‘Tymon, Chapter Master of the Mules, betrayed the Brotherhood, and, whilst working with Jagon, broke the covenant with the crown and sold our future to Duke Tivala.’
The Mules, already unsettled at seeing their leader on his knees, murmured in discontent, several pushing forward, hands reaching for their weapons.
‘What proof do you have…? Damn covenant is keeping us poor, maybe it should be broken,’ came a voice from the crowd, followed by whispers that brought a smirk to Tymon’s face. He tilted his head, signalling to his second in command, leaving me wondering what message he had passed.
‘Should it?’ Boyan asked with a smile, standing up, ‘Did you forget how we lived before the covenant? Hounded by the guards, unable to live in the open, forced to beg for scraps, whilst keeping one eye open for the noose?’ His words were met with mixed responses, some in disagreement, some in support. The Brotherhood’s mood swept back and forth like waves, and I wondered which side would come out on top.
I studied the Grand Master as he stepped away from the table, approaching Tymon with slow, measured steps that must havecost him dearly. ‘Let them hear from your own lips whom you traded the Brotherhood to, maybe then I will be lenient with my judgement,’ he said, but instead of complying, Tymon sneered.
‘Traded? I fought for our survival, but you were blind to the danger. We’re the ones who will live with the consequences of your inaction.’
And there it was, another glance at his men. Did he think I was bluffing earlier? Or was he delusional enough to think he could still turn the situation in his favour? With one look at Irsha’s blade, an icy chill ran down my spine. His Blades were already moving; the Mules, stupidly grouped together as they pushed forward, found themselves surrounded by a wall of steel, lambs to the slaughter.
Time was running out for me to avert a massacre. I stepped forward, jumping onto the nearest table. ‘Before you cut each other’s throats, let me ask one question: Who do you want to serve? A Grand Master who cares for everyone in the Brotherhood… or Tangra?’ I looked at Tymon, whose eyes narrowed at my intervention. By using the name of the bogeyman, the empire that crushed everyone weaker than themselves, I was taking a risk. If anyone panicked, then no one would leave here unscathed. It would be a bloodbath.
The silence was worrying, so I continued, jumping down and striding towards Tymon. ‘Yes, that’s right. Tangra. Fanatics who cut down their lawbreakers without thought or argument. No trial, no forgiveness, just death.’ I looked at the Mules, their shocked faces. ‘Now you’re seeing it? How your skills, your labour, were used to eliminate those who could oppose the Hierophant of Tangra.’
I let the whispers rise, then waited until they died down. ‘Those who cherish their gold, those who cherish their freedom, you’ll lose it all when the red sickle of Tangra flies over the king’spalace,’ I said, standing beside Tymon. ‘So let me ask you again. Whom do you serve?’
The hall erupted with shouting, and I crouched next to Tymon, bending to his ear. ‘I promised you’d survive, but if those men die fighting to save you, I’ll enjoy making you pray for death,’ I whispered. His eyes widened, and he inhaled sharply, pulling away from me.
I turned around, facing the alchemists and poisoners of my chapter. They’d naturally flocked together when endangered, and although everyone had intermingled initially, the chapters were now occupying opposing corners.
‘We know who you’ll support, shadow mage. But what about the Poisoners? Where is their loyalty?’ Bolko asked, his voice brimming with amusement.
‘Their loyalty is and always will be with Brotherhood, and just as the Grand Master stripped Tymon of his rank, I call for a vote of no confidence for Jagon.’ I took in the men and women of my chapter. They shifted under my scrutiny, whispers spreading through their corner, until one of the senior poisoners stepped forward.
‘There should have been a challenge,’ he said, and I nodded.
‘Yes, there should have, a long time ago, but Jagon is in Tivalaran. Otherwise, he’d be kneeling next to Tymon. So, until you choose your leader, I’ll be speaking on behalf of the Poison Chapter.’ I smirked, spreading my arms in invitation. ‘Unless you’re willing to contest this?’
Inside, I was screaming. The title and leadership of this chapter were within arm’s reach. I didn’t want this. However, as easily as I’d assumed authority, I could win any challenge they made. I closed my eyes, imagining it for a moment. Leading them, changing the training, making things better, but that was the old me, a dark sister. Now, I had magic, Rey, and even this bloody kingdom.
When I opened my eyes again, the old dreams were ash, replaced by new ones, and I wondered whether I was being too bold for reaching to the stars.They’ll find a better leader themselves. Someone they can trust. A Master who will focus on the chapter.
‘Well, well, well…’ Bolko clapped slowly when not one poisoner stepped up to challenge me. ‘Congratulations, Roksana. Your timing, as always, is impeccable.’
I gave him a curtsy, openly sneering, then turned to Boyan. ‘If you accept my solution, of course, Grand Master.’
Tymon sneered. ‘Of course he’ll accept. You’re his fucking daughter.’
Boyan didn’t lash out. Instead, he sauntered over to Tymon whilst drawing a delicate seax blade from his belt. ‘As someone has taken on the Poison Master’s position, the Mules should use this time to choose their new leader. However, before they begin, the Brotherhood’s mark shall be cut from your treacherous flesh,’ he said, slicing a thin line below the small Brotherhood rune.
Tymon gritted his teeth against the pain, silently enduring the first pass of the knife. Boyan didn’t react, just kept cutting. The process was slow and sickening, but no one looked away or showed fear. Blood flowed freely as Tymon’s skin was peeled back and the rune that for years had defined his identity was stripped away. By the end, the former chapter master was screaming, spittle flying as he thrashed against his restraints.
‘For your transgressions, you shall die. Your body will never be granted the honour a dark brother deserves, and your name will never be spoken of again. The only mercy I offer is a quick death,’ Boyan said, grabbing Tymon by the hair and exposing his throat. Tymon’s eyes flew wide open, staring at me like a cornered animal looking at the edge of a cliff.
‘Grand Master, let me do it,’ I said, placing my hand over Boyan’s. ‘He doesn’t deserve to die peacefully, not after attacking my father.’
Boyan frowned, calculation in his gaze, but he couldn’t refuse me. Not with the entire Brotherhood watching, which I was counting on. ‘Fine, my Deadly Nightshade. Take your revenge.’
I exhaled, nodding to the guards holding Tymon down. The men went pale, nearly flinching as I removed a viciously long needle from my belt, half its length a sickly green colour that their eyes refused to turn away from. ‘I promised you death for your betrayal,’ I said, grasping his chin and lifting it. ‘Look at me and send my regards to Veles once you get there.’
I thrust my weapon into his neck. He instinctively recoiled, but I held him still. Tymon swallowed as poison flooded his system, the bloodthirsty crowd cheering when he fell to the floor convulsing and foaming from the mouth.
‘Take his corpse to the dungeon. I want to study him before he starts to smell,’ I said, kicking Tymon’s side, reassured by the flow of his aether. He would survive. I had an hour to administer the antidote before his heart, now barely beating, would stutter to a halt.
‘I put my name forward in challenge.’ Vesna, a talented alchemist with an almost dwarven affinity to metal, stepped out of the crowd, and I smiled. It hadn’t taken long for them to assess the situation.
