The Haunting Of Ethan Blackwood

By Blaze Drake

In a world where necromancy is a forbidden art, Ethan Blackwood, a young necromancer, is forced into an arranged marriage to secure an alliance between his family and a powerful noble house. On the eve of his wedding, his bride, Lyra, is brutally murdered, and her ghost now haunts Ethan, demanding justice.

 

As Ethan navigates the treacherous political landscape of his world, he must unravel the mystery surrounding Lyra's death while keeping his own necromantic powers hidden. With the help of a mysterious ally, a streetwise thief named Raven, Ethan begins to uncover a sinister plot that threatens not only his own life but the stability of the entire kingdom.

 

Ethan's investigation leads him to the dark underbelly of the city, where he encounters dangerous criminals, corrupt officials, and ancient monsters that have been awakened by a powerful dark magic. As he delves deeper into the mystery, Ethan realizes that Lyra's murder is connected to a larger conspiracy involving a cabal of wealthy nobles who seek to overthrow the king and seize control of the realm.

 

Haunted by Lyra's ghost and hunted by assassins, Ethan must master his forbidden powers and forge unlikely alliances to bring the conspirators to justice. But as he gets closer to the truth, he discovers that the conspiracy extends far beyond the mortal realm and that the fate of the living and the dead hangs in the balance.

 

In a thrilling climax, Ethan must confront the mastermind behind the conspiracy, a powerful necromancer who seeks to unleash an army of the undead upon the world. With the help of Raven and a group of unlikely allies, Ethan must use all of his skills and cunning to defeat the villainous necromancer and lay Lyra's ghost to rest once and for all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lovestruck Publishing
• Release date: Mar 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9798215874332

Blaze Drake

Blaze Drake burst onto the paranormal romance scene with her smash hit debut Forbidden Flames, enthralling readers with its tale of fated supernatural lovers. While new to publishing, Blaze has nurtured a lifelong passion for love stories with fantastical twists which is evident in the fiery imagination, intensity and allure woven throughout her breakout first novel. Hailing from the Midwest, she grew up enthralled by dark fairytales and cosmic romance novels, filling her free time scribbling poems and startup fiction which leaned heavily into mystical themes of eternal bonds. After pursuing her English degree with special focus on gothic romantic influences, she continued steeping herself in rich mythological lore and narrative archetypes across different cultures.  Blaze knew she had crafted something special when her undying love for the genre synthesized into Forbidden Flames. The book's perfect alchemical fusion of tender romance with otherworldly stakes proved a hit with audiences. Fans clamor to know if the star-crossed phoenix and dragon lovers will return for more heart-racing adventures exploring the intersections between magic and desire. When not meeting reader's insatiable demands for her unique brand of paranormal passion stories, Blaze enjoys venturing into remote wilderness locations to center herself and collect inspiration for crafting her next world of wonder. She also devotes time to various animal rescue organizations, claiming she gets her best plot ideas while caring for creatures great and small just like her fictional shifter darlings.  Stay tuned for what otherworldly romance Blaze Drake has in store next! If her smash debut is any indication, this ingenious author aims to continue raising the bar in fantasy-fueled amour.

Book preview

Chapter 1: The Haunting Begins

THE COLD NIGHT AIR bit at Ethan Blackwood's skin as he strode through the empty streets of Ravengard, his dark cloak billowing behind him. The silvery light of the twin moons cast an eerie glow on the weathered buildings that loomed on either side. Ethan's footsteps echoed off the cobblestones, the sound far too loud in the preternatural stillness.

He was late, and his bride would be waiting. Ethan quickened his pace, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of the curved blade at his side. Even here in the capital, only a fool would wander unarmed at this hour. Danger lurked in every shadowed corner.

