“I meant stretch, raise an arm, not stand. You need longer to rest.”

“What’s wrong with me? Was it the fall?” I thought the soft heat sensation had saved me from smashing into the stone pavement.

“You survived the fall without a bruise. It was nerve damage that nearly took you from us. One of the raven Shifters found you unconscious and brought you here.”

I search Quinton’s somber expression. “I nearly died?”

“Nobody can absorb that amount of Flame without consequence, Michael. It overwhelmed your nervous system. You survived only because of your unique physiology. And the talented healers here at Blackriver.” He glances behind me at Laasya.

I blink, shock stealing my next question. Alexei nearly killed me? Did he know that much Flame would damage my nerves? Of course he did. The bastard doesn’t give a shit about me. His silken words were a lie. I hate the disappointment and pain that crash through my chest. The prince is my enemy. I’ve got to remember that.

I stand again and stumble to the window behind the bed. Quinton grabs my arm to steady me. “You really must rest, Michael.”

“I have to see.” I peer outside into daylight at the Blackriver gardens, which stretch down to the woods. Churned dirt has replaced the pristine lawn. Trampled tangles remain where flower beds had circled a duck pond—what was a pond. It looks like a mudslide now. Exhausted Guardians stumble over a chaos of dead bodies, strewn over the dirt like broken dolls. Mostly black uniforms, though, only a handful of brown leather.

“Come back to the bed,” Quinton urges. “Lie down.”

I shake his hands off and lean on the wooden headboard instead. “How many?” I ask, a lump in my throat. “How many died? I saw them carrying students over the wall.”

It’s Laasya who answers. “Not as many as we first thought. But twelve students are still unaccounted for.”

“We have the impression the Servants were purposely holding back,” Quinton adds. “Maiming rather than killing. Then again, the Anlu’kyr were mainly here for the Channelers. They would have left with many more if you had not returned.”

Laasya turns to chat with the nurse, and I take the opportunity to look Quinton straight in his shadowed eyes. I speak in my mind, knowing he’ll hear me. I remember everything. I’m related to the Warlock. Aren’t I?

Shhhh, he hisses, his gaze flickering nervously around the room before returning to mine. How did you—?

It doesn’t matter. Answer my question.

You must be careful, Michael. Guard these thoughts. Yes, you are Michael Sabel, descendant of Valentin Sabel. The Warlock. I wish you hadn’t remembered.

I narrow my eyes. You stole my name from me.