“They were hunted.” His voice was flat. “Systematically. Ashterion’s predecessors couldn’t control the warriors, couldn’t break them, so they did the only thing they could do. They exterminated them. Every last one. Spent two centuries tracking down anyone with even a trace of shadow fire in their bloodline and putting them in the ground.”
The world tilted sideways.
Extinct. They’d hunted the shadow fire wielders to extinction.
“So the reappearance of that power now,” Cindrissian continued, watching me too closely. “Especially in the hands of someone who just crossed? Someone they don’t control?” His smile was utterly without humour. “That’s not just concerning, Isara. That’s fucking catastrophic. For you, anyway.”
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think past the roaring in my ears.
“You’re saying I’m—what? The last one? The only one?”
“I’m saying you’re carrying magic that was supposed to be dead. And Ashterion feltsomethingwhen you lit up crossing the Veil. He doesn’t know exactly what it is. If he did, he’d be breaking down Varyth’s doors right now. But he knows it’s tiedto him. To his court.” Cindrissian leaned closer, voice dropping. “And that’s enough to make you a priority target. Because Ashterion doesn’t like surprises. And hereallydoesn’t like ghosts coming back to haunt him.”
“Why didn’t Varyth tell me this?” The anger felt good, felt right. Something solid to grab while everything else dissolved into horror. “Why the fuck didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Because Varyth’s trying to figure out what you are before deciding what to do about you,” Cindrissian said bluntly.
“Fuck,” I breathed.
“Succinct,” Cindrissian agreed. “And accurate.”
I stared at him, trying to recalibrate. Trying to process the fact that I was apparently carrying extinct magic that made me a walking target for an immortal tyrant who’d spent centuries wiping out anyone like me.
And Cindrissian was still here. Still watching me with that infuriating mix of amusement and something darker.
“So what now?” I asked, hating how rough my voice sounded. “You’ve delivered your terrifying news. Are you going to disappear back into the shadows and leave me to have my existential crisis in peace?”
“I could.” He tilted his head, considering. “But that seems unkind. Besides, you came all the way out here to explore the city, and you’ve not seen anything beyond the inside of one mediocre tavern.” He straightened, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “Let me give you a tour.”
I blinked at him. “A tour.”
“A tour,” he confirmed, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Show you the sights. Introduce you to the more interesting establishments. Help you get your bearings in case you ever need to, say, disappear into the city on short notice.”
“You’re offering to help me plan my potential escape routes.”
“I’m offering to show you around.” His smirk widened. “What you choose to do with that information is entirely your business.”
I should have said no. Should have told him to fuck off back to the castle and leave me alone. But the alternative was wandering aimlessly through unfamiliar streets, and at least with Cindrissian I’d have someone who knew where the bodies were buried.
Literally, probably.
“Fine,” I said. “But if this is some elaborate scheme to get me arrested or murdered, I’m haunting you for eternity.”
“Noted.” He gestured down the street with a theatrical flourish. “Shall we?”
14
We fell into step together, moving away from the tavern and deeper into the city. The streets here were narrower, the buildings pressed closer together, and the few people we passed had the kind of purposeful stride that said they knew exactly where they were going and had no interest in being delayed.
“It’s late,” Cindrissian said conversationally, “so most of the respectable establishments are closed. Which means you’ll mostly be seeing the city’s more...colourfulside.” He glanced at me sidelong, something playful flickering in his expression. “But you strike me as someone who prefers that anyway.”
I snorted despite myself. “What gave it away? The breaking out of magical prison castles, or the general aura of poor life choices?”
“Both. Also the fact that you didn’t flinch when I told you about the extinct murder magic coursing through your veins.” He guided us around a corner, down an alley that opened into a small square lit by spelled lanterns that cast everything in shades of amber and gold. “Most people would be having hysterics by now. You just got angry and demanded information.”
“Hysterics don’t keep you alive.”
“No,” he agreed softly. “They don’t.”
