Ana flinched as the girl tore open the collar of her shirt. With a movement that could almost be described as tender, she touched a finger to the smooth band of her black collar. “My father handed me to the scholars on my eighth birthday,” she said. “He hated me, you see; he wanted to kill me, for I was evidence of his impotence. A daughter, instead of a male heir, was evidence that the gods were mocking him.”
Sorsha pushed up her sleeve, flipped her wrist, and Ana saw something for the first time: a band resembling searock, undulating in the light in ripples of blue, green, and teal. “But there was one thing I had that he didn’t: a magen. A powerful one, to iron,” Sorsha continued. “You see, he’d begun experimenting on a rare material in Bregon. And he began to test it on me.
“I alone survived, out of thousands of his subjects. I was the sole bearer strong enough to endure the siphon’s power. Killing me was the only way to remove the siphon from me, but my dearest father didn’t want to risk that. You see, he’d begun to think of me not as his greatest failure but as his greatest weapon.” Sorsha’s face stretched into an ugly smile. “When you deem someone nonexpendable to you, you becomeweak—and that was where Daddy Dearest erred. He wanted to keep me, but he also wanted to control me. So he put this lovely collar on me.” She dug her nails into the scars stretching from beneath the blackstone collar. “Little does he realize that power cannot be fettered forever. I will show him what I can do. I will finish what he has taught me my entire life. Todestroy.” Crimson dripped down her neck, wetting her collar, staining her nails. She let out a crazed laugh. “And he will watch as I bring down his kingdom.”
Sorsha spread her arms. Above her, in the last scene of the mural, the stallion, the eagle, and the seadragon seemed to encircle her in a perfect imitation of the painted mage, as though she were part of the scene, one with the great Bregonian gods.
Then she turned her obsidian gaze to Ana. “You came to warn us about Morganya coming after our siphons. It’s too late, Blood Bitch.” She spread her arms. “Behold.”
“Don’t do this,” Ana whispered.
Sorsha straightened and sheathed her blade. “As much as I’d love to play a while more, Blood Empress, I have other things to do. A grand plan is in motion. The fun will come later.” She winked. “In the meantime, I’ll leave you to our friend here. Don’t be late to the party.”
She raised a hand in farewell and flounced down the hall. As she reached the entrance, Ana heard her call back to Kaïs: “Escort her to Godhallem. I’ll be joining shortly for the main event.”
The front doors shut with a clang. Ana turned to Kaïs. The pressure in her mind held steady, her Affinity still unreachable. “Just tell me.” Her voice cracked. “Just tell me why you’re doing this.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I have no choice.”
In a corner, Tarschon had pressed a hand over his chest. Crimson seeped between his fingers, and he grasped the bookshelf to stop his swaying.
“We always have a choice,” Ana said quietly.
Kaïs hesitated. “No,” he said. “I’m sorry. If I fail, then—” A flash of emotion across those pale blue eyes. He composed himself and steadied his voice. “I must escort you to Godhallem.”
A new voice rang out. “Then you will have to go through me.”
A wind stirred throughout the hall of the Livren Skolaren, sending the lamplight flickering. In the darkness outside the Livren Skolaren, a shadow appeared, cutting through the night like a knife.
Linn stepped into the halls of the great library, her blades drawn. “I have long waited to fight you on equal footing,” she said, and raised her knives. “Be ready, for this time, I will not surrender so easily.”
In the darkness, there came light. And with light, there came pain. A burning, fiery kind of pain that ached somewhere deep inside.
The next thing Ramson knew, he was leaning over and throwing up on the ground. His body spasmed as he gasped in lungfuls of air. His head spun. His arms ached from just holding up his own weight.
“Take it easy. Breathe, breathe.” The voice was familiar. A hand rubbed his back.
Still wheezing, Ramson turned. A figure sat before him. The faint moonlight silvered her braids, her bright eyes and strong brows that were, at the moment, creased in worry. “Daya?” he choked.
“Thank Amara,” she breathed. “You’re alive.”
The world had settled around him. It was still night, and he was splayed against a wooden jetty beneath a familiar-looking ship. The Black Barge bobbed in the waves next to him as a cold wind swept clouds over the moon.
And Kerlan had just tried to drown him.
The thought of the bottomless waters closing over him made him weak all over again, and he was glad he hadn’t tried to stand up yet. “I thought you left,” he croaked.
Daya batted a hand. “I told you, Pretty Boy, my loyalties are where my goldleaves lie,” she quipped.
Ramson felt giddy as the realization hit him. He was alive. He was, somehow, miraculously,alive.“Daya,” he croaked. “Thank you.”
She snorted. “I didn’t do this for free. It’ll cost you double your fare.” When he didn’t respond, she grinned and elbowed him. “Sorry, sorry, I’m kidding. Too soon?”
Ramson summoned a weak smile. “A bit.”
“Who were those bastards?”
Strength was slowly returning to his body. Sitting upright was getting easier by the second. Soon, he’d be able to stand. “That,” Ramson said, “was Alaric Kerlan. I caught him in the middle of…a much larger scheme than we’d anticipated.” His head hurt; the facts he’d learned sloshed around his head like water. “Which, I think, if he succeeds, will destroy the world as it is.”
