“...if Kral Xannirin refuses to surrender Uzhhorod, that is no problem,” Mannore Liraeviel said. “My son has personally vowed to execute him. After all, with his psionic powers, he could render all of House Vrak immobile in a second. It wouldn’t take long for his sword to swing through the three cousins’ necks.”
Like many noble children, the heir to house Liraeviel fought in the army, heading the battalion that reflected his power. As a Myrza—the highest rank beneath the Zahal—he would have such an opportunity.
But I’d met him enough times to know that he was as arrogant as his father.
“They’ll not make it that far without more supplies. My daughter has written of rampant disease spreading through the camp. Her Manipulator squad is almost decimated from it. I thought the plague we unleashed with that evil spawn of the Fates’ magic was supposed to help us win,” Rhael Thesariin huffed.
My nails bit into my palms at the reminder of the burgundy-eyed Demon we’d sacrificed hundreds to capture. Our prisoners had spoken of his power to create targeted plagues and how they suspected once their army was deep enough into the Angel’s sovereign territory, the Halálhívó planned to unleash one on us.
Instead, we’d turned their own power on them.
“Where are the healers in all of this? Isn’t that the point of our most powerful following them into the Demon Realm rather than remaining here?” Mannore Liraeviel questioned. “Their magic would be useful for my lower back. Instead I’m left with the potions the lesser healers can make.”
“Kisst Thesariin. Kisst Liraeviel,” I greeted them, having heard enough of their grumbling.
Both jumped and spun. “Herr Räviel,” Rhael Thesariin gulped. “We didn’t hear your approach.” They shared a momentary glance, like they were checking that the other had their back in case an escape was needed.
The monster had arrived, lurking in the shadows, and they’d been too busy drowning in their own self importance to notice.
I let out a low, sinister laugh. “Of course not. You weren’t supposed to.”
Dragging in a deep breath, I dove into my power and yanked on the threads. Their eyes widened as the air beneath their tunics sucked toward me. One jerked to the side like he searched for a savior.
But the three of us were all alone up here, and no one was around to witness my Command.
“LISTEN.”
Incandescence leaked from my fingertips and slithered across the ground. With a twist of my hands, I wrapped it around them, binding them in place too.
I stepped closer.
“OBEY.”
The word scraped out of my throat.
“Whatever Koron Stadiel wishes to do at the council meeting tonight, you will eventually agree to.”
Rhael’s face turned a bright red. Yet he was under the thrall of my power and could do nothing to free himself of it.
It wasn’t the first time I’d Commanded him. Or Mannore. Not that either remembered.
“FOLLOW.”
My magic tightened around them like twin nooses. They had no choice but to obey as I walked to the exterior stairs that led away from the palace. The rose garden wasn’t far—just outside the royal feather.
Something tugged backward, and I glanced over my shoulder, finding Mannore’s face screwed up like he was trying to resist the compulsion.
But there was no fighting off my power once it had taken root.
I didn’t even break a sweat from flexing my Command as we strode ontothe grassy lawn.
Slowing my pace, I ensured those around tending to the grounds merely thought the three of us were out for a stroll.
“So, what was it that you were saying about the war?” I asked casually, like either were capable of replying.
I clapped one on the shoulder and laughed for good measure as we dipped between two thorny bushes and out of sight of the gardeners.
Thankfully, Iaoth waited for us on a stone bench a short distance away.
