattering to the stone floor. His eyes went to me and the blood drained from his face. “You . . . I know you . . . you’re—”

Whatever was going to pass his lips next never did. A thought had my power striking, fast as an asp, and far more deadly. He was mostly human, so it was quick, painless. A far better death than what Varian would have afforded him when he learned the guard had let a group of foxes into the hen house.

Parthenia stared down at the body, a cringe on her bearded face. “Sorry.”

I scowled.

Peleus chuckled. “Oh, come on. You know the idea of your girl setting fire to Varian’s ass is hilarious.”

“That depends entirely on what was done to provoke her,” I said through my teeth.

I stared down at the newly dead corpse and considered our options. “We still have a chance to keep this quiet.”

“And if we don’t keep this quiet?” Parthenia asked.

Dacian ripped through the rope around his wrists with one hard yank. “Why do you think we left Tafari, Cadmus, and Nerina out on the streets?”

I shook my head. “They can intercept any guards who might come to the tower during their normal rounds. But if the alarm is raised, they won’t be enough.”

Peleus shot a glance towards the stairs. “What next?”

Just as I’d done in the Second Trial, I laid a hand against the stone and listened. The tower stretched above us seven or eight stories, but my sense of the structure was dulled. Beneath my hand, a chill sucked at my palm.

Iron.

This place was rife with it. But not even that foul metal could hide a presence that lurked near the top floor. The thrum of power churned like the sea—a gift from his father—with enough violence underlying its taste that it was unmistakably Dorian. A grandson of Ares, just as Varian was, and second in line to the Dorian throne by blood, if not by title.

I turned to my friends. “The lord the Imperial mentioned . . . it’s Lux.”

Dacian’s lips pulled back from his teeth. “I’ll rip his throat out with my teeth.”

“No,” I said, voice an order. “Lux is playing his own game. I think he’s still with us.”

“What do you mean, you think?” Peleus demanded. “He disappeared after you were arrested. Ran back to those Dorian bastards as soon as the opportunity presented itself.”

I held his gaze, my eyes hard. “If you had a chance to gain the trust of the people who killed your family and stripped you of everything that was rightfully yours, wouldn’t you jump at it? His vengeance is his own to take and he can take it as he will.”

“He didn’t help you after you were arrested, did he?” Parthenia asked.

I hesitated. “He didn’t abandon me.”

Dacian grunted. “But you have no idea what he is planning.”

“Or who he is playing,” Peleus added.

“He is my brother,” I growled. “The same as both of you. I owe him my trust.”

“Well,” Parthenia said, eyeing the stairwell. “I suppose we’re going to find out if he deserves it.”