“Appearances matter. When my son claims a witch’s life without immediately taking it, people assume he’s gone soft. When he houses her in adjacent quarters, they whisper about compromise. When he protects her from other hunters, they question his loyalty.”
I straightened, tasting blood from where my teeth had cut the inside of my cheek. “My loyalty has never been in question.”
“Hasn’t it?”
“No, sir.”
His smile was cold. Detached. “Tomorrow, when you are announced a winner, when you go on to hunt the Phoenix—when youfindher—you kill her. Personally. With your own blade. No hesitation. No mercy. No compromise.”
“Understood.”
“I certainly hope so.” He reached out, almost gently, to straighten my collar. The gesture should have been paternal. Instead, it felt like a serpent testing whether to strike. “Because I’ve spent thirty-four years molding you into the perfect weapon. I won’t watch you dull yourself on a witch. You slip and I’ll put you on heretic duty. Do not disappoint me, Wickett. You know who will pay the price when you do.”
The threat was one I’d heard a thousand times, but I kept my expression neutral. He was right, of course. Sentiment was weakness. Emotional attachment compromised judgment. Everything he’d taught me about control, about duty, about the necessity of absolute focus, all of it was being tested by proximity to a witch who knew I was nothing more than a killer.
It’s what I’d been trained to be. What I was good at. The public mask was unwavering.
“I understand, sir.”
“Good.” He moved toward the door, then paused. “Oh, and son? The witch hears everything we say. These walls aren’t as thick as they appear. I hope she appreciates the lesson about where your true loyalties lie.”
The door closed behind him with final authority.
I stood in my room, blood still warm on my tongue, aware that every word of our conversation had carried to the other rooms. The witch would have heard my father’s expectations. His threats. My compliance.
She would know exactly what I was.
What I was meant to be.
What I would become when we found the Phoenix.
From the common room, the Heartless One’s voice cut through the silence. “Touching family moment.”
I ignored him, returning to my tactical reports. But concentration proved elusive. The binding hummed between us, carrying something more than magic—awareness of her in thenext room, the memory of how she’d fought in the maze, fury and desperation and that unwillingness to break. Syneca Black’s presence pressed against my awareness like a weight I couldn’t shift. This would be easier if she were less... everything. Less fierce. Less compelling. Less like someone I might have chosen if I’d been allowed to choose anything for myself.
But I wasn’t allowed. Had never been allowed. And sentiment was a luxury for men who weren’t born into legacies written in blood.
Tomorrow, Felix had to die. Then, the hunt of my lifetime would finally begin.
Chapter 15
Syneca
When the hunter becomes the hunted, fate reveals which paths lead to survival and which lead to graves.
Ihadn’t slept. Not with Calder keeping guard just feet from Wickett—who’d promised to kill me in front of thousands of people. And not with the Magistrate close by, who, from the sounds of it, wasn’t happy. Certainly not with this fucking ribbon binding Wickett and me together throbbing all night like a heartbeat. If its job was to unnerve the contestants, then its success was an understatement.
When I stepped out of the room in the morning, red curls a tangled mop on the top of my head, Calder was leaning against the wall. He was eating an apple as he read the paper. I had no idea where it’d come from, but when two little blue eyes flashed from the corner, I had a sneaking suspicion a grumpy griffin, who was supposed to be keeping a low profile, had something to do with it.
The Ripper’s door opened seconds later, and his glare was met with my middle finger. “I’m not in the mood for you today,”I said, walking toward the door. “I need a bathroom, a hot shower and a toothbrush.”
He opened his mouth, probably to say something dickish, but I threw a hand up. Apparently, I was choosing chaos today. “Just summon whatever people you need to give me permission to pee. You can kill me off later.”
“Sleep well, Rune Eater?” Wickett asked, not bothering to look toward Calder.
Calder didn’t say anything, but he shifted forward all the same. To him, family was everything. If it hadn’t been abundantly clear before, there was no mistaking it now. The charidryn had claimed me as family, complete with the protection his terrifying reputation provided. Of course, he’d really claimed me for the rune making. The family part was just an unfortunate side effect he tolerated with all the enthusiasm of a man who’d accidentally adopted a feral feline.
“Can we go?” I asked.
