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Nick’s attention.
    “What’s happened?”
    “Tiberius contacted me. He wanted to give his condolences for what happened to Sara. He will do what he can.”
    Some of the tension drained from Nick. “Good. And Petra? Did he speak of her?” Luke said nothing, and Nick clenched his fists in anger. “Dammit, Tiberius should have argued in favor of a stay. He owes his place at the fucking Alliance table to the girl, and he damn well knows it. He should be bending over backward with gratitude.”
    “He says he has no choice.”
    “What? Because if he doesn’t support Petra’s termination order, Dirque will rally the troops and vote him off?”
    “Is that so hard to understand?” Luke asked.
    Nick frowned, because it wasn’t hard at all. Tiberius was a politician, and right now he was playing political games. As an advocate for the Alliance, Nick knew all about the machinations of politics. But as a friend, he’d hoped for more.
    “It’s more than his seat at the Alliance,” Luke said. “He said the girl’s touch can bring about the end of the Alliance. He says it’s been foreseen. A prophecy.”
    “And you believe that bullshit?”
    Luke almost smiled. “The Alliance just locked up my wife. Right now, the prospect of someone bringing it down sounds pretty damn good.”
    Nick matched his friend’s smile, and for a moment, he felt like things were right between them. They weren’t, though. Things wouldn’t be right again until Sara was free and Serge was himself, and both of them damn well knew it.
    “It’s dangerous for you to remain here,” Luke said. “You and Petra need to leave tonight.”
    “Understood.”
    “Are you sure about this? Turn her in now, and we can end this. Sara can walk free tonight.”
    “It’s Serge, Luke. The only way you can stop me now is to use that blade at your thigh.”
    Luke’s hand closed over the hilt, and Nick held his breath. But the knife stayed sheathed. “The girl has no idea how to reverse the curse,” Luke said. He dropped his hand. “Hell, she doesn’t even know if it can be done.”
    “But it
is
a curse, Luke. That means it has a source. If we can trace it back …”
    “If,”
Luke said. “And in the meantime, he grows stronger. If he gets free—”
    “He won’t.”
    “No,” Luke said, “because if I fear we are close to that, I will terminate him. Make no mistake. Poison, fire, I will find a way.”
    “You would do that to a friend?”
    Luke closed his eyes. “My friend Sergius is dead.”
    “I intend to bring him back.”
    “Even if you do, his daemon is still unbound.”
    “Under the circumstances, I’d say that was a minor problem.”
    Luke nodded, then opened his eyes and examined Nick with a cold, calculating look. “Even if you succeed, the Alliance has a long memory and a swift temper. You may find yourself strapped to a slab in the execution chamber.”
    “I’ve done my homework, and this is a risk worth taking. If we can pull it off—if we can rid Petra of the curse and transform Serge back into himself—I’m confident that my superior advocacy skills will woo the Tribunal to my side.”
    “And if you’re wrong?”
    “Then I shall be forced to acquire a taste for the fugitive lifestyle.” He brushed a speck of lint off the cuff of the neatly pressed shirt he’d changed into, then looked up at Luke with an ironic grin. “Fortunately, I’m not a man who sets much store by creature comforts.”

CHAPTER 8
    “Nick, wait.”
    Nick paused outside Petra’s door, entrapped by Lissa’s entreaty. He didn’t want to turn and face her. Didn’t want to be distracted by the flood of memories that would surely rise when he saw her.
    He didn’t love her anymore—of that, he was finally certain. But their love hadn’t slipped away slowly until it was nothing more than a soft memory. Instead, it had been torn from his very flesh, and like any wound, the scab bled when picked.
    There was, however, no avoiding it.
    “Hang on a