Cecilia gritted her teeth, and forced herself to assume a tone of humble appeal. "It was never my intention to injure anyone. I was merely trying to keep Dominic from paying the consequences of his folly. I apologize for doing it so clumsily. I only had your best interests at heart--I swear it."

"You lying bitch," said a new, deep voice. To her dismay, Michael strode into the room, his golden wings limned with blood-red rage. "Was harming my son also in his best interests?" His sword was drawn, and every line of his frame sang with killing intent.

"Is this your plan, Sir Jean? To lure me here so he can murder--?" Cecilia began to ask. Then, to her shock, she saw Robert's slender, dark-haired form following close on his father's heels, his faded wings wrapped tightly around his body, as he clung to Tirgit's hand. What was Robert doing here? It was useless to try and regain their trust now. She snarled, and dodged the swift swing of Michael's sword. The blade bit deeply into the frame of the cushioned chair where she'd been sitting, and shattered it into splinters with an explosion of goose down.

She formed her aura into a sword of silver fire, and prepared to counter-attack, only to be brought up short by a sickening wave of pain in her head. How could forget the geas Dominic had laid upon her? Galla-demons devour his entrails! She was not permitted to kill either Michael or Dominic, but neither could she leave them untouched. That left--

Michael's next thrust tore though her gown, just over her ribs, and left a burning line against her skin. She pushed him away with all her strength, her silver wings lifting and tossing him against the wall. She swept Dominic and Mathilde off their feet as well, the force of her blow stunning them into temporary submission. Sir Jean and Lady Alais were left to cower amidst the ruins of the parlor's furniture