As he walked, Ethan's thoughts drifted to Lyra, the woman he would marry in less than a day's time. Theirs was to be a political union, arranged to shore up the alliance between House Blackwood and House Faemourn, two of the great noble families of Karthis. Ethan had only met his bride-to-be once, at the contract signing a month ago. She had seemed poised and lovely, her delicate features schooled into a mask of cool detachment. But Ethan sensed a keen intelligence in her grey eyes, and a hint of something more—a fierce, stubborn pride that belied her placid exterior.

Ethan had little say in the match, but he supposed there were worse fates than marrying a beautiful and wealthy noblewoman. Love was a luxury men in his position could ill afford, as his father frequently reminded him. Ethan's duty was to his house and to the kingdom, to forging the alliances that would keep the Blackwood name strong.

Still, a part of Ethan yearned to follow the desires of his own heart. He was young, only twenty years old, and the weight of his family's expectations felt like a millstone around his neck at times. In his weaker moments, Ethan dreamed of casting it all aside—his name, his title, his duty. Of forging his own path, however ignoble.

But he knew it could never be. He had been born into a world of wealth and privilege, yes, but also one of obligation. And for an Ascendant mage like himself, the burden was double. Magic was a rare gift, all the more precious for the stain it carried. To be Ascendant was to be an outsider, shunned and mistrusted even by the other noble houses. Ethan's father never let him forget how tenuous their position truly was. How swiftly their fortunes could change, should the wrong people learn of his son's true nature.

Ethan shook his head, pushing the gloomy thoughts aside. Tonight was a night for celebration, not brooding. His wedding feast awaited, and the nobles of Karthis would be out in force to celebrate the joining of two great houses. He could not afford to let his mask slip, even for a moment.

Ethan rounded a corner onto Harvest Street, and the Red Temple loomed ahead, its spires stabbing into the night sky like accusatory fingers. An ancient edifice of weathered stone, the temple was one of the few places in Ravengard where mages could practice their craft openly. The priests of the Crimson God turned a blind eye to magic use, so long as the proper tributes were paid.

But even the temple seemed foreboding tonight, its stained-glass windows dark and lifeless. The streets were too quiet, the air heavy with a sense of menace Ethan could not quite define. Something felt... off, as if the city itself were holding its breath. Every instinct urged him to hurry on toward the keep, toward light and warmth and safety.

Then he heard it. A woman's scream, piercing the night like a blade. It came from the alley just ahead, the one that ran alongside the temple's ossuary. Ethan stopped in his tracks, his heart suddenly pounding. He knew that voice. It was Lyra.

Ethan drew his sword and raced toward the alley, fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins. The screaming grew louder as he approached, accompanied now by a man's angry curses and the telltale clang of steel on steel.

Ethan skidded to a halt at the mouth of the alley and froze, barely comprehending the scene before him. Lyra stood with her back against the ossuary wall, still clad in her wedding gown. Her eyes were wide with terror, her face ghostly pale in the moonlight. A rivulet of blood ran down her chin from a split lip.

Three men in dark cloaks and masks surrounded her, their blades glinting as they advanced. At the sight of Ethan, they whirled to face him, spreading out in a half-circle. One of them, a hulking brute with a shaved head, stepped forward and leveled his sword at Ethan's chest.

Walk away, boy, he growled. This doesn't concern you.

Ethan's grip tightened on his own sword. He counted four heartbeats, each as loud as a drum in his ears. Then he spoke a single word, his voice cold as the grave. No.

The brute rushed at him with a roar, his blade flashing. Ethan parried the blow and riposted, driving the man back. The other two attackers circled, trying to flank him. Out of the corner of his eye, Ethan saw Lyra slide down the wall into a sitting position, her hands pressed to a dark stain spreading across the bodice of her gown.

Ethan gathered his will and sent a blast of pure kinetic force at the swordsman to his left. The man flew backward and slammed into the wall, his weapon clattering from his grasp. The big man came at Ethan again, murder in his eyes. Their blades crashed together, the impact sending numbing shock waves up Ethan's arm.

