“Surely interrogating every last one of our magicians is extreme,” Peak said. “Dom, you must agree with me, right?”
Before Domenic could answer, Sharpe laughed. “Oh, don’t be obtuse, Peak. As far as our Chosen Two are concerned, the interrogations have already begun.”
Domenic felt his stomach plummet to his feet. “That’s not—”
“The two of you, sitting there so silently, glancing at each other whenever we talk to decide if any ofusbetrayed the country. By all means, try to deny it.”
Domenic’s and Ellery’s chairs creaked as they shifted uncomfortably.
Iseul’s eyes widened. “You really believe one of us could be the traitor?”
Domenic cringed. “Of course not. But…”
“We can’t make assumptions,” Ellery finished. Then, hastily, she added, “Before we move forward, isn’t there something else we should consider? If Living Wands and winterghasts are truly counterparts, what if we could turn winterghasts into wands?”
Domenic startled.
“To what end?” Sharpe asked gravely.
“Every winterghast that becomes a wand would be one less monster terrorizing the country. And one more wand in thehands of a magician who could serve it. Surely if I can wield Winter, other magicians can, too.”
Ellery hadn’t mentioned this idea to Domenic earlier, and even if he thought it was a fair one—agoodone—the Council wouldn’t. It was too late after a harrowing day, too soon after a devastating loss.
Yet even as Domenic willed Ellery to look at him, she didn’t.
She was the only one not gilded by the firelight, blocked by the shade of a pillar. Yet she gleamed all the same. The almost silver luster of her hair. The bright blue of her eyes. She would shine to Domenic even in pitch darkness.
“How would you propose we make more wands?” Iseul asked cautiously. “You said you don’t know how you created Iskarius.”
“No, but I could help,” Ellery insisted. “Maybe if I—”
“Your duty is to thwart the cataclysm,” Sharpe snapped.
“O-of course it is. But do you really think this wouldn’t aid in that mission?”
“To invite the very monsters we’ve fought for a millennium into the inner sanctum of the Order? Is it not enough that we must already contend with one traitor? Must we recruit them now, too?”
Ellery bit her lip. “I suppose you’re right.”
Her voice might’ve remained calm, but Domenic could see her mask slipping.
He fiddled with the flowers in his pocket. It was that or reach for her.
Sharpe stamped out his cigarette, then rose, his expression hidden in the blackness. “For now, I’d like to further our research into the Dire Three. Glynn, take a full account of every thing Caldwell described about her connection to Kythion. You can take Peak’s description of Kythion next. The rest of us, let’s leave them to their work while we discuss Mayes’s task.”
As everyone but Ellery and Glynn made toward the door, Domenic hovered, confused at all the abruptness. Again, hewilled Ellery to look at him. Words burned in his throat. He didn’t know if they were good words, but surely they had to be better than what he’d blurted that morning. That he couldn’t bear the thought that he’d hurt her. Thathewas aching too, that this was the last thing he wanted. That she meant more to him than he’d ever succeed in describing.
When she still didn’t acknowledge him, he swallowed every word of it down and stalked after the others into the hall.
The five of them turned into Sharpe’s office. Sharpe closed the door.
“When you first reached the alban tree at the border compound, you said Caldwell was already there, right?”
Domenic didn’t answer. He was distracted, taking in the office. It turned out that portrait of Sharpe already existed—and was definitely already haunted.
“Well?” Sharpe barked.
Domenic realized Sharpe had stridden toward the waste bin beside the bookshelves, and he clutched a wad of papers—the minutes from the meeting.
