“You there, lower your hood,” Twintle demanded.
“Tell us your name,” the man asked.
“My name?” Vi said softly, looking up at him through her eyelashes and past the edge of her hood. She should run. Sheshouldget out of there as quickly as possible—Vi had her information on what the Knights’ next move was and they still didn’t know who she was. This could still be salvaged without taking too many actions that risked fate.
But something rooted her to the spot. The spark that had been crackling within her was ready to ignite into flames. And as she gazed up into the eyes of this spiteful man—a man who would kill everyone she’d ever loved if given the chance—something within her snapped with an audible crack.
“Your name.” The man reached for her hood, catching hair with fabric. But she didn’t cry out in pain. She didn’t even give any indication he was hurting her. She calmly met the eyes of the Knight she was about to kill.
“My name isjuth calt,” Vi whispered darkly.
He shuddered, stumbled, and fell back—dead before he hit the floor. Several other Knights jumped away and drew their swords. These were men trained in war. They weren’t about to be swayed so easily.
The first lunged for her and she just stared at him, smiling.
“Mysst xieh,” Vi hissed. The words blurred together, but a shield of brilliant light sparked in the air before his blade could hit her. Vi ignited flames around the shield with a thought. He stumbled backward.
“What sorcery is this?” The man looked at his sword as though it had betrayed him and blinked at where the fire had been.
“The sorcery of the Mother.” Vi waved a hand and cast an arc of fire around her. It burned white hot—hotter than it had burned for Taavin. Men and women bounced backward, throwing hoods from their heads, exposing faces of pure ugliness beneath.
The fire caught, leaping from crate to crate. Soon, the warehouse would be up in flames. Its contents wouldn’t burn—the jewels would survive. The masonry of the building would endure. But she wanted to see them scatter like rats.
She wanted to see them burn until they were husks. She didn’t care about fate or crystals. She wanted vengeance.
She wanted—
“Firebearers, get those flames under control and get her!” Twintle’s voice cut through her thoughts.
Vi blinked and it was like coming out of a trance. Bloodlust had made her foolish. “Durroe watt radia.” Vi did what she should’ve done the whole time and made herself invisible.
The Firebearers among those gathered finally got control of the flames, but not until after they had consumed a fair bit. Others had already run out of the warehouse.
“Where is she?” Twintle demanded. Nothing more than a small spark illuminated the area. “Where did she go?”
“Father, there was an arc of flame all around.” Luke moved the dark soot with his boot that formed a crescent shape around Vi. “We would’ve seen her—”
“She said she was the Mother,” someone else whispered.
“Impossible.” Twintle approached, blessedly stopping at the line she’d created in the stone floor. “The Mother does not have mortal flesh, and if she did… she would stand beside our noble cause.”
None of the other men and women questioned his claim, though Luke seemed skeptical.
“A Waterrunner must have helped her escape. Search the area,” Twintle commanded, then looked back in her direction, ignorant that their eyes were locked. “Turn over the whole docks. I don’t want anyone to rest until the strange sorcerer and her accomplice are brought to me.”
Chapter Twenty-One
It wasn’tuntil after they left that Vi’s heart decided to knock against her ribs. Nausea rose up and she brought her free hand to her mouth, holding in quivering breaths.
She would’ve killed them all and delighted in it, even if that meant this world ultimately failed. Some part of her, a part she desperately wanted to ignore, knew that if she indulged in these urges there was no recourse. The worst that happened was the world ended, again. It’d be the ninety-third time. How bad could it really be?
Vi shook her head and closed her eyes, urging the thoughts away.
Yet they lingered.
They clung to her like Raspian’s magic, the tiny sparks of red lightning that had danced underneath her skin after she’d used the tear his magic had made in the world to get to the Twilight Kingdom—after she used his words. But she had also witnessed Yargen purge those tendrils of his magic from her when she was being remade.
These urges were her own. She couldn’t blame a dark god or desperation born of a dying world. Controlling herself and staying the course was on her own shoulders.
