A teenage boy with symbols carved into each of his limbs—fire, water, a mountain, and wings. The expression on his face was frozen in agony. Beneath it read:
Ten drops of Alchemist blood mixed with fatesprig, dandelion, bay leaf, and blue vervain, injected into a Strider subject. Results of elemental magic test: chaotic, unstable.
There was another, a girl no older than ten, with red veins and pale skin that glowed like the sun was bursting inside of her. The note read:
Ten drops of Lightbender blood infused with vireroot, injected into the bone. Results of latent light magic test: bones now fragile and emitting internal Lightbender magic. Active.
Then one with three subjects, two male and one female, standing hand to hand. The note beneath said:
Linked using bonding spell and injected with three vials of Alchemist blood and crushed ashgrave. Results of coupling test: magical signatures have been forcibly paired. Physical symptoms are duplicated across all test subjects.
On and on it went. Dozens of tests, if not hundreds, all on display like some sort of morbid art gallery.
It was sick. Twisted. The results of a corrupt, cruel mind that would stop at nothing to gain power. To gaincontrol. That was what this was—Scarven wanted to control this magic, to be a deity among men. And he tookjoyin it. He reveled in the pain of these people, torturing them and then watching them either die in his lab or in his fighting ring like animals.
I imagined Nox and Everett as one of the images on these walls,and I had to clench my hands at my sides.Theyhad been through this. They had worn these chains and suffered in these cells.
I struggled to clear my mind and focus on what I could take away from this to help. There was one piece of long parchment on the wall that caught my eye, with rows and rows of drawings of various herbs. Some I’d heard of, like amaranth and thistle. At the bottom was fatesprig—I recognized the four green leaves with their sharp tips. There were a couple of others next to it that I’d never seen before.
“I don’t know some of these names,” I said, running a finger along the word “fatesprig” on one of the drawings, then “ashgrave” on the one next to it. “Are they flowers or something?”
“Or something,” Scarven said. He came up next to me, his chest brushing my side. He fingered the edge of the fatesprig sketch. “I’m surprised you don’t recognize this one.”
My heart beat a little faster, paranoia seeping through me. “Why should I?”
“Because it’s found in your kingdom.”
I blinked.Right. “I’ve hardly left the North Territory of Mysthelm, to be honest. Where does it grow?”
“The island. We learned of its existence only a handful of years ago. It reacts with Veridian blood in a way no other element has before. Just as these do,” he added, pointing to the two herbs next to the fatesprig. One was marked ashgrave, and one said vireroot.
“Are these from Mysthelm too?” I asked.
There was that chuckle again. It sounded more and more condescending every time. “Did you think the Veridian Empire and Mysthelm were the only two lands out there for us to draw inspiration from?”
I whirled to face him. I didn’t even have to act surprised this time. “I—I don’t know. I’ve heard people allude to there beingmoreout there, but not many have explored the rest of the world.”
There were whispers of places beyond ours. Uninhabited islands, continents ruled by less sophisticated groups, lost kingdoms outside our realm. But there had hardly been any proof. Norecords, no communication. For as long as our history could remember, the focus had been on the Veridian Empire and Mysthelm.
Was he saying he’dbeento these places? That some of his herbs came from there?
His fingers slid from the drawing to my hand. “I didn’t think you came here for a geography lesson, Miss Nyte,” he murmured, leaning closer.
I closed my eyes and swallowed the lump in my throat. His lips moved down my neck, and I clenched my hand in a fist so tight, I thought I drew blood.
Blood.
An idea hit me. A stupid, reckless idea.
My specialty.
“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” I said as I wound my arms around his neck and pulled his lips to mine.
When his hands fell to my waist, I slid my tongue along his lips and nipped the bottom one—quick and light, just testing the waters. He responded by seizing the back of my neck, threading his fingers through my hair. I balled my fist in the top of his shirt right as I bit down on his lip again.
Hard.
A copper tang met my tongue.
