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The man's soulless body called out as clearly as the living people in front of me. I could feel the very moment he died from the brutal cut of the imposter's knife while I crept around outside, and now his corpse would make the perfect ally and distraction for my escape. Centering my mind amidst the chaos surrounding me—both men tromping across the floor, the maids’ startled yells in the hall, more men clattering down from upper floors—came naturally after so many years of practice honing my skill. Letting my will be known, I flicked my hand in an elaborate flourish that ended with my palm facing upward, the dark shimmering purple of my magic pooled in its cup that I blew, scattering the magic like dust from my palm. The magic swelled rapidly, ruffling pages on the desk and blowing past the two men as it flew by to enter its new host.

A low groan permeated the walls. It was closely followed by more horrified screams and curses and several bodies scrambling down the hall behind the guard, shoving at each other in their panicked haste to escape the gruesome situation.

"What the hell…" The guard leaned back into the hall, his head craning back and to the left to see what everyone was running from, and gave his own hoarse yell shortly after. "Holy shit, it's a fucking undead!"

"We prefer the term 'revenant,' but yes, it is," I answered brightly to the question no one had asked. "And he's definitely hungry. They're particularly fond of livers, but—"

The inhuman snarls of the undead cut off the rest of my explanation, shortly followed by the howls of one of the guards that fell into its unforgiving clutches. I leaned a hip against the heavy desk and crossed my ankles and arms, the perfect pose ofpatience. "Do feel free to go take care of that. I'm not sure your men are faring so well out there."

A rather wetcrackand several more high-pitched screams punctuated the severity of their issue. The guard at the door—who I assumed was the head guard, judging by the black cape draped from his shoulder plates—cursed darkly and gestured to me with a sharp jerk of his head. "Haul her off to the castle's dungeon until Highlan Pid can interrogate her." A cruel smirk twisted his thin lips. "He will enjoy that after all the trouble this one has caused."

He didn't give either of us a chance to respond, rushing off down the hallway toward the fevered screaming and obvious clanging of swords. The fake guard and I stared at each other for another silent moment before I gave a casual smile. "So, how do you plan to haul me off, Rocks-For-Brains? I'm sure even an imposter can figure out where the dungeons are. I'll give you a hint. They are usually belowground."

He was not amused. "Shut the hell up and get outta here."

"Aren't you worried about losing your job?"

"Are you always this fuckin' annoying?" He countered my question in a harsh tone. "Gods, I hope I never run into you again."

I rose from the desk, snatching up the bundle of papers to take along with me. It was hard to tell how important or relevant they were to me, but it would probably piss the Highlan Pid off immensely, and that was my goal. That's what he got for sending a brutish knight to kick down Gaion's door looking for me. "Lucky for you, I don't think we run in the same circles. Any who, may the gods smile fondly upon you!"

The man rolled his eyes at the traditional parting line. "You sound like my damn grandmama. Now get on—"

CRRRASH!

That one sounded like it took a wall with the impact. Highlan Pid would have some serious renovations on his hands come morning. "I'm gone, gone!" I answered in a singsong and moved to the window I had used previously to break into the study.

As much as I hoped to never see the sleazy guy again, the country of Respar was not as large as it seemed, and even less so in the royal seat of Gilamorst.

Chapter Two

Haron

The City of Scholars, ever dedicated to studying this world, gained a wealth of knowledge from the Julran refugees

who flooded our city. There was so much we did not know about spellcasters and their magic. While the fall of their

kingdom was tragic, I am sure we have much to learn from each other in the coming years.

-"The Tragic History of Julra," by High Scholar Yuret Wend, Year 37 of Ber's First Reign

Ishould have waited to open those fucking letters. Or rather, I should have killed everyone in Pid's manse on principle alone. Starting with that sorry excuse for a father, Jinon Pid. Whether he knew what his daughter Trisne was involved in or not, he hardly played the part of a father who gave a shit about her. Even I knew more about the girl that he did, and I merely attended a few of her parties as a client's guest. She would always ask me questions about the north and the City of Scholars there, with the intent of one day traveling to study as a research assistant in the Covenant Library. She was kind and soft-spoken, but held a fire in her eyes I admired. All her father seemed to care about, however, was her eligibility as a bride to the upcoming king. That was all the rage recently, in light of the late king's sudden death. Every eligible daughter of minor nobility was thrown into the candidate pool to marry Prince Irin before his father's body was sealed in the royal mausoleum.

It was obvious, with him looking for a necromancer, that he would be trying to track down someone's dead spirit. I just didn't expect it to be Trisne Pid's, according to these damning letters. Even worse, Prince Irin probably wouldn’t bat an eye at her disappearance. Not unless someone shoved it right in his face. Now, an alley wall held a fist-sized crater from where I’d punched it in my rage. Additionally, I had to deal with bloody knuckles on top of the terrible knowledge now weighing on my conscience.

With a forceful thought and a burst of magic, the heavy door to The Hanging Cat flew inward, banging hard enough against the wall behind it for the doorknob to leave its mark. A group ofregulars sitting to the left visibly startled and sent beer sloshing all over the tabletop, followed shortly by rowdy cursing and yelling for towels to mop up the mess.

“What the fuck, Haron—” one began, shoving his chair back with a snarl and brushing a hand down the front of his tunic, now soaked. His brows were drawn low over dark eyes as they rose to mine. With my black mood, I wholly welcomed the opportunity for a brawl to let out some of this pent-up rage. Whatever he saw in them had his head bending low, muttering something incoherent as he reached down for a stool that had toppled over.

“Haron?” Gaion called out from behind the bar. Concern tinted his otherwise gruff voice. “What’s wrong, girl? Hey, come over and talk—”

“Not now, Gaion.”

Just that short answer was forced through teeth clenched tight enough to crack them. I wove through the lively tables with single-minded focus on the staircase to the left of the bar. Gaion hardly had time to make it around by the time I hit the first step, taking them two at a time. Jessella must have caught him at the bottom; I could faintly hear her talk Gaion out of following me up, telling him I just need some space.

Bless her.

The room Gaion held for me felt like it absorbed my foul mood, shadows coming to life under my unchecked magic and creeping up the white plastered walls, slowly choking the everflame lamps mounted on them. It had been years since this side of my magic had reared its head, and I had half a mind to just let it loose on this wretched, tainted city. Let the bastards who thought they were above consequences see what it was like dealing with a horde of revenants. Hell, I may even let Trisne have a go at her despicable father. The thought was enticing.