Ethan gritted his teeth and shoved hard, forcing the brute's blade up and away. In the same motion, he stepped in and thrust his own sword into the man's belly, just above the belt. The brute's eyes widened. He made a choked noise, like a sob, and fell to his knees. Ethan pulled his blade free in a shower of gore.

Behind you! Lyra cried weakly.

Ethan spun around just as the remaining attacker lunged at him, a long knife in his fist. Ethan twisted aside, but too slow—the blade slashed across his ribs, drawing a line of searing pain.

Ethan staggered back, his left hand clamped to his side. Hot blood welled between his fingers. The wound was not deep, but it burned like fire. His attacker pressed his advantage, stabbing at Ethan's throat. Ethan parried desperately, his movements growing sluggish as the pain and blood loss took their toll.

In a last, desperate gambit, Ethan hurled his sword at the man like a spear. The attacker ducked aside with catlike grace, but the move cost him his balance for a split second. It was all the opening Ethan needed.

He spoke a word of power and made a grasping motion with his hand. The attacker's knife jerked out of his grip and spun through the air into Ethan's waiting palm. Ethan lunged forward and buried the blade to the hilt in the man's eye.

The attacker collapsed without a sound, dead before he struck the ground. Ethan staggered over to where Lyra lay crumpled against the ossuary wall. Her face was chalk white, her breathing shallow. The front of her dress was drenched in blood.

Lyra, Ethan said hoarsely, dropping to his knees beside her. Lyra, look at me.

Her eyelids fluttered open. She looked up at him, her gaze unfocused. Ethan... you came...

Don't try to talk. I'll get you to a physicker, you'll be alright. But even as he said it, Ethan knew it was a lie. Her wounds were mortal, the damage too severe. No healer could save her now.

Lyra reached out and gripped his hand with surprising strength. Her skin was cold as ice. Listen to me, she whispered. Don't trust anyone... enemies everywhere...

I don't understand. Who did this to you?

The Cabal... they want... A shudder wracked her slender frame. She coughed wetly, flecking her lips with crimson. Stop them, Ethan. You must... you're the only one...

I will, Ethan promised. Tears burned his eyes. I swear it, Lyra. I'll find who did this and I'll make them pay. Just hold on.

But he could see the life fading from her eyes like mist beneath the noonday sun. I'm sorry, she breathed. I... I wanted...

Then Lyra Faemourn, his bride-to-be, the woman he barely knew yet had sworn to spend his life with, died in his arms.

Ethan knelt there in the blood-soaked grime of the alley, cradling Lyra's limp body, as the twin moons watched coldly from above. His eyes were dry now. There would be time enough for grief later. Now, a cold fury rose up in him, blotting out all thought, all feeling.

Someone had done this. Someone had murdered an innocent girl and left her to die like a dog in the street. Rage coursed through Ethan's veins like molten iron. He would find those responsible, even if he had to tear Karthis apart stone by stone. And when he did, he would visit upon them such wrath that the very gods themselves would tremble.

But first, there was a more immediate problem. The city guard would be coming, drawn by the screams and sounds of battle. Ethan could not be found here, kneeling over Lyra's lifeless body with blood on his hands and sorrow in his eyes. Suspicion would fall on him at once. Even his family name might not be enough to save him from the executioner's axe.

Ethan forced himself to his feet, still clutching Lyra's body. A plan formed in his racing mind. He would return to Blackwood Manor and summon the captain of his house guard. Together, they would concoct a story to explain tonight's tragic events. With Lyra's murderers dead, there would be no one to contradict their tale.

He reached for his fallen sword and froze. There, standing at the end of the alley, bathed in moonlight, was Lyra. Not her corpse, still lying bloody and lifeless in the filth, but her spirit, gazing at him with luminous, accusing eyes. Despite the warm summer night, Ethan felt a chill course through him, colder than the touch of the grave.

As he stared in mute horror, Lyra opened her mouth as if to speak. A single word drifted to him on the night wind, sibilant and echoing: Murderrrrr...

Then the spirit was gone, vanished between one blink and the next. Only empty air and the iron tang of blood remained.

