Glittering black power burst from Vaasa in long, angry tendrils, and the glass windows around them shattered. Lord Karev slammed into the wall. Fear wafted in the air, a source Vaasa greedily stole from, the strands of her magic growing thicker, longer. The Sanctum shook, and then another boom sounded from the far side of the building, and Vaasa stumbled a step.
She didn’t have time to hesitate, to figure out what was happening below them. She needed to stop this execution, and she needed to ruin any chance Asterya had at building an army. Ozik had made himself clear—if Asterya survived, Zetyr would be at Icruria’s doorstep in no time.
Lord Karev used his hands to lift his torso, his leg bent at an unnatural angle from its impact with the wall. An agonized cry escaped his lips as he tried to stand. His eyes darted between the rattling door and where Vaasa stood near the window.
He was prey backed into a corner. He knew he wasn’t going to survive her.
He yelled for help, and Vaasa scoffed as she walked forward. Her magic poured from her hands, the release of it heady like wine. It grew in her abdomen, soaking the ties that bound her to Ozik. His own power sat there, ripe for the taking. She pulled from it, her magic rising, the floor around her covered in black mist. “There is no one coming for you, Lord Karev.”
He tried to drag himself along the wall, his breaths flying in and out of his chest. Fear was the only thing on his once-handsome features.
“What are you?” he asked through gritted teeth.
Vaasa tilted her head, shifting the raw magic around her into serpents that slithered across the floor. Their hisses rose in volume like a chorus. “Unhinged,” she said, stepping forward. “A whore.”
Tears streamed down his face.
“Cursed.”
The magic at her feet grew larger, taller, spinning in on itself until her wolf took form. The air tasted of fear and anguish, of cowardice, and it only sharpened every minute detail of her manifestation. The glittering black wolf stood at least waist-high, its edges crackling like fire, purples and greens and blues swirling in black. It was an extension of her, an energy she could feel outside herself as easily as she felt it inside herself.
“You will never be emperor,” Vaasa swore.
And the wolf pounced.
Lord Karev threw up his arms in a futile attempt at defense, and the wolf sank its claws into his torso, toppling him onto thefloor as it latched its teeth onto his shoulder. The lord screamed in agony, his pain a tangible thing that Vaasa could feel along every inch of her skin. It was heat, life, energy. It made a home in her.
She tightened her fists, and the wolf snapped its teeth into the side of his neck, ripping out a chunk of his throat. Blood sputtered from the wound she’d dealt. Lord Karev’s eyes went blank, death finding its mark with as little hesitation as Vaasa had shown. Blood pooled around the body, crimson soaking into Asteryan blue.
The wolf dissipated.
Vaasa’s hands shook, images of her brother flashing through her mind, and nausea rolled in her stomach. But she remembered the weight of Lord Karev’s body. The coldness of the floor he had pinned her against. The sheer helplessness he had wanted to instill.
It wasn’t enough.
She sprinted to the pile of rope next to the curtains, tugging them back to Karev’s body. She wrapped the rope around Lord Karev’s torso and over his shoulders, making sure it would hold, using the same knot she’d once used to tie Reid to his headboard on her wedding night. Her small, vindictive touch.
Someone crashed through the door behind her. Roman’s voice rang across the room, panic so clear in his breathy tone. “What the hell are you doing?”
She dragged Lord Karev’s body to the shattered balcony door. Sucking down a breath, she hauled his weight up and tossed it over the side of the building. The rope whizzed by, and Vaasa watched the mechanism from where she crouched, out of sight of the square, her breath caught in her lungs.
The rope went taut, and the mechanism squealed, lurching, but it held.
She caught one glance of the city square, just one, and her breath stopped.
It was chaos. People screamed and ran in every direction. Smoke billowed in the air. The black powder they’d planted the previous night had set off perfectly.
Vaasa turned, meeting Roman’s eyes. He shouldn’t be here; if he’d followed her command, he would have been far enough from this room to make returning impossible. “They all saw you down there, right?” she asked. “You have an alibi?”
“That’s why you sent me away,” he said. Roman’s body relaxed. The power-hungry, love-twisted fool. He approached her, though his demeanor remained tentative, as if he still questioned whether she would turn on him next.
Her eyes dipped to his waistline, snagging on his keys, and then back up. Vaasa hastily removed her blood-soaked gloves, making a show of it by contorting her face into disgust. She threw them to the floor and backed away, as if she were unsure how she had just done what she’d done, as if she was not the kind of woman capable of such violence.
And then she looked at Roman. She crossed what little space remained between them and sank into his body, purposely shaking just enough to seem as though adrenaline had overtaken her. He held her despite the initial distrust he’d displayed, and to solidify his cooperation, she whispered, “Get me out of here, Roman.”
Without hesitation, he took her blood-soaked hand, and they sprinted into the hall. His footsteps echoed on the staircase with her own, screams still bouncing across the first and second floors, and Vaasa’s heart beat in her chest. She made it halfway to the second floor, but it was filled with a panicked crowd, everyone pushing to get down the final set of stairs and out of the building. No damage was done to this part of the Sanctum, but no amount of planning could have predicted where the crowdswould run or whether the exit would remain open. She needed to lose Roman in this crowd, needed to—
Roman’s hands wound around her waist, and he tugged her back up the stairs. Vaasa slipped. Her back arched at the impact of sharp stone, but still Roman forced her to stand. She turned and ran with him—it was her only choice. If she fought him here, she might not be able to make it through the crowd quick enough to outrun him.
