Keldrov didn’t move. Of course she didn’t. She was too young. Too wary of the archimandrite’s authority. Kurkas would have done it. He’d have dragged Makrov out by his heel without a second thought. Yanda might have done it. But Kurkas was gone, and Yanda was back in Kreska, purposefully insulated from whatever acts Viktor needed to perform.

Makrov removed an envelope from his saddlebags. “You have a warrant of pardon. I have a warrant of arrest. One that specifically overrules yours, I might add. The demon goes back to her lair, and the named persons are to stand trial for treason. This is the will of the Council, Viktor. It is not for you or I to break.”

With stiff stride, Viktor closed the distance between them. “Let me see.”

Makrov’s lip twitched. “Gladly.”

Viktor unfurled the scroll and began to read. With every line, his heart sank a little further. All was as Makrov had claimed. Though the ink was already beginning to run, the names upon the warrant sprang clear. Josiri Trelan. Calenne Trelan. Drakos Crovan. Revekah Halvor. Anastacia Psanneque. The list went on. And the seals of the Council at the base. No surprise to see Ebigail Kiradin’s mark present, but his father’s black swan . . .

He fought temptation to tear the letter to shreds, his breath frosting in the air as his shadow coiled free. Destroying the document would be nothing but petulance. Makrov would have a copy. He’d won one battle but lost another without knowing the clarion had sounded. For the first time in a dozen hours, Viktor was glad Calenne wasn’t there to see him humbled. The accusation and hope brimming in Josiri’s eyes was bad enough.

Calenne . . .

The flames of an idea flickered.

“You may have those named on this list. I’ve no doubt the Council will see their mistake soon enough.” The hope faded from Josiri’s eyes until only accusation remained. “All others are to be released, at once.”

Makrov scowled, but he surely knew the warrant back to front. The wording allowed him to claim named ringleaders – it did nothing to gainsay Viktor’s broader powers of pardon.

“Very well,” he said, with fragile huffiness. “Out of respect for you, Lord Akadra, and for your victory, I’m sure the Council will approve a little . . . clemency.”

He gestured at Josiri and Anastacia – the latter with her hands now bound. Viktor winced at the sight. Silver and magic were a poor mix. He could only imagine her discomfort.

“Bring them,” said Makrov.

Viktor let the soldiers get the pair to their feet before clearing his throat. “Apologies, eminence, but where are you taking that man?”

“Josiri Trelan is mine, as agreed.”

“He is indeed, if you can find him,” said Viktor. “The man you hold is an Akadra. Calenne Trelan and I were married at dawn yesterday. She petitioned me to adopt her dear brother, and I gladly agreed.”