It was time to escape. I smoothed down my skirt and turned towards the fireplace. Ignac Tivala’s portrait was looking down at me with the same indifferent gaze he’d had when he’d explained how my death would be his masterpiece.
‘Stop looking at me, you sick fuck,’ I muttered, lighting the kindling. This contract had to disappear – utterly, completely – so Tivala could never recover it. I folded it before reaching out to the fireplace. The edge of the vellum caught instantly, and I held it, watching the flames consume the evidence of Tivala’s betrayal. Reynard was mine, and these lies forged with a stolen seal could no longer take him away.
It was so satisfying. The sparks floated away, taking the burden weighing down my heart. Inga Tivala didn’t want to marry Reynard, and now, the physical evidence tying them together was gone forever.
And it burned so nicely.
‘I’m the king’s shadow, and I protect what’s mine,’ I whispered. Footsteps behind the locked door and Tivala’s shouted commands meant I’d run out of time. ‘Shame. I was so close to pulling it off.’
Still, the small spark of hope refused to die. Tivala would search me, I was sure of this, and not even the place in my bodice was safe to carry the drawing that could save Dagome. If he killed me, there was a chance he would send my body to Rey to taunt him.
‘Oh, fuck this with a cherry on top. I’m not going to enjoy this.’ I laughed, because otherwise I’d start crying. There was a way to smuggle documents using corpses. My gaze fell on a letter opener and a candle, with its pool of melted wax. I had all I needed.
The noise on the other side intensified, forcing my decision. I folded the schemata as small as possible before covering them in softened wax, creating a capsule. Then, using the letter opener,I cut my hip open and pressed the package under the skin. A whimper escaped my lips, and I almost blacked out from the pain. My skin was covered in ice-cold sweat, but deep inside me, a sense of satisfaction rose.
Alive or dead, I will bring the Wey Gates solution to Dagome, I thought, turning myself into a corpse courier. My hands shook as I traced a healing glyph over my skin, sealing the edges of the wound and ageing it until it resembled an old scar. My skirt had barely touched the floor when the doors burst inward, knocked off the hinges by two burly guards.
Behind them stood Ernesto, his face pinched and frowning. I regretted nothing. ‘Inga! Did you lose your mind? Who the fuck are–’ he shouted as the mirror spell finally gave up the ghost. ‘You!’ he yelled, entire body going rigid. ‘You!’
‘Me,’ I said, my lips stretched in a sneer. I pointed at the burning paper floating on a draft like a strange firefly. ‘You don’t mind me cancelling the wedding, I hope?’
He was staring at my fingers. I wiped them on my skirt before wrapping my long braid and pinning it up with a hairpin. The aether condensed around me. Tivala wasn’t facing a battle mage; he was facing someone much worse.
The Deadly Nightshade.
I could stop his heart, or let my vivamancy take the reins and turn him into a monster. If I was about to die, I would take him with me.I will not bow, I will not break, I will not surrender.Those words repeated in my head while I stared death in the face.I’m sorry, Rey.
‘Guards!’ Tivala shouted, suddenly regaining the ability to move. ‘Take her alive! I want this bitch alive!’
I lunged towards him, the aether condensing in my hand, pulsing with emerald light. If hatred could kill, I’d already be a twitching corpse. Tivala withdrew behind his men, the bloody coward. I dodged the first soldier who’d run inside to catch me.More followed, and in the mayhem that unfolded, my spell hit my guard’s chest.
The man who’d stood by my door the last three days gasped and dropped to the floor when his heart stuttered to a halt. His pupils widened to greet death’s embrace. A pang of regret shot through me, but I couldn’t spare the time to grieve as another hand reached out for me. Something yanked at the hem of the dress, hindering my movement. I lashed out.
There was no intent behind it. Rage, pure and simple, shaped the aether into a whip, severing the limb that tried to pin me down. The man screamed, crawling away, but my primal power followed, lifting him off the ground as something within me changed.
Defend me.
A primordial power arose within me. A tormented scream filled the room when he opened his mouth. Even my attackers stopped, watching with morbid fascination as his muscles bulged, his body reshaping itself. The man’s nails extended into claws, teeth turning into a mass of serrated fangs, and when he dropped to the floor, he was no longer human but something else… something I controlled. A killing machine, my defender, my… monster.
‘Clear the way!’ I yelled.
There would be time to cry later, time to despair. I would beg the gods for forgiveness for corrupting the life they’d created, but right now, I just wanted to live. I wanted to live so damn much.
The monster was death incarnate. He cut through his comrades like dragon fire. After he’d torn them apart, my path was open while the remaining men massed around Tivala, protecting their master. I rushed into the corridor, commanding my protector to stay close.
The freedom had never tasted so sweet… or so undeserved.
The commotion behind me intensified. Tivala shouted commands, arguing with someone. I turned, glancing at him, and staggered, a sharp pain piercing my side and stealing my breath away. A strange coldness spread, numbing my senses. An arrow protruded from my side— No, not an arrow; a srebrec bolt. An ice-cold metal rod burned me, stealing my magic. My fingers, covered in blood, slipped as I tried to pull it out. More bolts followed, most aimed at my monster. They brought him down just as I dropped to my knees.
Pull it out… You have to…
I tried to grab it again, fighting to grip the slippery metal. Sobs choked my throat. I was helpless. A shadow slid across the floor, growing larger as it approached me. I fell to the side, fighting to lift my head through overwhelming weakness. When I finally managed, I wished the shot had killed me. A Tangrean preceptor stood over me with a small crossbow in his hand, a supply of srebrec bolts on his belt. Behind him was Jagon, his eyes wide in disbelief, bloodless lips pressed tight.
‘What interesting magic you have, little witch. Maybe you’re the one the Hierophant is interested in.’ He crouched beside me, gently brushing the hair from my damp forehead. ‘There. Isn’t that better? Take her to my ship.’
His men approached, but before they could lay a hand on me, Tivala charged like an enraged bull. ‘This bitch is mine!’ he yelled, and I stifled a whimper of pain when his men pulled me away from the Tangrean delegation.
‘Oh, is she?’ The preceptor’s eyebrow shot up. ‘Didn’t you promise me all the aether users?’
