of Merovec’s soldiers still making their way back from the coast, those left in the capital would be overwhelmed by the brutal efficiency of Queen Bazati’s one thousand troops. Miren’s reports had estimated that only a few hundred Sauvillier soldiers had remained at their posts in the capital, and those would be listless and agitated, undisciplined, as all Merovec’s soldiers had become.
They would not stand for long against the Mazabatians. It was a fantastic diversion to direct attention away from the castle and a startling demonstration for the citizens of Âme de la Terre of how inadequately Merovec had prepared the city for angelic invasion.
But Audric still had to move quickly.
From under the hood of his cloak, he watched the shadows, his fighters tense behind him. At the far end of the entrance hall, the great polished doors of the Hall of the Saints stood closed. A dozen guards flanked the doors. Two dozen more were stationed around the entrance hall.
Audric frowned, recalling Miren’s encoded instructions. He will be in the Hall of the Saints, she had written. I will get him there and keep him there.
But with so many soldiers surrounding the doors? Miren had assured him they would be lightly guarded, and the sight of three dozen watchful fighters left Audric feeling uneasy. Had Miren’s messages been intercepted? Had their spies betrayed them?
Nerves buzzed under his skin; he itched to move. A light flashed softly across the mezzanine—three times in rapid succession—marking the arrival of Sloane’s group. Another set of flashes, then a third—Evyline’s and Kamayin’s groups. The guards below looked up, drawing their blades.
Audric hissed a command to his fighters, and they rushed down the stairs, the other three groups doing the same across the room. Audric did not draw Illumenor. Merovec’s guards may have suspected he was somewhere in this fight, but he would keep them wondering for as long as he could.
As they charged the Sauvillier soldiers, he braced himself for the slam and burn of magic—but none came.
He watched in shock as his people easily dispatched three dozen soldiers. There were no elementals among them, he realized. Miren’s letters had told him of Merovec’s new fear of magic, how he suspected all elementals to be secret allies of Rielle. But to protect himself with guards who stood no chance against attackers who would of course fight with magic seemed a foolishness too astonishing to believe.
Kamayin and her elementals blasted the soldiers with wind and water—moisture drawn from the air, wind held waiting in their palms. Sloane’s scepter slashed blue light, summoning shadow-wolves that sent the soldiers cowering. Evyline and the Sun Guard blazed a path toward the Hall of the Saints. They were a fierce storm, pouring all their fury and grief into the blows of their swords. Evyline let out a ferocious guttural yell and cut down the last of Merovec’s guards.
She turned and found Audric across the hall. Bodies littered the floor. Some of the soldiers groaned, clutching their wounds. But most were still.
Breathing heavily, Evyline bowed her head. “I tried my best to spare them, my king, but when someone runs at you with a sword, you do what you must.” She paused. “When they saw what Merovec was doing, they could have fled. They could have defied him.”
Audric stepped over a body at his feet.
“Not all of them could have,” he said quietly. “He could have held their families prisoner. He could have threatened them with torture. I don’t blame them, and I grieve each of their deaths.”
Then, his people behind him, their castings and swords raised and ready, Audric pushed open the doors and entered the Hall of the Saints.
Inside the massive room, shadows reigned. The only light came from the prayer torches affixed to the base of each enormous stone saint. Queen Genoveve’s and King Bastien’s empty thrones sat on the dais at the far end of the room. Above them curved a wide loft in which rows of polished wooden chairs awaited the Grand Magisters, the royal councils and advisers, and invited nobility. Beyond the loft, elaborate stained glass depicted the saints in peacetime, the Angelic Wars far behind them. And towering between the loft and the thrones was the statue of Saint Katell on her white mare, her head crowned with a polished halo of gold.
Here, Audric’s father had questioned Rielle after the Boon Chase. Here, the Archon had crowned her Sun Queen, and Ludivine had come back from the dead. The weight of the room’s