Contrary to what Sabine believed, the night of their parents' murder hadn't been the first time Lanthe had encountered that Vrekener boy.
But Thronos had grown up to be her worst enemy....
From his throne, Omort caught sight of her and glowered. Lanthe didn't know what she'd done to incur his lasting animosity, but it had become a fact of life for her. Sabine had said that he innately feared Lanthe. After all, if Lanthe could ever regain her ability, she could command Omort to lose his mind, to forget how to wield his powers.
Oracle number Three-Oh-Eight had told Lanthe that a "perilous inciting incident" would spark her persuasion once more. Lanthe waited impatiently as nearly half a millennium passed by.
"What news?" Omort said when she reached the steps to the dais. As usual, Hettiah simpered by his side-a pale imitation of Sabine. Though her features
and Sabine's were similar, Hettiah's coloring was tepid in comparison to the glamorous and beautiful Sabine.
Lanthe cleared her throat. Sabine went demon-hunting and bagged a two-pointer! No, too blase. "Our sister was successful," she said instead. "She's taken the demon
captive."
At her words, Omort's fingers went white clutching the arms of the throne, bending the gold. Hettiah noted the reaction with a doleful look.
His eyes darted to the east wall of the throne room- which was covered with stone tablets. They were covenants, tablets made with the blood of those enter' ing into any of a variety of dark pacts, with the terms inscribed in the stone for all to see.
The four main players of the Pravus had signed one, vowing allegiance to each other-Omort, Lothaire, the viceroy centaur, and the king of the fire demonarchy.
But now, Omort's gaze was fixed on Sabine's tablet. It was a Sanctuary-an ancient Sorceri covenant that ensured as long as she kept her body "pure," no male could "taint" it. For centuries, she'd suffered her virginity instead of any intercourse unwanted or unnatural.