Page 122 of The Blood Queen

“Natural or one of her tricks?”

Anson’s military advisor shrugged and said, “Does it matter? We can use the snow.”

The Carmag added, “They said Noa’s at base.”

I glanced at Anson. “Unlikely allies showing up.” I explained about Angel, her wolves, and their promise to protect Noa. About Barend and his request to save Antoine. Lec Rus, barely behaving himself.

“Does this change the goal?”

To carve a pathway to Amal.

I sipped, swallowed. “The goal is the same. Retrieve the hostages. Clear the way for her.”

“Be the bait,” he said.

“Amal has lured us out, Anson. It’s obvious that we’re in open pursuit.”

“What’s her fecking end game?”

“To win.”

A muscle jerked in Anson’s jaw. “How do you see her doing that?”

I stared at the map, set aside the whiskey and traced a finger along an unmarked route. “She’ll thin the ranks until the center stands alone.”

“You,” said the Carmag. “And then the center falls.”

“The center reveals his teeth.”

“It’s you she wants, man. The dread lord, descended from the kings. Defeat you, and everything falls.”

A flash of alpha canines. “I intend to give Amal what she wants.”

“I hope you mean the illusion.”

“With Noa’s help.” What I had in mind was the reverse. My role was to make sure Noa got close enough to Amal to strike a killing blow.

“Alpha.” The guard again. His grip on the tent flap whitened his knuckles. “Someone else to see you.”

He stood aside as a cloaked woman entered. The black hood concealed her features. She’d hidden her hands within voluminous sleeves. Tension whipped through the tent at the first kiss of her energy as she said, “I am Arra Sona.”

She pushed back the veiling hood, revealing her identity—the witch from the Farmer’s Market. No wrinkles marred her face, and her hair had the wine-dark sheen of undetermined youth—or powerful magic. The bone necklace clacked at her throat as she added, “High Sorceress for the Gemini Witch coven.”

“You are welcome here,” I said, only because we needed allies, not enemies, and the Gemini Witches were useful as seers.

“It would not matter,” she said. “Welcome or unwelcome, we fight the same war. And your efforts are needed more than mine tonight.”

“What have you seen?”

“A storm moves closer. You must leave before it arrives, catch the enemy in the open, or the hostages will be lost.”

“We’ve all seen the storm coming.” Elijah forced his shoulders back with a male preening that thinned the smile on Arra Sona’s lips.

“You’d reject the gift you’ve been offered?”

The look she threw at him screamed, fool, bringing to life the witches from long ago, who had thrown similar looks at me while they offered their prophesies.

The High Sorceress glided to the brazier and removed a small packet from her pocket. She tossed the contents on the glowing coals, and I stiffened at the hiss of dried herbs, the whoosh of whitish smoke.

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