"T—the Immortal Quintet figured it out. They sent out an official alert to legacies in high positions. We're all under orders to keep it from the humans to avoid mass panic."
Wise of them. "Are you still in contact with the Legacy Council?"
His gaze darts to Everett. "Yes. I've been in contact with Alaric Frost since the day his son returned to Everbound. He gave me a scrying brand to report back to him on everything."
Scrying brands are an ancient practice—a temporary magical marking within one's skin, similar to a tattoo, that allows communication no matter the distance. They're painful to acquire and never last longer than a year or two, but they're efficient.
Especially because they're also imbued with tracing spells. Which, in this case, was precisely what I was hoping for.
Everett doesn't look surprised to learn his father was spying on him, but he still glares at the mage. "Thanks for that."
"I promise it wasn't personal, Mr. Frost! He was only concerned for you."
Everett scoffs. "If you believed that, you have shit for brains."
The mage’s face reddens. "He said you have exhibited alarming, family-shaming qualities ever since you left home early, and he was worried you would get mixed up in shameful dealings. And clearly, he was right! It is shocking that you, of all people, wouldwillinglyremain matched to this hellish, Undead corpse?—”
Crypt grips Gibbons' broken nose between his knuckles and twists hard. "Manners."
The mage yelps and struggles again. I sense a small pulse of magic from him, but clearly, he's tapped out.
That's fine. I don't need his magic. Just him, since he has that scrying brand on his body.
"Final question. Who did you tell that we're here?"
"Everyone," he says immediately. "The Legacy Council and the bounty hunters. T—they'll be here any moment."
I stare at him, watching his dilated pupils as sweat rolls over his brow. There's a slight twitch in his right eye, and his gaze keeps skipping elsewhere.
"You're lying. You haven't told anyone yet."
He spits more blood out of his mouth before swallowing hard. "No. No, all right? I sent a message to Alaric to let himknow I have an emergency update regarding your whereabouts, but he must be preoccupied with the newest surge at the Nether. No one knows that you're here yet, but it's only a matter of time before the finest bounty hunters come to rain down hellfire upon?—"
Baelfire's growl cuts him off, his voice more gravelly than usual. "Let me kill him now, my mate."
He doesn't usually refer to me like that. Not to mention, he seems far more bloodthirsty than usual. Either hereallydoesn't like this overly prying caster, or his dragon is once again making himself known.
I peer down at the seething, bloodied mage. "You have two options. Make me a blood oath of complete loyalty, and we'll leave you alive…or else we'll do this the fun way."
"A—a blood oath? I cannot!" Gibbons sputters. "There is no priest or priestess here to bless such a thing on behalf of the gods!"
I lean down to meet his one remaining eye better. "Here's a secret: you don't need them. Even a filthy, cursed abomination like me can make a binding blood oath. So, what'll it be? Will you swear your allegiance to me until your final breath, or does my quintet end you here and now?"
Gibbons shakes his head in terror, struggling hard again. "N—no! I gave you answers for my freedom! I only attacked you for the sake of the future of the mortal realm. H—how could you possibly justify killing me now that I cooperated? It's not right! Youknowit's not right! How could you do that to a respectable, old legacy like me?"
He pouts his bloodied lips, trying to appear frail and pitiful.
I roll my eyes. "If you're hoping I'll have a moral conundrum, that's a grave mistake. Emphasis ongrave. Besides, you'll be more useful to us dead."
Everett frowns. "But…how? He'll just be dead."
“Actually, he’ll be a puppet once Silas uses the spell I can teach him."
Reanimation usually takes a few tries, but given how powerful Silas is as a caster in general, I have high hopes.
All four of my matches absorb that, and Everett covers his face. "Oh, dear gods. No. This iswaytoo fucking dark, Oakley."
Such a baby. Besides, it's not like I'll make Silas do it if he doesn't want to. When I look at him, the fae's crimson gaze is unfocused far away, as if he's deep in thought.
