“The others?”

Sabelle bit her lip. Now matters got murky. “I scarcely know Kelmscott Spencer and Carlisle Blackbourne. It’s likely Bram desired alliances with one of them, through my mating to either of their sons, to solidify his position and hold them in check. Both Rye Spencer and Sebastian Blackbourne will someday assume their fathers’ seats. I’m sure Bram wanted to be assured of at least one of their votes.”

“Blackbourne’s family once supported Mathias,” Ice pointed out.

“As did Spencer’s. Though both have long since rescinded their positions.”

“Yes, but for show?”

That, Sabelle couldn’t say for certain.

What a terrible political tangle. Yes, she had been assisting Bram with Council matters, but she was hardly the expert. Her brother knew how to finesse or manipulate them. He’d learned which battles could be won and which were hopeless. Sabelle felt as if she’d dived off a cliff blindfolded and had nothing but intuition and new wings to guide her.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Sabelle conceded. “If Blackbourne and Spencer are on his side, perhaps they seek to persuade someone like Camden that it’s in his best interest to approve Mathias. And if he refuses . . .”

His head could well be on the chopping block next.

“Still,” she went on, “Mathias would have only three votes. The other three would be against him.”

“How do they settle a tie?”

“According to Bram, the Council’s eldest member decides the issue with a challenge.”

“And the eldest member is … ?”

“Blackbourne.”

“There you go.” Ice nodded.

A chill swept across Sabelle. Ice’s thinking looked damned possible. And Ice had figured this out. A very intelligent theory from a supposed madman.

“Let’s look at the other likely scenario. If Blackbourne and Spencer aren’t colluding with evil, maybe Mathias intends to use terror tactics to muscle his way onto the Council by threatening Councilmen’s families. We should warn them of that possibility.”

Ice paused. “It’s not that simple, princess. If we warn Councilmen who are, in fact, Mathias sympathizers, the Anarki will know we’re at MacKinnett’s manor. They will begin hunting us again. We’re slower, traveling by human means. We’re easy prey if they find us.”

Sabelle didn’t want to risk Councilmen’s families being hurt or killed because of their silence, but Ice was right. Besides Bram, they had the Doomsday Diary to protect. If it fell into Mathias’s hands, it could mean the destruction of magickind.

“We should at least warn Camden that Mathias may have painted a target on his back. If Mathias is going to kill more Council members now, Camden is the most likely, both because he’s without an heir and has made no secret of the fact he despises the evil bastard.”

Ice nodded. “I agree. Warn Camden alone, perhaps enlist his help. He may be best equipped during Bram’s illness to help us understand the politics of the Council and who can be trusted.”

“Indeed.” Sabelle rose from her seat.

With a frown, Ice grabbed her wrist and stayed her. “It can wait until morning, when you’ve rested and feel more ready to face what’s in that house again.”

The idea was tempting, push it all aside until tomorrow. But Mathias and the Anarki were quick and remorseless. She didn’t want Helmsley Camden’s blood on her hands.

“No, it can’t.”

Night had fallen and the temperature had dropped when they entered the manor again. Ice viewed the melee with new eyes. The chaos and destruction? All the Anarki’s attempt to find the Councilman’s transcast mirror. It made sense that Mathias would want to intercept important, secret means of communication between magickind’s remaining six leaders.

Behind him, Ice heard Sabelle’s hesitant steps, sensed her fear. It took everything inside him not to turn around, comfort her, send her back to the coach house. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight … just in case. And likely, she would have better luck finding and using the Council’s magical mirror since she knew what sort of item she sought. He knew only that it was small and would be disguised, perhaps as a family symbol.

The rooms on the first floor netted nothing except stark reminders of violence that made his blood boil. He hated to think of what these human women had endured at Mathias’s hands. It only made him picture his sister’s suffering the same fate before her life, too, had ended brutally. And that filled him with an anger so overwhelming, he could scarcely control his violent urge for revenge. That side, the one that had earned him the reputation for being mad, he didn’t want to show Sabelle.

Instead, he took a deep breath.

“Upstairs now, or to the cellar?” Sabelle interrupted his musings.

He wanted her nowhere near the bodies. They clearly disturbed her, and for all Sabelle’s strength, conviction, and courage, she possessed a compassionate heart. Gorgeous, smart, generous … No wonder he’d wanted to mate with her after one taste. He’d been half in love with her since first setting eyes on her.

Ice turned to face her. “We divide and conquer. I’ll check the first door upstairs on the left and the cellar. You search the other rooms upstairs.”

Sabelle bit her lip, hesitating. “That’s hardly fair to you.”

“It is. You’ll be searching twice the number of rooms.”

“But you’ll be forced to see all the bodies again.”

He shrugged, and she looked so pale and torn. Ice couldn’t help himself; he cupped her shoulder and brought her against him. Damn, she was cold and shaking. He wrapped his other arm around her, cursing when the pack containing the diary blocked his caresses up and down her spine.

“I’ve seen it all before, princess. It’s all right.”

Slowly, she nodded, then pulled back. “Thank you. I found some candles in the kitchen. I didn’t think it wise to turn on lights, just in case Mathias or the Anarki decide to return and check on the house.”

Smart woman, he thought with a faint smile. “Excellent.”

He took a candle from her. With a flick of his wand, he lit both. Her hand shook so hard that the flame flickered, the wax dripped.

“Careful, now.” He steadied her hand, then urged her toward the stairs. “Up you go.”

Sabelle glided silently up the staircase. Despite wearing yesterday’s clothes and securing her golden hair in a braid that followed the line of her spine, Ice still thought her the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Stupid sap. He had it so bad for her.

