“I am no different from you,” he said. “You were made to drain the blood of mortals, and I was made to kill witches.”

Adrian’s eyes narrowed. “Dis is the mother of witches. Why would she create you to hunt them?”

“Some mothers turn on their children,” he said. “Especially when they misbehave.”

“How do you know you were made by Dis?” I asked.

I hated to ask any question of Solaris, hated to draw his attention, but I wanted to know.

“The same way Lord Adrian knows he was made by Dis.”

“I begged to taste the blood of my enemies after they murdered my lover,” Adrian said. “Did you?”

“I held the bodies of my wife and child in my arms after Ravena’s mist took their lives. I begged Asha to give them life once more. She never answered. Dis did.” Solaris paused, his voice trembling. “You took your revenge,” he said. “Would you deny mine?”

“I have no desire to form an alliance with a witch-hunter,” Adrian said, and as the tension released from my body, I grew light-headed.

“Then make me a noblesse,” Solaris said.

Adrian went very still. “Why would I make you a noblesse? You claim no allegiance to any kingdom, least of all mine.”

“I will make a vow to you,” he said. “And I will help you find Ravena. You cannot deny that I am useful.”

Adrian took a step toward Solaris. “If I cut your hand off,” he said, the words slipping between his teeth, “what would you have to offer?”

Solaris did not speak, but in the next second, the great hall was awakened once more, a low murmur returning to life. Solaris’s voice rose above it.

“You would deny my aid when I could save your people from this wicked witch?”

Adrian went still, and those gathered in the hall jeered with outrage.

“Our blood will be on your hands!”

“The Blood King will see us all killed!”

“Kneel,” Adrian hissed, and the entire court hit their knees. He stepped from the dais, his boots echoing in the hall as he approached Solaris. “Prove yourself, then,” Adrian said. “Find the witch. You have five days.”

Adrian’s words were like a blow to my stomach, and for one horrifying moment, I could not breathe. It was as if my lungs were full of smoke and my throat clogged with ash. I felt the fire against my skin; I could smell my burning flesh and hair.

I could not fathom that he would allow such a man to remain within our kingdom, so near to me—me, his lover, his wife, the one who had died at the hand of Dragos, the first witch-hunter.

I fled, leaving him on the dais alone.

I could hardly open the door, I was so frantic to escape. The air in this room was suffocating, too thick with the hate I could already feel brewing beneath the surface.