My hands shake and I curl them into fists.
Have a care for this, my beautiful destroyer. You tread a fine line, but you have the cunning and strength to do so. You have a brilliant opportunity before you. Do not misuse it.
His whisper slides down my spine, soft and cold. My heart answers, yes. Always yes.
I close my eyes, breathe through the tremor, and when I open them again the world looks sharper. The fear, the blood, the rage, all in perfect focus.
Red again. Always red. Until I find Him.
But first—I must save an innocent.
Chapter Nine
I snagAda from out back and ride to the Tower at full speed, not bothering with the stables this time. The sky’s black and heavy, the wind biting, but I don’t care. By the time I reach the gate, my pulse is a hammer in my throat. I throw myself off Ada’s back, tie her roughly to a post near the rear door and march straight in.
The corridors are quiet—too quiet. The lamps burn low, the guards are all below in the dungeons and the air stinks of damp stone and smoke. My steps echo, bouncing off the walls just the way I want them to.
“Bernie!” I shout, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
Nothing.
I storm down the hallway, the sound of my boots growing louder, sharper.
“Bernie!”
The office door bursts open under my kick. He jumps to his feet, pale as paper, eyes wide. His inkpot spills across the desk, bleeding into his papers.
“Mary! Don’t shout, for God’s sake—someone might hear you!” He stumbles back a step, pressing his hands against the desk like he might need to steady himself.
“What’s wrong?”
I don’t stop moving until I’m right in front of him. “Your guards just arrested a girl from De-Vil’s,” I say, my voice low but shaking with fury. “You’re going to release her. Right now.”
He blinks at me like he’s misheard. “I can’t, kid. She’s been accused of witchcraft. Too good in bed, tempting men for coin.”
My hands slam down on the table so hard the wood groans. “That’s her job! It’s not witchcraft, Bernie, it’s survival!”
He flinches, shoulders curling in. I lean closer, close enough for him to smell the dirt and horse sweat clinging to me. “You listen to me. That girl from De-Vil’s is innocent. You’re going to give me her release papers, and I’ll collect her myself. She doesn’t come back here. None of them do. You understand me?”
He’s sweating now, his hands shaking as he reaches for a drawer. “If any more of them end up here, Mary, I can’t just?—”
I grab the drawer before he can open it, slam it shut, and stare him down. “You can. And you will.”
Bernie swallows, eyes darting anywhere but my face. I straighten slowly, resting my weight on one arm against the desk. The lamp flickers, throwing shadows across my face, and for a second, I see the reflection of something cruel in his eyes—fear.
Good.
He finally breaks eye contact. His hand trembles as he stamps a seal on a set of papers and shoves them across the desk.
“There,” he mutters. “You know where she’ll be. Take her and go before someone sees.”
I pick up the papers, fold them slowly, deliberately. Then I meet his eyes again, all warmth gone. “If I ever hear of you letting this happen again, I’ll come back here—not to talk. Not to shout. You’ll just find my shadow standing in your doorway, and you’ll know exactly what it means.”
His breath catches and he nods, barely able to move.
I turn on my heel and leave, the papers clutched tight in my fist.
The dungeon lies deep beneath the Tower—too deep for sunlight and too far for mercy. Most prisoners down here areforgotten, rotting ghosts of the living. The air is heavy and wet, filled with the stench of piss, mould, and death that’s been left too long to fester.
