“Against a man, possibly.” He lifted an eyebrow. “How about a demon?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It was a lie. I knew the stories of the demons leaking from the Anchor, even here in the Silver Dominion. I’d felt the fear that emanated when someone dared to mention the Serpent Lord and his demons by name. “I haven’t done anything wrong or illegal,sir.”
I spun on my heel and started to walk into the woods.
I could hear his boots against the snow as he followed.
“When I first heard about theirresistible ribbon dancer, I passed it off as men thinking with their pricks. But then the stories kept spreading.” He stepped closer, hovering over my shoulder where I’d paused, his voice dropping low in my ear. “People couldn’tstoptalking about you, Rubi Morningtail.”
“I’m a good dancer,” I said defensively.
“You did something to that room,” he snapped, his voice dangerous. “To all of us. I’ve never felt anything like it. That’s not Azure magic. All they know how to do is shift and snarl. What you did was something else entirely.”
His palm shot out then, grabbing for my wrists. Using his other hand, he forced my imprisoned hands open. “Show me your Marks.”
“Burn and die!” I spat at him. He jerked back, then grabbed my jaw hard.
“You want to keep that tongue?” he asked calmly. “Because I know a dozen ways to cut it out without killing you.”
A shudder ripped through me.
Glaring at him, I hummed quietly, activating my magic. I opened my hands so he could see the crescent yin Marks shine in my palms. They were so dim, you could barely see them. The brighter the glow, the stronger the magic. “Satisfied? I have hardly any power at all.”
He let go abruptly, as if I disgusted him. The imprint of his fingers ached against my skin. His yang Marks were legendary. They said his orange suns had flamed like beacons from his palms for years after his birth.
In one swift motion, he caught my arm again.
“If I find out you’re hiding something,songbird,” he said, voice grating like metal shards, “I’ll tear the truth out of you along with your tongue.”
He let go, turned, and vanished into the snow.
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I pressed them to my sides, hard, like I could pin the fear in place. The alley was quiet now, just dripping icicles and the echo of Blake’s words.
You did something to that room. To all of us. I’ve never felt anything like it.
Shaking the entire night from my head, like I could tuck it behind whatever hid the other memories I’d lost, I stepped again onto the path home, moving as fast as my exhausted legs would carry me.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about how I’d seen Blake Axefire once before, at a Judgment last year.
3
As the Ironstorm rebellion spread, fueled by unforgiving taxes and food shortages caused by Annihilation-related extreme weather, the king’s grip tightened. His crackdowns got harsher by the day, and everyone was forced to the Arena to witness the so-called trials. I remembered watching from my seat high in the Arena as the rebels and convicts were thrown, unarmed, before the king’s tygers, in a mockery of justice.
The giant tygers circled the prisoners, their claws sharp enough to slice through leather like silk. Convenient for the king, since their killings counted as divine will. One by one, the prisoners fell. Their screams tore through the Arena as flesh split and bones cracked.
A terrified Azure shifted into an overlarge hare just before a tyger pounced on him, sinking its teeth into his fur. Shifters healed completely if they could change before they were killed. But no. He was dead. A woman shrieked as another tyger raked itsclaws down her back. My stomach turned. The tygers weren’t even trying to kill cleanly. They were predators, toying with their prey.
Then the gate to the sand pit opened. A lone figure stepped into the blood-soaked Arena, tall and cloaked in gray. Ambush Master Blake Axefire.
There was something moving around him. The swarm glinted in the sunlight, a cluster of knives circling above his head, propelled through the air by his power.
Every single person in the immense coliseum fell silent, the screams of the victims echoing through the sudden quiet.
Magic users, yin or yang, made up only a small part of the population. The Silver metal mages I’d seen could help shoe a horse or stir a pot with a floating spoon. At the low end were Lessers, with no magic at all. At the top were Zeniths. Most mages fell somewhere in between, ranked from one to nine. Anyone ranked five or higher could live well enough. But someone who could throw knives with offensive yang magic would be at least a seven, and they’d have the aristocracy knocking at their door for their services, offering wealth and training, not to mention sex and Pairing. The truly powerful ones, ranked an eight or nine, were rare and often became marriage candidates for the noble families, even the Octagon, the eight most elite families, with the highest average magical ranking.
Butthis—this level of power and control? I’d never seen anything like it.
From the way the knives flying above Blake’s head glowed green, I knew they were no ordinary metal. They were thundervein, a rare unbreakable metal exclusively forged by only a few families, crafted from magic and thunder called down from the sky.
