Edmund turned toward the door, already losing interest. "Bring her."
The guards dragged her toward the stairs. She fought every step, but it was useless now. They had her, and they knew it.
The tools pressed warm against her ribs, humming softly, almost like they were trying to comfort her.
Or maybe claiming her, piece by piece, as she was dragged toward whatever fate Edmund had planned.
II.
BRYNN
Lord Edmund's private study was crowded. His guard captain waited near the desk, the castle's priest hovered by the window, and two minor nobles lingered, clutching wine glasses from their interrupted meal.
Brynn stood in chains worth more than everything she'd ever stolen, still wearing her dark leather work clothes, feeling every inch the criminal she was supposed to be.
"The law is clear," the priest said, consulting a leather-bound tome. "Theft from a noble house: lose your hand. But theft involving death magic..." He glanced at her unmarked hands. "You burn for that."
"Standard protocol," the guard captain added, hand resting on his sword hilt. "Take her hand first, per theft laws. Then the burning."
Brynn's stomach dropped. They meant now. Not tomorrow, not after a trial.Now.
Her eyes went to her hands, still bound in front of her. Ten fingers that had picked a thousand locks, that had fed her for a decade, that had touched those tools and survived. In the next few minutes, she'd lose one. Then they'd burn what was left.
"How brutal," she managed, keeping her voice level through the cold dread settling in her gut. "At least you're consistent."
"Bring the block," the guard captain ordered one of his men.
The guard moved toward the door. She could already hear it in her mind. The thunk of wood hitting stone, the scrape as they positioned it. The smell of old blood that never quite washed out.
This is happening. This is actually?—
"Wait."
Every head turned toward Lord Edmund. Even the guard, his hand on the door, froze.
He had remained silent until now, watching her with those dark, beady eyes. He stepped closer, studying her face with sudden interest.
"The tribute selection is in one month," he said slowly, thoughtfully. "The Death Lords require five mortal tributes each decade to maintain the barriers between their realm and ours."
The priest frowned. "My lord, the tribute selection follows old protocols. We typically send?—"
"We typically send criminals, the condemned, those who have nothing left to lose," Edmund finished smoothly. His gaze never left Brynn's face. "I think our thief here qualifies. And her unique abilities might serve a purpose there." He gestured toward her unmarked hands. "She touched death magic and survived."
Ah. Not mercy. Just a different kind of execution.
"You want to send me to die slowly instead of quickly," she said. "So generous."
"I want to send you to die usefully," he corrected. "One month in my dungeons, then the tribute ritual. Or we can proceed with the burning right now." He tilted his head slightly. "Your choice."
The guard captain shifted his weight. "My lord, if she's dangerous enough for death magic charges?—"
"Then she's dangerous enough to be useful to the Death Lords," Edmund cut him off. "We need to send tributes anyway. Why waste the opportunity to gain favor?"
They were all staring at her now, waiting for her response. As if she had a real choice between burning in the next hour or buying herself a month.
One month. Four weeks to find a way out of this nightmare.
She'd probably fail. The dungeons under Greymont Castle werelegendary. No one escaped them. And even if she did, where would she go? Every lord in the kingdom would be looking for the thief who'd touched death magic and lived.
