To my surprise, he gripped the back of his neck again, but said nothing for a moment, turning to look out his window. Then he moved to a cabinet, pulling out what looked like shipping manifests.
“We received intelligence about smuggling operations at the docks. Witches are being trafficked out of the city.” He spread the documents across his desk with deliberate care. “Your team will investigate. Split your forces. Northern docks and southern. Find these smugglers.”
The assignment was busywork. A distraction. Why call a Mortalis, declare a full team of Venatori and send them off to do work his precious hunters could do instead?
“Now that we've sorted this mess, do you understand your new role here? You will no longer work in my offices nor taint my workers. If I have a need, I will send it to your quarters. You will find Vitoria Nindle, as well. If you do not, you die.”
“As will your son,” I said before I could stop myself.
“An unfortunate loss.”
Three words. Delivered with such casual indifference that the full horror hit me. He didn’t care if Wickett died. Might even prefer it.
“You’ll investigate the docks as ordered,” Tiberius continued. “And you’ll report everything you find directly to me. No one else. Do you understand?”
I understood perfectly. He’d worked out that I was leading the Venatori now, and he was giving me enough rope to either save us all or hang myself.
“Yes, Magistrate.”
“Good. Now go. You have plenty of work to do.”
I left on unsteady legs, tasting blood and letting his threats echo, even when the soft click of the door’s bolt startled me.
In the hallway, I found Wickett waiting. Alone. Undoubtedly, the others had been dismissed.
He took one look at my face, and his jaw tightened. But he kept quiet as we wove through the Chancellery, making our way outside. Away from spying runes and watchful eyes. Most of them, anyway. Silas approached, wings spread and gaze lethal as his paws ripped into the turf.
“I’m fine,” I told the griffin, whose onyx beak grazed the mark on my cheek so faintly I almost didn’t feel it. I buried a hand in the feathers on his head. “I’m stronger than I look. Promise.”
Wickett turned toward me.
“Don’t,” I said before he could speak.
He reached for my arm, but Si’s beak snapped through the air, refusing to let him touch me. Wickett deflated, taking a step back. The red mark on his cheek had darkened to purple, matching the one I suspected was forming on my own face.
“His methods are fucked up—” I started.
“What he’s ultimately doing is right,” Wickett cut me off, though his voice lacked conviction. “We’re so close to ending the Phoenix threat, to stopping the Burnings forever. It needs to happen. There can be no other way.”
I stared at him. At the bruise. At the shame in his eyes that he couldn’t quite hide.
“You don’t actually believe that.”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe. Only what I do.”
And there was his confession. The words he hadn’t spoken. He started to walk away. My voice was probably gentler than it’d ever been as I finally, finally understood the man that walked away from me. “Wickett.”
He stopped but didn’t turn around.
“He called youan unfortunate loss. Like losing you would be an inconvenience, not a tragedy.”
“I’m aware.”
“Doesn’t that bother you?”
“No.” He looked back at me then, and the raw honesty in his expression made my chest tight. “Some battles were lost long ago. I can’t... I can’t let myself be as weak as you need me to be, Syneca.”
He disappeared across the lawn, leaving me standing there with blood in my mouth and questions I couldn’t answer.
