The night outside was quiet, but Anthea’s chamber was alive with strange light. The fire burned low in the hearth, throwing long, restless shadows across the walls. Ash and salt had been spread on the floor in a careful circle. Black candles stood at each corner, their flames flickering even though the air was still. It was as if the fire itself knew something dark was being called.

Anthea stood in the center. Her fur cloak had slipped from her shoulders, and her silk gown clung to her skin, ...