Ethan Blackwood, scion of one of the great houses of Karthis, Ascendant mage, and now suspected murderer, stood alone in the dark and pondered the cruel vicissitudes of fate. In the space of a few minutes, the course of his life had altered forever, wrenched onto a black and twisted path from which there could be no return.

Somehow, he knew that this was only the beginning. A great doom awaited him, a tangled web of deceit and betrayal with Lyra's death at its center. The haunting had begun.

Ethan sheathed his sword, gathered up his bride's lifeless body in his arms, and slipped away into the waiting shadows.

Chapter 2: Whispers of Conspiracy

THE GREAT HALL OF BLACKWOOD Manor was a sea of mourning black, the ancient oak panels draped with ebony banners bearing the silver raven sigil of Ethan's house. Muted sunlight filtered through the high, narrow windows, painting the assembled nobles in shades of grey.

Ethan stood at the front of the hall beside his father, Lord Aldric Blackwood, his face a mask of sorrow and shock. Inside, his emotions churned like storm clouds—grief and rage, guilt and fear, all threading through his veins in a sickening tangle.

It had been three days since he had found Lyra dying in that blood-soaked alley. Three days since he had carried her body back to Blackwood Manor, stumbling through the darkened streets in a fog of panic and despair. Three days since his world had crumbled around him like a house of rotted timbers.

The story he and the captain of the house guard had concocted was a simple one. Lyra, eager to see her husband-to-be on the eve of their wedding, had slipped away from her escorts and gone to meet Ethan in secret. Tragically, she had been set upon by footpads, common street thugs drawn by the glitter of her jewels and the fineness of her gown. They had dragged her into an alley to rob and ravish her. Ethan, arriving just minutes too late, had slain the villains but found his bride already dead.

It was close enough to the truth that none would question it. The bodies of the three masked attackers had been dumped in the river, never to be found. Ethan had ordered the alley scoured of blood, all evidence of sorcery erased.

The nobles of House Faemourn, suspicious at first, had been placated by Aldric's effusive condolences and extravagant gifts. They had departed the city that morning to convey their daughter's body back to their ancestral lands for burial. The matter, it seemed, was closed.

But Ethan knew better. The image of Lyra's accusing ghost lingered in his mind, a spectral reminder of the doom that hung over him. She knew the truth, even if no one else did. She knew he had failed her.

Ethan.

The sound of his father's voice dragged Ethan out of his reverie. He glanced up to see Aldric beckoning to a servant bearing a silver tray heaped with sealed parchment scrolls. It's time, the old man said.

Ethan nodded tightly. He knew what was in those scrolls. Condolence letters from the other noble houses, no doubt filled with honeyed words of sorrow and support. But beneath the rote platitudes lurked an undercurrent of calculation, of maneuvering. Even now, with Lyra's death still raw and bleeding, the game of houses continued. The ravens were circling, watching for any sign of weakness from House Blackwood.

Lord Ethan. A familiar voice cut through the murmur of the mourners.

Ethan turned to see a slender figure gliding toward him through the crowd. He felt his heart lurch in his chest. Even in unrelenting black, Elowen Vance was a vision—skin pale as moonlight, eyes the vivid blue of cornflowers, hair the color of burnished mahogany.

She came to a stop before him and dipped into a graceful curtsy. I am so very sorry for your loss, she murmured, her musical voice pitched low. Lady Lyra was a treasure. I cannot imagine your pain.

Ethan inclined his head stiffly. My thanks, Lady Elowen. Your sympathy is a balm in this dark time.

Empty words, ritual courtesy. But as he met Elowen's penetrating gaze, Ethan saw something keen and assessing in her eyes, at odds with her gentle demeanor. It vanished in an instant, replaced by flawless compassion, but it left Ethan feeling unsettled.

