“Messieurs, mademoiselle,” Jean-Claude said, “there is no need to bicker. As I have said, Solo Aria’s only concern is getting her husband back safe and unharmed. If neither of you wish to go, you could send your bloodhollow.”

“I could do that,” said Eulalie.

“No,” Travers said. “A hundred times no. Can’t you see, he’s trying to make us fight amongst ourselves.”

Fear coursed through Jean-Claude’s veins, but it was the clear, cold type that sharpened his senses to their keenest edge, and the mad joy of being handed the perfect straight line was the spark on the edge of the blade.

He grinned inside and aimed a wedge at the heart of their conspiracy. “Oh, you don’t need my help for that. Betrayal was always the endgame. You, monsieur, want to rule the world. Monsieur Hasdrubal wants to destroy it. The only reason you haven’t already killed each other is that neither of you has the reliquary and you need the other one to get it. At this point Hasdrubal already has what he wants. He was using you, monsieur, to lure me in, to give him a thread he can follow back to the reliquary. It took me a while to figure out what you still needed from him, but then I remembered the locked trunk in his quarters, and it occurs to me that you’ve never actually seen the reliquary. That was his last bit of leverage. You don’t know what it looks like or how to tell if it’s real. It turns out I can help you with that. Indeed, I can give either one of you what you want, but only one of you. The question is, which will it be?”

Hasdrubal cast a sideways glance at Travers, whose face had taken on the cast of a judge about to render a verdict. His bloodshadow did not ripple but its crimson took on a deeper hue.

Jean-Claude caught Hasdrubal’s gaze. “Time’s up.”

Travers’s bloodshadow licked toward Hasdrubal, quicker than an eyeblink.

But Hasdrubal was gone, his cloak drifted down, empty. Travers’s bloodshadow caught the cloak and whipped it aside. “Where—” he snarled, furious and bewildered, but there was a mole hole in the ground where Hasdrubal had been standing.

Jean-Claude lunged backward between his guards and bolted for exit. One marine seized his arm, but he squatted, twisted, and stuck out a leg, throwing the man to the ground.

Jean-Claude surged upright just as the ground split behind him, filling the air with dirt and toppling the tent poles. Travers sent shadows winging at the monstrous shape churning the earth, but the tent dropped on top of him, dust and fabric fouling all shadows.