Thanks to her, their fury faltered. I had more to give, so I added to her power, morphing their confusion into terrified hesitation.
Then I grabbed her hand, and we ran.
The alley turned into a blur as I clutched my bag to my chest. We ducked beneath laundry lines and darted behind parked carts. In our haste, the noise of the city became muffled until the only sounds I could discern were my breath scraping in my throat and my mother’s steady footfalls as she matched my pace.
Then I felt the same presence from earlier—sharpened steel, waiting to pounce. Even as we moved, the air thickened with dark magic that vibrated with such malice that I nearly choked on it. I glanced back. At the alley’s mouth behind us, a shadow moved.
The shadow’s cloak was the color of blood.
Could it be…?
Surely not…
My eyes had to be tricking me.
But that magic… It was so distinct, it had to be him.
I nearly stumbled, bracing myself, waiting for the strike, waiting to hear the executioner’s boots on the cobblestones behind us, but neither came. A last look as we rounded a corner showed him stalking back the way we’d fled—back in the direction of the men who’d attacked us.
Our route home was purposefully indirect. We didn’t slow until the roofs became aged thatch and the cracks in the fortress wall appeared like familiar scars. Once we reached the broken stairs of our building, we burst through the entryway.
Inside, my mother leaned against the wall, her face red from exertion, her hands shaking. I barred the door with the heavy wooden slat then dropped to the floor, heart hammering.
Father’s ragged snores filled the room. He’d been trying to do side work for the carpenter for coin, but it was taking a lot out of him. Tegil was still out, thank the gods. Neither of them needed to know aboutthe mercenaries or the executioner’s lingering gaze. How close we’d come to joining the bodies in the outer ring.
Mama’s hands shook as she lit the hearth. Her blond hair had just started turning gray, but the lines on her pale skin showed too many years of worry, and she was thinner than I was. The fire caught, barely clinging to life. Voice low to not wake Papa, I told Mama most of what had happened in the market. She held me while I finally let the tears fall.
In Caervorn, danger was as constant as the magic threading through the fortress walls. The only difference was whether it came from the shadows…or the Assembly’s order.
And the unspoken question in our minds was whether we’d be able to outrun it the next time it found us.
Chapter 4
Isca
Life went on, despite the terrors of the previous day.
As I settled into my stall the next morning, I saw it had been cleaned again. Had more Assembly guards come by to finish the job? My gaze drifted upward, past smoke-blackened rooftops, to their tower looming at the heart of the ancient fortress. The Assembly’s purple banners snapped wildly in the wind at the top—beautiful things disguising darker truths beneath.
Caervorn only existed because the bones of Avanfell’s fallen empire still jutted from the earth. That empire was now buried under moss and decay, but not quite dead thanks to the Assembly taking up residence in its corpse.
Another gale off the hills cut through my shawl, making me shiver. All around me, awnings strained and groaned like the ghosts of the empire’s army still marching through the wreckage. The mages claimed those crumbling stones were reminders of “better days.” But from where I stood—hungry, shivering—they were just tombstones.
I was still on edge; every clatter of hooves on the cobblestones sounded like bones rattling in a sack. It reminded me of the traveler woman two years ago, the way her fortune bones had tumbled across my stall. She’d pushed through the crowds to get to me, insisting that she tell my fortune. I’d tried to send her away, but she wouldn’t leave until she’d spoken her prophecy, swearing that I’d be the queen of a prosperous kingdom.
I’d laughed until my sides hurt. Had she not noticed my threadbare dress or broken fingernails? I’d once dreamed of prosperity, of a full belly each night and enough coin to allow me to speak my mind, but it had vanished from my life for so long that I’d stopped believing in it.
But even as I’d laughed, I’d felt her magic tug at the world. Just like I’d felt that same tug yesterday, when my power slipped loose and twisted the Assembly’s attention around me like a snare.
Two years later, I was wearing the same dress I’d worn the day she’d thrown the bones. Except it hung off me now.
I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and bent to weigh down the bundles of dried rosemary and lavender more neatly on my stall. The usual spring crowd hoping for cheap fixes to their moods and marital problems had vanished. No haggling housewives, no merchants sampling my wares—just sidelong glances and whispers slithering past me. Another day of slow business.
My worries about lost income disappeared the moment I sensed the executioner’s approach.
His magic felt like the thrum of something restless, a low hum vibrating just beneath the visible layer. I straightened from my busywork, hand stilling around a bundle of dried lavender, and looked up.
I immediately regretted it. He was heading my way, jaw clenched tight, carrying trauma and violence with him.
