Page 147 of Silvercloak
It was only once he’d left the room that the realization struck Saffron hard and true.
She sat bolt upright, heart hammering fiercely in her branded chest.
Levan had usedmagicon her.
And it hadworked.
The ropes and the clothes were external; her immunity wouldn’t have protected her against that.
But he hadsilencedher, and she hadn’t been able to say a word.
Which meant he’d found a way around her unique advantage.
Which therefore meant … he knew the advantage existed in the first place.
Or, she told herself, his magic was just so powerful that nobody, noteven she, could resist it. Had the severed hand caused such intense pain that his power had exploded beyond all recognition? Is that why he had stilled so strangely when she’d mentioned the possibility?
She didn’t know which was more terrifying: that he knew she was hiding her magic immunity, or that he was powerful beyond measure.
Pulling her clothes hastily over her head, her mind filtered through her options.
She was approaching the end as a Bloodmoon; that much she instinctively knew. She’d come further than any Silvercloak had ever come before. She not only understood the ins and outs of their operation, but alsowhythey did the things they did. She knew what would happen if Levan brought Lorissa Rezaran back.
War. Bloodshed. Terror.
And she knew exactly how to stop it.
All she had to do was tell Aspar everything about their trip to Lunes. With Tiernan gone, the Bloodmoons would not be prepared for a second raid, and surely,surelythe Silvercloaks would emerge triumphant.
The predatory gamehouses would be shut down, the hideous violence would cease, and the city would once again be rid of the cancerous lox.
Her parents would be avenged. Her fate would be fulfilled.
And yet doing so would see Levan in Duncarzus for the rest of his life—at best. House Arollan had abolished the death penalty several decades ago, but there had been mounting pressure in the pulps and the newspapers to bring it back.
Could she see this man executed on the Palace steps?
It was barely a question.
She knew, deep down in her marrow, exactly what she had to do.
SAFFRON WAS TO MEET LEVAN OUTSIDE THEPORTARIGATE ATdusk the next night.
The gate was hidden deep in the belly of the mansion, only accessible by ascending to a dimly lit corridor on the third floor, tapping a marble statue of a dragon on each claw, and uttering the wordtempavicissan. The Bloodmoons truly worshipped the lost art of timeweaving, and it was almost embarrassing that the Silvercloaks had never picked up on it. Then again, no Silvercloak had ever done what she had. They’d never been this close, never slipped under the skin of the beast.
Saffron wondered what would happen if the Bloodmoons found out she was a hallowed Timeweaver—whether it would make her more valuable or more of a target, whether they would love her or hate her for possessing the power they had so doggedly sought for themselves.
Descending the spiral staircase—exposed once the marble dragon took flight down the corridor—Saffron heard voices. Rasso ground to a halt beside her.
Levan was not alone.
“—going?” asked the kingpin, glacially cold. “You think I’ll let you fly out of here, after all you’ve done?”
“The Havenwood,” Levan replied woodenly. “To retrieve the lox I stashed. And nothing I have ever done has been against the interests of the Bloodmoons. Your brand makes sure of that.”
“You think I trust you with bringing the lox back?” Lyrian snarled.
“I was capable of stashing the lox. I think I’m capable of unstashing it.”
