‘I’m your champion?’ His smile grew wider, and I felt silly offering it to him.
‘Maybe? Besides, I’m a big girl and can look after myself. If you got hurt, I’d…’ I bit my lip, noticing how dainty the necklace looked on his wide chest. His brow wrinkled as he studied the stone.
‘You’re sending me off to a war in winter with Morana’s stone and a vivamancer’s blessing? How fitting. A precious gift for your warrior, even if Tova intended it for you.’ Rey straightened, pressing my hands to his lips before hiding the necklace under his shirt ‘I have to go, Viper. Damn, it’s so hard to walk away from you.’
‘Then make sure to return quickly. When you do, I’ll allow you to return my gift to its rightful place,’ I said, trying to make our goodbye a little easier.
‘What a wicked promise.’ His gaze drifted to my bosom before stepping back and mounting his horse. I waited for him to leave. Instead, the golden ring of his berserker magic eclipsed his irises. He bent from the saddle to cup my cheek. ‘I have no token for you, my lady, so I’ll leave my heart in your keeping. Guard it well, my light.’
Only then did he nudge his horse forward and leave while I stood there, speechless and fighting back the tears filling my eyes. For a ruthless War King, Reynard was too charming by half, and I didn’t know how to defend myself against him.
The sound of horse’s hooves faded into the distance, and my smile with it. The snow fell heavily, filling the night with silence, and the warmth of Reynard’s touch couldn’t hold off our dreadful reality. If Jagon wasn’t lying, then Tivala was using the Wey Gates, and the southern rebel had become a threat that could not be ignored.
I recalled the look in Jagon’s eyes. The desperation in his voice as he asked me to go with him. It reminded me of the time he’d saved me from brigands in the borderlands. I believed he cared for me in his own twisted way. He was telling the truth; I felt it in my core. The fear in my enemy’s eyes wasn’t fake. Gods, I wish he’d lied.
I had to uncover the truth behind his hints before whatever he was afraid of could destroy my home. I’d named myself the king’s shadow, and now I had to live up to the title.
Yet all I could do was sit on the snowy step and cry.
Chapter 2
Roksana
Sleep eluded me. Jagon’s visit and worry for Rey left me too tense. So, I locked myself away in my workshop, studying the schemata Tova had acquired from the dwarven merchants. My friend had made a copy for me and sent the original to the university, but no matter how long I stared at the diagram, I couldn’t make sense of it.
An icy draft made me shiver, my shuddering breath misting the suddenly cold air when the door swung open. ‘Veles’ cauldron, what happened here? Drah’sa, are you alright?’
Tova’s voice startled me almost as much as the light framing his dishevelled form. I hadn’t realised the sun had risen, or that he’d only just returned home.
‘Jagon happened, but it’s fine,I’mfine. Just tired.’ I yawned, sliding off the chair. ‘Do we have any kava left?’ I moved past him whilst avoiding the glass shards on the floor.
‘Jagon? Kava?’ Tova followed me with a bewildered expression, making me chuckle. He stomped his foot. ‘Stop laughing. I leave you for one night, and the house looks like another battle took place.’ He paused, reaching for the tin ofkava beans before I could grab it. ‘Sit down. I’ll brew you a cup while you talk.’
‘Ain’t you a ray of sunshine today?’ I muttered. Still, I sat down, losing myself in his friendly grumbling, which made everything better.
‘At least I don’t look like a striga. Talk. Now.’ While he ground the beans, I told him about Jagon’s visit and the offer he’d insisted I take. Tova’s face turned an interesting shade of red long before I finished. ‘So that bastard, motherfucking mole shit thought you’d just go with him?’ he said, placing a steaming cup in front of me with such force that the drink spilled onto the table.
‘Yes, but we have a bigger problem than his obsession with me. Wey Gates. Did you or the mages find anything in the schemata that might hint at non-fae being able to operate them?’
Tova stroked his beard, a habit he had when lost in thought, before he slowly shook his head. ‘No. Every clue we have points to the thing being a box. But now that I’m thinking about it… If they are keys to the Wey Gates… Or maybe the box uses the same… I’ve got to go!’ He bolted for the door.
‘Wait! Where are you going?’ My confused reaction stopped him, but only for a moment.
‘This could be it, Sana. We’ve been looking at this all wrong.’ He gave me one of his roguish smiles. ‘Stay home and get some sleep. You look like shit. I’ll come by later with the answers, and if you’re good, some hot buns.’
His eyes were blazing with inspiration, and I knew I couldn’t stop him even if I wanted to. I didn’t try. My head was pounding, my muscles were stiff from bending over the schemata for so long, and even kava couldn’t keep my eyes open. Instead, I waved him off, wincing when the door slammed shut behind him, and dragged my half-dead body to bed.
Two days passed since I began nitpicking the traders connected to srebrec, while my frustrated dwarven genius practically lived at the university. Schemata and srebrec were so tied up that trying to quietly determine who was involved in the trade could reveal if the Mules used Wey Gates or knew their locations.
I wasn’t having much luck until I described the men who’d come with Jagon to Irsha. He’d caught them as soon as they returned from escorting my former master. Visla, Boyan’s shadow, had already interrogated one of them, killing him in the process. This time, Boyan asked for my help, unwilling to risk the last source of information.
The interrogation chamber in the Chapter House was a secret known only to Brotherhood members. The bare stone walls and polished black floor made cleaning off blood infamously easy, a fact all apprentices learned to appreciate. Opposite the entrance, secured to the wall, was a saltire – an X-shaped cross – its blood-stained wood and chains adding to the intimidating atmosphere.
Chained to its surface, like a sacrificial offering, was the man who’d asked Jagon if he should handle me. The pungent stench of his blood and sweat saturated the air, overpowering even the lime and vinegar used to clean the floor. He stared at Boyan with unbridled hatred, rattling his chains when I walked in. Each denial he uttered was a sibilant hiss thanks to the vicious wound marring his lip. However, his clenched fists and ragged breath betrayed his fear.
I sauntered over to the only splash of colour in the room – the large, cushioned chair where the Grand Master sat to witness interrogations. The prisoner missed my quiet entrance, his gaze fixed on the table displaying the vials and instruments used toextract confessions. He reacted only when a menacing chuckle slipped from my lips.
‘I heard you require my skills, Grand Master,’ I said, voice sickly sweet, while I bowed to my father.