Once on the landing, he disappeared inside the first room, a parlor or sorts, with all the bodies of the human servants. The men he could look at. The abused women and butchered children … no. Every glance pained him like a serrated knife slicing his gut.

Turning his back on the corpses, he searched everywhere else. Floor, ceiling, furniture—or what was left of it. Nothing. Damn it. Mathias had already succeeded in killing one of the seven most powerful wizards in all magickind. He didn’t want the prick obtaining any device that might bring him closer to the others.

Twenty minutes later, Ice gave up on the room and closed the door. Later tonight, after Sabelle slept, he would remove the bodies, give them a decent burial. It was the least he could do after all they’d suffered for a cause they would never understand. And it would give him something to do besides watch Sabelle as she slept and burn to seduce her. Possess her.

“I’m going down to the cellar,” he said as he peeked into one of the upstairs bedrooms, which Sabelle currently searched, one hand on a lush hip, the other clutching her candle.

Was the bedroom MacKinnett’s? It was certainly grand enough, all chocolate browns, golds, wine reds. Heavy draperies, rich coverlets. A fireplace on the wall across from the bed, and a long, flat screen above the mantel. Ice had never embraced the idea of human television. Their news was not his, their shows too trivial for his taste, but many in magickind enjoyed keeping up with their less magical cousins. He shrugged.

“I’ll meet you in MacKinnett’s office when I’m finished.”

“Agreed. Shout for me, should you need anything.”

She sent him a soft, grateful glance. “You spared me the worst, and I thank you. I’ll be fine.”

Before he read too much into her gratitude and convinced himself it was the desire and devotion he wanted so badly from her, Ice turned away and headed for the cellar.

Down the winding stairs he went. The acrid char of burned flesh completely smothered the normally damp, dank scent of this sort of room. The odor had grown stronger in the past few hours as the body decomposed. Ice swallowed against his gag reflex and set his candle aside. No windows in the cellar, so he could turn the lights on and be certain no one outside would see.

The room itself was vast with a cement floor that had a slightly damp tinge to it. Dusty wine bottles lined one wall, all neatly lined in racks. Hundreds of them, some no doubt very old and rare. He’d never understood such collections, but then his family had never had the money for luxuries and his father would have scorned them. Sabelle, however, would likely think such a wine collection not only desirable, but a necessity.

Frowning, he turned away. Nowhere to hide the mirror there.

The next wall to his right was both narrow and completely bare. To the right again, the wall behind MacKinnett’s body was floor to ceiling shelves filled with family treasures. Journals, heirloom goblets, a crystal ball. He smirked. No one had used one of those in easily five hundred years. A few skulls, a cauldron—all the Dark Ages sort of stuff. But nothing that looked like a family crest or a magical mirror.

At the far end of the room stood another narrow wall. Furniture had been stacked against it. A sofa blocked the whole wall, enormous and dusty. He suspected it had once been white. A massive dining table rested in front of it, its pedestal carved from a gnarled, massive tree trunk. The remnants of a few of its chairs were in small pieces around the room. A table that size had likely seated twenty or more, and Ice suspected the rest of the chairs had been destroyed and used as the kindling to burn MacKinnett at the stake.

Damn Mathias!

But Ice did wonder … The sofa looked so dusty, it couldn’t have been disturbed like everything else in the house. Was it possible the Anarki had already found the mirror before burning the manor’s master alive? Is that why they’d stopped their search? or had they merely been too lazy to move such massive pieces of furniture? or arrogant enough to assume that one man could not possibly outsmart them all?

Determined to leave no stone unturned, Ice moved the table, lifting and grunting until he dragged it a few feet from the wall. Yes, he could have used his wand, but he was running low on magical energy and needed to conserve. Bound now to Sabelle only, unless she shared his bed—and soon—he would have to find some other way to acquire a boost. Something that didn’t involve another woman. Not only was it impossible to fuck another since speaking the Call to Sabelle, he didn’t want to. Ever. Besides, if Marrok had taught him one thing since training the Doomsday Brethren in human combat, it was that he liked challenging his body, forcing his muscles to perform more difficult feats of strength every day.

The sofa was a behemoth and it made him sweat when he lifted it. Dust flew, and he choked, but it took his mind off the dead Councilman in the middle of the room.

With a grunt, he hefted one corner of the massive sofa away from the wall, then shuffled to the other end and lifted it as well. Then he frowned. Behind the sofa, low on the wall, he saw the faint outline of something. A small door? A crawl space?

After moving the sofa farther from the wall, he knelt and ran his finger around the edge of the perfect square of raised stone. A cutout of some variety. Wedging his fingertips around the edges, he pulled. It barely gave, but he pulled again and again until he could grip the heavy stone block with his whole hand. Then, with one last mighty yank, the piece clattered to the floor. Ice grabbed his candle and peeked inside.

A crawl space, definitely. He sat at the edge and shoved his candle in deeper. Big crawl space. In fact, a hiding place big enough for an entire family. Ice looked back to MacKinnett and his half-charred form. Had the Councilman been trying to reach this space when the Anarki caught him?

Ice eased in farther. The space opened to winding stairs that led ever deeper underground. He crawled until he reached the stairs, stooping over to avoid battering his head on the low ceiling. As he descended, still clutching the candle, he smelled water and soil. Sure enough, at the bottom, he found a tunnel. He’d be willing to bet his life that the tunnel led to the nearby village.

Smart. Very smart. Next time Bram built a sprawling estate and had half the Doomsday Brethren living with him, he’d tell the prat to create a few of these escape routes. Too bad MacKinnett had been unable to reach his in time.