Free Winterveil by Jenna Burtenshaw Page A

lives on. He has returned to Albion.”
    â€œEdgar is here?” Kate could not contain the relief she felt as the burden of grief and guilt fell from her. Her energy sent a shiver through the stones.
    â€œDalliah knows her enemy is close by. She is ready.”
    â€œI don’t know how to stop this,” said Kate. “Tell me how to help you.”
    â€œWe are lost. You shall live on. You will be the first and the last.”
    The blackness scratched at Kate’s back, like ants biting her skin. “The first what?” she asked. “What can I do?”
    â€œYou will do what is necessary. Others will show you the way. You cannot help me. Let me go.”
    The wheel faded back to dull dead stone, and Kate felt a tugging sensation in her chest as the spirit was drawn away, into the depths. Into the black.
    Kate’s soul was standing on the edge of an abyss. It would take only a slight touch to send her into it. She felt the creeping hands of the dark, the horrors of emptiness, the certainty of destruction.
    She pulled her consciousness back from the edge, dragging herself back into the living world. The darkness fell away. Her body ached, and her hand felt heavy as she pulled it from the wall.
    â€œYou are as ruthless as your ancestors,” said Dalliah, who had not shared the conversation between Kate and the trapped spirit. “How do you feel?”
    Kate wanted to say that she felt dirty, sickened, and hollow. She wished she had never stepped into that room, that tower, that city. The back of her hand had been sliced open, and blood ran freely along her arm. Kate did not need to ask what Dalliah had done. Her blood had been used in veil work before. Dalliah was not the first to recognize its power.
    â€œI was right about you, Kate,” said Dalliah, her cold eyes bright with excitement. She took Kate’s hand again, and at her touch the cut healed perfectly. “Your blood is more powerful than I had hoped. You and I are going to achieve great things here.”

6
    TRAITOR
    â€œC all the guards!”
    â€œDo not waste your breath.” Silas marched toward a fresh-faced warden who was guarding the chambers’ main door. He disarmed the young man in two smooth moves and held the officer’s own dagger to his neck. “The High Council,” he demanded. “Where are they?”
    â€œI can’t tell you that.”
    â€œWhere?”
    Edgar winced as Silas dragged the warden’s head back, exposing the beating thread of the artery in his neck.
    â€œThe meeting hall!” said the warden. “They’ve been there since yesterday. No one goes in without authorization.”
    â€œI do not need authorization,” said Silas. He pushed the warden against the wall and walked away.
    The warden watched Silas and Edgar leave, then stepped outside and raised the alarm. “Enemy in the chambers!” he shouted. “Ring the bells!”
    The sharp clang of metal echoed around the chamber buildings as warning bells were rung one by one, melding together into an urgent cacophony of noise.
    â€œIt’s about time,” said Silas.
    He and Edgar walked swiftly through the corridors and up opulent staircases as if they had never been away. The chambers filled with servants, and wardens burst out of side corridors, hurrying to their posts. One or two looked directly at Silas, registering him just for a moment, before they lowered their eyes and ran on. They valued their lives too much to challenge him.
    Silas and Edgar reached a long corridor leading down to the meeting hall. The wardens on either side of the doors drew their weapons when they spotted someone approaching and immediately lowered them again when they identified Silas, their faces filling with dread.
    â€œMove aside,” he said smoothly, before pushing the doors open with both hands and entering a room filled with raised voices.
    â€œI don’t care what you think,”