Illiana selected a knife. “Ready?”
Bryn gave a tight nod.
The valerian root powder and mead had unwound her fears a little. Her mind felt dulled, her muscles slack. When Illiana touched the blade to the place where her shoulder met her chest just above and to the side of her breast, she braced herself.
Illiana began muttering magical words as she pierced Bryn’s skin. Bryn squeezed her eyes closed and grunted against the pain. Mars kept her wrists pressed steadily against the bedroll, making sure she didn’t flinch.
Pain shrieked through her shoulder. A trickle of blood ran down her skin. She didn’t dare open her eyes, as it was only in the darkness behind her eyelids that she could find the strength to stay perfectly still.
Rangar needs me. I can save his life.
During the weeks on the road with Valenden, she had practiced what little magic she knew, and he had shown her more of the possibilities of what hexes could accomplish. She knew in her heart that magic was the path forward for the Mirien. It was the great equalizer that would give power to the common folk. It would take time to change the Mir people’s ideas about hexes, but with trustworthy people like Illiana and Mam Nelle, real change could happen.
And it starts with me, here.
Bryn kept her thoughts on Rangar to get through the pain. She imagined her success during the hanging. She’d come here after to revive Rangar and tend to him as Illiana had once done for Mars. She’d have Rangar in her arms again soon, and this time, they wouldn’t let anything drive them apart.
Bryn’s mind spun from the pain, the herbs, and the mead. She lost track of time as Illiana carved the spiral into her skin, then rubbed in ash to ensure it would scar.
Finally, the witch sat up, wiping her brow. Despite the cold, sweat beaded on her face.
“It’s done. Don’t move. Let me stop the bleeding.”
Mars squeezed Bryn’s wrists. “Nicely done, mouse. I don’t know many trained soldiers who could take the pain without flinching.”
Illiana cleaned the wound and changed the bloodstained bedroll linens, then pressed a clean bandage over Bryn’s cut. “Because of where the hexmark is, I can’t properly wrap a bandage. So you’ll have to keep this compress on until the bleeding stops. Take care to keep it covered so no one sees it—your dresses should hide it unless the neckline is especially low.”
With Mars’s help, Bryn sat up slowly, holding the compress to the hexmark. She spared a brief glance down at it.
The mark was just above her breast, near her armpit. Illiana was skilled with the blade; it looked as cleanly carved as even Mage Marna’s hex on her inner ear.
Bryn tested out tracing the shape in the air.
“Now,” Illiana said. “All that’s left is to learn the spell.Ana somna mortinya.”
“Ana somna mortinya,”Bryn repeated, whispering it until it was committed to memory. Then she turned to Mars, biting her lip. “There’s one more thing, actually. I need to practice it on a real person.”
Mars’s face fell beneath his blindfold. “The things I must do for my kingdom. Very well. Put me in a death slumber, sister.”
Over the following days,Bryn spent her days going through the motions of planning a wedding that she had no intention of going through with. Each night, she snuck into the secret passages to practice the death slumber hex on Mars. The first time she’d tried it, black bile had bubbled up from his throat until Illiana had quickly whispered a spell to calm his stomach. The next night, Bryn had managed to induce a comatose state, but it only lasted a few seconds before Mars gasped for breath again. But by the fifth evening, when the hexmark was settling into the permanent scar, Bryn managed to put Mars into a death slumber for a full seven minutes.
The day before Rangar’s hanging, Bryn convinced Captain Carr to allow her to return to Mam Nelle’s seamstress stall in the market for another gown fitting. Valenden was waiting for her there, this time with Saraj and another falconer.
“Saraj!” Bryn threw her arms around her friend’s neck, squeezing tightly. “I’ve missed you with all my heart.”
“It’s good to see you, Bryn.” Saraj looked better than when Bryn had last seen her. That had been only a short time after Trei’s death, and Saraj had been broken-hearted, looking like a shell of her former self. But now there was more color in the head falconer’s cheeks, and her thin body had filled back out.
“Where is Zephyr?” Bryn asked of Saraj’s falcon, who was usually perched on her arm.
“At our camp in Saint’s Forest.” Saraj motioned to the other falconer, a beautiful dark-haired woman around Bryn’s age. “This is Aya. She’s been posing as a traveling acrobatics performer so that she can do reconnaissance around Mir Town.”
Bryn recognized Aya, though they hadn’t spoken before in the Baersladen. She’d kept a distance from Aya for a good reason: before Bryn had arrived, Aya and Rangar had been romantically involved with one another. Rangar had assured her Aya was merely a friend who’d occasionally warm his bed on a cold winter night, but it didn’t stop Bryn from feeling a pang of jealousy to see the lithe, beautiful falconer now.
“I’m grateful you came all this way,” Bryn said to Aya.
Aya held her head proudly, not the type to bow to a princess. “I’d do anything for Prince Rangar.”
Bryn gave a tight smile she hoped didn’t look nervous. “Wonderful.”
