Chapter 13 · No Name

The floor split under Nessa’s boots.

Not cracked. Split.

A black line tore through the white council stone, straight from the blood basin to the iron doors at the back of the chamber. Red light burned under it. Hot enough that the soles of her boots smoked.

Every mask in the room turned toward her.

“Get her down,” Sable snapped.

The blood chains around Nessa’s wrists yanked hard. She hit one knee, palms slapping stone. Pain shot up her arms.

Dorian caught himself against the basin beside her. Blood ran from his mouth and down his jaw. He looked worse than he had in the vault. Worse than in the carriage. His shirt was dark with it now.

“Nessa,” he said.

“I’m fine.”

“You are literally bleeding on a thing nobody can identify.”

“Still fine.”

The line in the floor pulsed.

Her forbidden sigil answered from under her skin.

It sat low beneath her ribs, burning like somebody had pushed a poker through her and left it there. The old mark had never hurt this way before.