Before he could ponder the moment further, a disturbance at the back of the hall drew his attention. The crowd parted, and a disheveled figure stumbled into view, flanked by a pair of hulking Blackwood guardsmen. Ethan frowned. He did not recognize the newcomer, but something about the young man's wild-eyed expression and tattered clothing set off a flare of warning in his mind.

One of the guardsmen stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. My lords, he called, his voice hard. We found this man trying to sneak into the manor through the scullery. He claims to have urgent business with Lord Ethan.

Aldric's eyebrows rose. Indeed? Bring him forward, Captain. Let us hear what he has to say.

The guards half-dragged, half-shoved the young man to the foot of the dais. He stumbled to his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Up close, Ethan could see that he was little more than a boy, his face smudged with dirt and his clothes threadbare.

Slowly, painfully, the intruder raised his head. His eyes locked with Ethan's, and in that moment, Ethan felt a jolt of recognition. He knew this boy—or rather, he knew of him. Raven, they called him on the streets, though whether that was his true name or merely a sobriquet, Ethan had no idea. He was a thief and a cutpurse, a denizen of Ravengard's seamy underbelly.

Lord Blackwood, Raven rasped. I come with a message. About the Lady Lyra's death.

Ethan went cold all over. Beside him, he heard his father suck in a sharp breath. Speak, then, Aldric snapped. And pray that your words are worth the audacity of this intrusion.

Raven's eyes darted nervously around the hall, taking in the ranks of stony-faced nobles. He licked his cracked lips. Not here, he whispered. Too many ears. I'll tell Lord Ethan alone, or not at all.

Insolent wretch, Aldric hissed. You dare to make demands of us? I should have you flogged for your—

Wait. Ethan held up a hand, cutting his father off mid-tirade. He stared hard at Raven, trying to read the truth in the boy's desperate, pleading face. Every instinct screamed at him to hear Raven out, consequences be damned. I will speak with him.

Ethan, you cannot be serious— Aldric began, but Ethan silenced him with a quelling look.

I am not a child, Father. If this boy knows something about Lyra's death, I would hear it. He turned to the guards. Take him to my study and hold him there. I will join you presently.

The guards bowed and hauled Raven away, the boy's ragged form vanishing into the crowd. Ethan turned back to the assembled nobles, his expression carved from granite. My lords and ladies, I beg your indulgence. I must attend to this matter. But I assure you, House Blackwood's hospitality is undiminished. Please, eat and drink your fill. My father will be your most gracious host in my absence.

With that, he strode from the dais, ignoring the shocked murmurs and speculative glances that followed in his wake. He could practically feel his father's disapproving glare boring into his back, but he did not slow his pace. Whatever Raven knew, Ethan had to hear it. For Lyra's sake, if nothing else.

His study was a large, high-ceilinged room dominated by a massive stone fireplace and towering shelves of leather-bound books. Raven stood before the hearth, flanked by the two guards, his thin shoulders hunched and his hands clasped tightly before him.

Ethan dismissed the guards with a nod and closed the door firmly behind them. Then he turned to face Raven, his arms folded across his chest. Alright, he said, his voice soft but edged with steel. We're alone. Now talk. What do you know about Lyra's death?

Raven swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. It wasn't footpads that killed her, he said hoarsely. It was the Cabal.

Ethan felt a chill snake down his spine. The Cabal. The shadowy conspiracy Lyra had spoken of with her dying breath. He had dismissed it as deathbed raving, the final fevered imaginings of a mind shutting down. But if Raven knew of it as well...

Explain, Ethan said curtly. What is this Cabal? And how do you know of it?

Raven licked his lips again, his eyes darting around the room like a cornered animal. I've heard whispers on the streets. Rumors of a secret society, made up of powerful nobles and wealthy merchants. They call themselves the Cabal, and they're plotting something big. Something that could throw all of Karthis into chaos.

And you think they were behind Lyra's murder? Why?

Because she was one of them, Raven said. Or at least, she was supposed to be. But she got cold feet, wanted out. And the Cabal doesn't tolerate loose ends.

