It could be done.
He didn’t doubt that for a minute.
But tracking down leads took time.
Sometimes days, sometimes weeks.
Time he didn’t have.
There had to be a faster way to find Lord Zakhar, or whoever the hell was using a dead woman as their personal puppet.
“Can you—” He gave a vague wave of his hand.
“Can I what?”
“Sense the coin?” he asked.
The man scowled. “I’m a human, not a high-blood. I have no unholy magics running through my veins.”
Duncan narrowed his eyes. “And yet you seemed to know that Callie was a high-blood from the minute she entered the room.”
“The ability to sniff out the enemy is a gift from my god,” Hektor said with a sneer.
Duncan curled his lips. Hypocrite. Any powers he and his so-called Brotherhood had came from the same place as high-bloods, not from some mysterious god.
Now, however, wasn’t the time for a philosophical debate.
Actually, as far as he was concerned, there was never a good time for a philosophical debate.
Instead he concentrated on the only thing that mattered.
“Fine. Can you use that god-given gift to track down the necromancer?”
The dark eyes flashed at the edge of mockery that Duncan didn’t try to hide.
“If we had that power then we would have eliminated him years ago.”
“Really?” Duncan asked dryly. He would bet good money the Brotherhood was very good at hiding in the shadows and very bad at actually getting off their asses and taking care of business. “Do you often eliminate people?”
The man hastily glanced toward the camera in the ceiling. “Certainly not.”
Duncan was abruptly done.
He’d hoped the man could offer a way to capture the necromancer.
Instead he’d gotten fairy tales and vague threats.
“So you don’t know where the coin is or how we can find the necro who stole it,” he snapped. “Why the hell are you here?”
“To warn you of the danger if the coin isn’t immediately returned to our protection.”
“Worthless,” he muttered, heading toward the door. “Feel free to show yourself out.”
Anxious to track down Callie and make sure she wasn’t being hassled by his supposed friends, he hissed in frustration when Hektor was demanding his attention.
“Sergeant?”
He glared over his shoulder. “What?”
The man rose to his feet, his expression hard with warning.
“High-bloods once tried to make themselves into gods,” he said in fierce tones. “Don’t for a minute doubt that they won’t try again.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Zak opened his eyes, briefly confused by the realization he was lying face first on a stone floor with blood dripping down his neck.
Since being burned at the stake by his rabid serfs, he’d learned to take excessive precautions not to put himself in a position where he might wake up in strange places with oozing wounds.
It wasn’t just paranoia.
Not when he knew he was surrounded by enemies.
Both those who openly worked against him, and those who hid in the shadows ...
Ignoring the pain that pounded through his skull, Zak turned his head, a grim satisfaction replacing his momentary confusion.
Even in the shadows he could make out the unmistakable glint of gold.
The chalice.
Grasping his trophy, Zak awkwardly forced himself to his feet.
It hadn’t been a dream. Or a trap.
He’d spoken to the ghosts of his ancestors. And he’d been found worthy.
More than worthy, he silently gloated, forcing his heavy feet to carry him out of the temple.
Unlike the previous necromancer, he had no intention of jeopardizing his life to acquire the power necessary to raise an army. The martyr routine had never appealed to him. Not when he’d been clever enough to prepare a proper sacrifice.
What was the point of power if you couldn’t use it to rule the world?
Making his way down the long staircase, he paused at the bottom, gathering his strength before he walked the short distance to the waiting witch.
His head might be throbbing and his knees threatening to collapse, but he would never show weakness.
He was too close to his ultimate success to risk a knife in the back.
Halting in front of Anya, who was still on her knees, her head bent in weariness, he reached down to grasp her arm. Yanking her to her feet, he slipped the chalice into the deep pocket of his robe.
“Is the pathway still open?” he growled.
Anya blinked, her eyes unfocused as if she’d been asleep. “Yes, but—”
“Let’s go.”
“What happened?” she demanded, glancing around the barren desert. “Did the coin work?”
He offered a tight-lipped smile. “I have what I need.”
She studied him in the fading moonlight, her brows drawn together. “Are you bleeding?”
“How very astute of you, Anya,” he drawled, refusing to speak of what had happened in the temple. “Do you intend to continue this inquest? Or perhaps we can finish it when we aren’t standing knee deep in sand?”
“Fine.” Her chin tilted as she held out her hand. “Let’s go.”
His hesitation lasted less than a heartbeat before he grasped her fingers and braced himself for the journey. He was weary, but not helpless.
And besides, being on constant guard meant that he was prepared for any trap.
Keeping the chalice hidden in his pocket, Zak clenched his teeth as the world dissolved and he was shrouded in a choking blackness.
He hated making himself vulnerable to Anya’s magic, even when it was necessary.
There was a sickening lurch as they traveled through the strange fold in space, then the world abruptly reappeared and they were standing in his private study.
With a groan, Anya dropped to her knees, her brilliant curtain of hair tumbling over her shoulders to brush the Persian carpet.
Taking a step back, Zak regarded his companion with impatience.
“Go to bed, Anya. You will be of no use until you’ve regained your strength,” he said with a brutal lack of sympathy for her fatigue.
With an obvious effort, the witch rose to her feet, her face pale with the strain to remain upright.
“I want to know what happened in the temple.”
Zak paused before giving a shrug. There was no point in hiding his success.
Not when he intended to begin the final stages of his plan within the next few days.
Perhaps even hours.
“I was given what I need to take my place as the ruler of the high-bloods,” he admitted, removing the chalice from his pocket and moving to place it on the desk.