“He’s woven in a death spell. See the black runes between the double rows of the scrolls? Don’t touch the body. Don’t move it. Not yet. And don’t let his blood get on you.”

Zev sank back on his heels, avoiding any contact with Arno.

She passed her hand over the stake, careful not to get too close. “Yes, he’s added some kind of spell to the stake. The cord is definitely rigged as well and looks as if I’ll have the most trouble with it.”

She took a deep breath and stood up, glancing over her shoulder at the three women watching. They nodded to her, prepared to help her.

“What happens if I sever the head and we just walk away from this?” Zev asked. “That’s what you wanted in the first place. I can see your reasoning.”

“I have no doubt that he made that impossible as well. He’s driving us toward Arno’s brain and his memories.”

“We already know his intent now, Branka. Why continue? We can burn the body.”

A small sound escaped from Branislava’s sister. Clearly burning the body wasn’t a good idea. There were few things that made him lose his temper, but feeling helpless was one of them. He couldn’t stand in front of his lifemate and protect her when he didn’t know how. This kind of mage magic was out of his realm of experience.

“Just do what you have to do, Branka, and let’s get this over with.”

Branislava cast her protection circle and then stood for a long moment gathering her courage. Facing Xaviero was becoming easier. She had been so terrified of him, but each time she was successful in destroying his work, she realized how much she really did know. Her education had been complete.

The three brothers had all worked in the laboratory, learning and perfecting skills over and over. There hadn’t been a spell, from the smallest to the most dangerous, that she hadn’t seen and committed to memory. She had nothing else to keep her mind occupied in those long years of captivity. The three High Mages didn’t know more than she knew.

She concentrated on the tattoo first. The dark death spell was woven carefully within the tattoo itself. She knew Xaviero well enough to know he would find it amusing to weave such a deviant spell into what was considered a sacred symbol. Had Zev not recognized that there was that tiny difference, the High Mage would have had his entertainment for the evening.

That which is marked, drawn in black,

I call forth your energy to send you back,

Twist and turn, swirl that burn,

I draw forth your power, which now I return.

Branislava watched the runes slowly disappear from the tattoo. She took a deep, cleansing breath and let it out. “Really study the tattoo, Zev, make certain there isn’t anything else hidden.”

Zev took his time, looking at the tattoo he’d seen a thousand times on various people. The pool of blood prevented him from getting too close, but eventually he nodded. “It looks like it’s supposed to, Branka.”

“The stake is filled with power. I can feel it, much like an explosive. It’s a simple enough spell designed to kill as many people as possible.” The memory of Xavier placing the spell in objects and then sending in his apprentice to retrieve the article for him rose like a nightmare. Both Tatijana and she had tried to warn the various unsuspecting young mages. They had never succeeded and had watched the apprentices die when the spell was triggered.

That which is silver, born of fire,

I call back your essence, drawing back your power.

As fire burns, so water cools,

I call to water, release evil’s hold.

She passed her hand over the part of the stake protruding from Arno’s chest. The sensation of dark power was no longer there. She nodded slowly. Her mouth had gone dry. The cord was an altogether different proposition. She was certain there was a spell on the woven strands, but she wasn’t yet certain how to counteract it. She needed to reveal it first.

That which is woven,

Reveal to me,

That which is evil,

So I may see.

At once she could see that the cord held life. One wrong movement and the cord would attack. She swallowed hard and once again traced symbols in the air while she murmured her counterspell.

That which would do harm,

I dispel your power.

I take what was woven, so these threads have no power,

As you were woven, so now I unweave,

Each particle I harvest so no death may there be.

Branislava dropped her arms to her sides and forced air through her lungs. She spent the next few minutes making certain there were no more traps hidden around or under Arno’s body. She cleansed the blood and then sank down to the floor beside Zev.

“I believe we actually did it,” she said, relief in her voice. She brushed her cheek against his shoulder. “I think we can look at his last memories.”

“I’ll do it,” Zev said. There was distaste in his voice. The idea of desecrating the council member by invading his private thoughts didn’t sit well. Still, it had to be done.

“You can see his memories that way,” Branislava agreed, “but it’s dangerous. We can go into his mind and see them the Carpathian way and perhaps, if we’re lucky, we’ll see more of Xaviero than Arno remembers. People pick up details without knowing it. We can find them when he wasn’t aware. The circle will protect our bodies, and the others can watch over us. It’s safe for them to enter now.”

Zev wasn’t as used to the Carpathian ways, but he was willing to follow Branislava’s lead when it came to mage magic. He nodded.

Branislava didn’t wait, afraid she might lose her newfound courage and confidence. She shed her body and became pure spirit, entering the council member’s mind. The moment she did, she knew she had made a terrible mistake. Xaviero’s splinter shadow waited, crouched like a dark demon in the night. He attacked triumphantly, catching at her spirit with claws and teeth, and dragging her through the portal to the other realm.

17

Zev! Branislava reached for her lifemate as she was drawn into that icy cold realm of the half-life.

Zev recognized the tree. He’d been there before with Branislava when he’d nearly died. She had held him to her. Now it was an altogether different fight. This was his kind of fight.

They need me alive. They won’t kill me. They’re counting on the fact that no one will find me.

My spirit is woven to yours. We travel together. He used his calmest voice, steadying her. More than anything, Branislava hated the cold. She felt alone and isolated, that child forced into a dragon’s form and placed behind a wall of ice.