Ethan's mind reeled. Lyra, a member of a treasonous conspiracy? It beggared belief. But then he remembered her final words, her desperate warning. Don't trust anyone. Enemies everywhere.

He fixed Raven with a piercing stare. How do you know all this? What proof do you have?

The boy reached into his tattered jerkin and produced a small, leather-bound book. I found this in the alley where she died, he said. It was hidden under a loose stone. Her diary, I think.

Ethan snatched the book from Raven's hand and flipped it open. There, inscribed on the flyleaf in Lyra's neat, precise handwriting, was her name. He rifled through the pages, his eyes widening at the entries within. Dates, times, snatches of conversations. A litany of secrets and schemes, all pointing to a vast, insidious conspiracy at the very heart of Karthis.

Why bring this to me? Ethan asked hoarsely. Why risk your life to tell me this?

Raven's jaw tightened. Because I liked Lady Lyra. She was always kind to me, even though I was just a gutter rat. And because... because I think she'd want you to know the truth. To finish what she started.

Ethan closed the diary and slipped it into his pocket. His mind churned with questions, with half-formed plans and terrible suspicions. He knew he could not rest until he had unraveled this mystery, no matter where it led him. For Lyra's sake, and for the sake of the kingdom he had sworn to serve.

He looked at Raven, seeing the boy with new eyes. A street thief, yes, but one with courage and loyalty beyond his station. Ethan made a decision. Come with me, he said abruptly.

Raven blinked. Come with you? Where?

To find the truth. To avenge Lyra and stop the Cabal's plan, whatever it may be. Ethan held out his hand. I cannot do this alone, Raven. I need someone who knows the city's secrets, who can go places I cannot. I need an ally. Will you stand with me?

For a long moment, Raven stared at Ethan's outstretched hand, conflict playing across his sharp-boned face. Then, slowly, he reached out and clasped Ethan's wrist in a firm grip. Aye, he said roughly. I'll stand with you, Lord Blackwood. For Lady Lyra, and for Karthis.

Ethan nodded, feeling a sudden rush of gratitude and fierce determination. He did not know where this path would lead, only that he had no choice but to follow it. For love, for duty, for vengeance.

The haunting had begun, and the shades of the dead cried out for justice. Ethan would answer their call, whatever the cost.

As he looked into Raven's steady, unflinching eyes, he knew he would not have to do it alone.

Chapter 3: The Unlikely Ally

THE WHISPERING VEIL was a tavern of ill repute, a dank and dismal place where the dregs of Ravengard gathered to drink, gamble, and plot their petty crimes. Ethan had never set foot inside before, but Raven navigated the labyrinthine alleys of the city's underbelly with the sure-footed ease of a cat.

They had slipped out of Blackwood Manor under cover of darkness, Ethan garbed in a plain black cloak and a muffler that concealed the lower half of his face. It would not do for the heir of House Blackwood to be seen skulking about in such unsavory quarters.

The tavern's common room was a dim, smoky den, the air thick with the reek of unwashed bodies and sour ale. Rough-hewn tables crowded the space, and a stained bar ran along one wall. A ragtag assortment of patrons hunched over their drinks, eyeing the newcomers with open suspicion.

Raven led Ethan to a table in the darkest corner, half-hidden behind a tattered curtain. Wait here, the boy muttered. And keep your hood up. I'll be back.

With that, he melted into the crowd, leaving Ethan alone. He sat stiffly, every nerve thrumming with tension. He felt horribly exposed, a lamb in a den of wolves. His hand drifted to the hilt of the sword concealed beneath his cloak, taking comfort in the solid weight of the steel.

Minutes crawled by with agonizing slowness. Ethan watched the doorway, his heart leaping into his throat every time it swung open. But Raven did not return.

Just as Ethan was beginning to fear that the boy had abandoned him, or worse, betrayed him, a shadow detached itself from the wall and slid into the seat across from him. Ethan stiffened, his hand tightening on his sword hilt. But then the figure leaned forward, and he found himself staring into a pair of striking green eyes set in a sharp, angular face.

