The moon over Valecliff hung swollen and ruddy, casting a grim light over the ruins of what had once been the Hall of Ancients. Smoke curled through the cracks in the shattered dome, where ivy now tangled with scorched rafters and ash-coated stone. The fire hadn’t started naturally. Magdalene could feel it in the air—the sharp hum of corrupted magic lingering like a whisper in her blood.
The Valecliff Council had been meeting here. And now… nothing but embers.
She crouched low behind what remained of a pillar, brushing soot from her gloved fingertips, heart thudding beneath the thick wool of her cloak. “They were slaughtered,” she murmured.
Cassian stepped forward beside her, face drawn. “Ritualistic, too. See the markings along the floor?”
She followed his gaze to the symbols carved i
