"Lucian," Casius warned, his voice a low rumble.
"I see it," the king replied.
Amaria crooned, the sound slipping from her throat like dark water over stones—an ancient language. The ring of magic on the ground swelled, spreading its slick, oily shine until it licked the rock beneath Talia’s boots. She recognized a binding when she saw one; she’d trained against lesser versions with the old hedge-witch who taught the Black River pups their basics.
But this wasn’t a hedge-witch trick. This was marsh magic. Fen craft. Old.
Talia’s heartbeat steadied, forcing the adrenaline into a cold, usable focus. She shifted her weight, dragging Alina with her, careful not to let them both stand inside the same slice of the shimmering ring at once.
Thomas and Leon didn’t move to help the witch. They