Lord Blackwood, I presume, the woman said, her voice low and rich. Raven tells me you're in need of my particular skills.

And you are? Ethan asked warily.

The woman's lips curved in a razor-edged smile. You can call me Shade. I'm an... information broker, of sorts. I deal in secrets and whispers, the currency of the shadow trade.

Ethan leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. And what do you know of the Cabal?

Shade's smile widened. Straight to the point. I like that. She drummed her fingers on the table, her nails painted a deep, glossy black. The Cabal is real, that much I can tell you. A secret society of the rich and powerful, all working towards some grand, mysterious purpose.

And what purpose is that? Ethan demanded.

Shade shrugged. That's where things get murky. The Cabal guards its secrets well. But there are rumors, whispers of a plan to overthrow the king and seize control of the kingdom. To reshape Karthis according to their own dark design.

Ethan felt a chill run down his spine. And Lyra? What was her role in all this?

Shade's expression turned somber. Lady Faemourn was recruited into the Cabal, that much I know. But she had a change of heart, wanted out. And the Cabal doesn't take kindly to deserters.

So they killed her, Ethan said flatly.

It would appear so. A warning to others who might think to betray them. Shade leaned back in her chair, her eyes glinting in the dim light. But there's more. My sources tell me that the Cabal is close to making their move. That they've uncovered some sort of ancient power, a weapon that could tip the balance in their favor.

Ethan's mind raced. An ancient power? Could it be somehow connected to the dark magic rising across the kingdom, the unquiet dead stirring in their graves? He thought of Lyra's ghost, the accusation in her spectral eyes.

Where can I find them? he asked hoarsely. The Cabal. Where do they meet?

Shade shook her head. That I don't know. The Cabal is too clever to have a single stronghold. They meet in secret, always changing locations. But...

She trailed off, her gaze turning calculating. Ethan leaned forward, his heart pounding. But what? Tell me!

Shade held up a hand. Information is my trade, Lord Blackwood. And it doesn't come cheap. If you want my help, you'll have to pay my price.

Ethan's jaw clenched. He had expected this, but it still galled him. Name it, he bit out.

Shade's smile returned, sharp as a dagger. I want immunity. A full pardon for any and all crimes, signed and sealed by the king himself. And I want protection, for myself and my network. The Cabal has a long reach, and they'll stop at nothing to silence those who threaten them.

Ethan hesitated, torn. What Shade was asking was no small thing. It would require him to leverage all of his influence, to call in every favor owed to House Blackwood. And even then, there was no guarantee the king would agree.

But what choice did he have? Lyra's murder could not go unanswered. The Cabal had to be stopped, before their dark ambitions plunged all of Karthis into chaos. And for that, he needed Shade's help.

Very well, he said at last, the words bitter on his tongue. You shall have your pardon and your protection. Now, tell me what you know.

Shade leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. There's a man, a merchant by the name of Dorian Carrow. He's a high-ranking member of the Cabal, one of the inner circle. And he's hosting a grand masquerade ball at his manor three nights hence.

Ethan frowned. A ball? How does that help us?

Because, Shade said patiently, the ball is a cover. A way for the Cabal to gather without arousing suspicion. Carrow's manor will be crawling with their agents, all the top players in one place. It's the perfect opportunity to infiltrate their ranks, to learn their secrets.

Ethan's pulse quickened. You want me to attend this ball? To spy on the Cabal from within?

Shade nodded. You'll need a disguise, of course. And an invitation. But I can provide both. As for getting you inside Carrow's manor, well... Her gaze slid past Ethan's shoulder. You'll have help.

Ethan turned to see Raven emerging from the shadows, a fierce grin on his sharp-boned face. The boy had discarded his tattered rags in favor of a sleek black tunic and trousers, a slender blade belted at his waist. He looked like a different person, a creature of the night.

Raven will be your guide, Shade said. "He knows Carrow's