“You’re not taking me anywhere. I’ll take this blood traitor to hells with me—” Morgan cuts off as I stab one knife into his forearm, the other into his thigh. He screams, dropping the knife. I grasp his arm and flip him over my body, and he thuds onto the floorboards.
I’m still the fucking Wraith of Westfall.
I doubt he’ll ever forget it.
Draven bears down on him and lifts Morgan off the ground by the front of his tunic.
“What was that you said about a hundred knives? About vengeance?” Draven snarls at Morgan, his voice too deep and raw to match the smooth tenor I’ve grown accustomed to.
“Fuck you and your little whore.”
Draven draws the World to the forefront, inverting it, and Morgan squirms harder, crying piteously as the magic blares into him. No … out of him. Draven strips Morgan’s power from him, stripping the Arcana from his body. Golden dust is seemingly drawn out from his very soul, regurgitating from his throat and dissipating in the air. But Draven doesn’t stop, and Morgan begins to crumble, the magic devouring his essence.
I turn away, clenching my eyes shut, my last glimpse of Morgan reminding me of grapes too long off the vine, curdledto dusty brown husks. A mass drops, the resulting vibration in the floorboards too light to match how much Morgan should weigh, but I can tell by the odd grime in the air that it’shim.My stomach sours, but I force my eyes open.
Starlight trickles off Draven as his power winds down, illuminating him and me. I should be terrified by the sheer might of his power, but instead I’m only scared by how close I came to losing him.
“Draven?” I want him to look at me. I’d prefer the mercy of his fury over the cold unresponsiveness that seeps from him now, staring vaguely forward, not saying anything. I force my throat clear. “Draven? Are you all right?”
He looks toward me, but his eyes don’t reach mine, settling at my knees. “Are you hurt?” His voice is awfully quiet.
“No,” I breathe. “Are you?”
The door slams open and guards rush the space, swords out, bows drawn, and magic searching every corner.
Draven ignores my question and turns to whoever the leader is and mutters, “There are more in the party near Rune’s friends. We need to find out who they are and how many there are. All but one I sent to the Boiler. Take Rune back to our Hearth and guard her—”
I grasp his hand and when he turns to me, I swear I’ve never seen that kind of hurt before.
“No, I can help.” My eyes are steady on his. “We should start with questioning Kasper.”
22Interrogation
The Nine of Wands often represents the last stand, a line drawn in the sands as the weight of trials and tribulations press down. Success must come at a cost, with the scars to prove it.
THE BOILER ISa small outlying building located close to the volcano. It’s a grim, miserable place, swelling with blistering heat, and it’s built like a dungeon. The walls are made of granite stone and concrete, lined with chains and cuffs that make my skin crawl. Every cell contains one of tonight’s attackers, transported directly here by Draven.
He and I stand in a boxy room connected to a private cell, watching Kasper through a window. He’s strapped to a chair, his skin chafing from the steel.
I told Draven all about my suspicions that Kasper wanted to be Selected. How he watched me, nearly regretfully, when Morgan imitated Draven and led me up those stairs. I don’t know how much he knew, but I intend to find out.
The raven tattoo against my forearm prickles like acid.
“We need him to admit whatever he knows,” Draven states, eyes sweeping over me in a brush of frustration. “We have others to question.”
“Could you just use the High Priestess to dig around his head a bit?”
“I tried on the way here, but he has a mental shield in place.” Draven’s lip curls and he shakes his head. “He’s chosen by the High Priestess Arcana, and one of the very first things they learn is mental shielding. He’s unusually talented. And even though I have more training, it’s not like reading a book. I could push … but those obstinate shields might require breaking your friend permanently. And what if he has no involvement?”
He side-eyes me, as if daring me to say it’s okay, but I begrudgingly shake my head, thinking of Ember. “Right, well, we can’t do that to him.”
Draven’s arms cross, the angry detachment in his gaze more worrying than the anger that flared before. He clears his throat. “You used to gather intelligence for a living. Any ideas?” He’s never looked at me so critically before. My ribs tighten, my stomach growing nauseous. I need to prove myself. I cannot find my family without his trust.
But there’s more to it than that.
Iwanthim to trust me.
“Can he see us?” I gesture to the window, but Kasper has only glanced at it.
