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“As do we.” That was Rafe’s father, matching the vampire move for move.

Elroth looked from one to the other. “Then I ask you, does anyone know the identity of the Magician?”

CHAPTER 33

Izetta hadn’t taken her eyes off Galeeta of House Fernblade. Since the moment Izetta had escaped the way station, she’d daydreamed of exacting revenge. It wasn’t just pain Izetta objected to—a professional killer couldn’t complain too hard about flesh wounds.

It was the damage the fae had done to others—to Rafe, to Sadie, to the youngsters who didn’t know any better because the young should be able to live and learn from their mistakes. She loathed whoever put a prison under a place meant for hospitality. Who thought like that?

Galeeta was guilty—maybe not for everything, but for enough. But now she was propping up her mate with a look of bottomless, helpless grief Izetta would not soon forget. Grief, with a side order of guilt. There was nothing Izetta’s blade could do to top that kind of suffering.

Vengeance was all about timing. Izetta would get her justice, but it would have to wait. The realization left her more than a little disgruntled.

Until the fae king who looked like a storybook Prince Charming began asking about the Magician. That perked her up.

“Please, sire.” Izetta strolled toward the king, making a perfunctory bow. “I have evidence of the Magician’s identity.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Malatest protested from the sidelines. Then he and the Alpha began shouting at once, making a confused, angry babble.

“Silence!” Elroth barked and waved for Izetta to continue.

“I just figured it out,” she said, addressing Malatest as well as Elroth. “And it’s not as simple as you think.”

She pulled out her phone and fussed with it for a moment, then held it up so that Elroth could see. He took the phone from her with a respectful nod, seeming not to notice her battle-stained clothes and wild hair.

“This is security camera footage of the Magician,” she said. “I’ve personally verified it with half a dozen witnesses who were present in the same venue that night. It’s the only image we have of him.”

As he watched, she took the opportunity to study the king’s profile. His features were a little more rugged than most fae, his hair a shade darker and tinted with auburn lights. Definitely handsome.

Elroth remained silent until the video ended. “Unfortunately, we do not see his face.”

Izetta scrolled the video back, tapped the image on her phone and expanded it. “Look at his hair ornament.”

Elroth peered at the phone again, a frown of concentration pleating his brow. “I know that design. I know the silversmith who created it.”

Izetta pulled Teegar’s hair clip from her pocket and held it up. The clip was about four inches wide, shaped in a twisting infinity loop. What made it unique was that the loop was an elongated, striped cat, with fangs and claws extended. “I would say this is a match.”

The king took the clip from Izetta’s hand. An angry flush rose along his cheekbones, and his fingers closed around the ornament so tightly his knuckles grew white.

“Teegar was trusted by my father first, and then by me,” the king said roughly. “He was a good leader of his men. A simple, honest soldier—or so I thought.”

A surprised murmur rippled through the fae, but it quickly grew angry once the wolves and vampires joined in. The tension made Izetta twitchy enough to scan the room for possible threats. Her eye caught the prisoner who had thrown the spear. The gagged fae met her gaze with an insolence that made her itch to break his neck.

Fireballs. He wore Errata’s amulet. That’s what had left him free from the spell that froze everyone else—and able to throw his weapon. She took two steps forward and, vampire-quick, she ripped it from his neck. It must have hurt, because Farras let out a grunt.

“He stole that from my friend,” she said to anyone listening, but no one stirred.

“Teegar? Where is he?” the king bellowed. “Where is Captain Teegar?”

A gasp rose from the fae. Izetta felt as much as heard the panic in it, like the vibrations from a badly-tuned instrument. She cast a sideways glance at Elroth. He was obviously a master at hiding his thoughts, but the downward twitch of his sculpted mouth gave him away. He’d heard it, too.

Some of the fae knew Teegar’s secret. That made sense, if what she’d heard about fae using the drug was true. They had to know who sold it to them, and now their playtime was over. Names would be named, and judging by the royal frown, it would not go well for those on Elroth’s naughty list.

The six wolves who had been imprisoned under the waystation escorted Teegar into the hall. The fae standing near the entrance parted to make way for the strange procession, holding back their cloaks and skirts as if afraid the wolves might brush against them.

Teegar’s hands were still bound and his clothes ragged and caked in mud. Leaves stuck in his snarled hair. But when he caught sight of Farras, his bruised and dirty face blazed with defiance.

His escort positioned him directly before the king. When the wolves drew back, Izetta shoved Teegar to his knees. He hit the floor with a thump.

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