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He waited as Thea tensed beside him, her mouth falling open as she processed what was plain as day before them.

‘That’s the Harenth dungeon master…’ she murmured, her breath clouding. ‘I recognise the jewellery.’

‘I believe he calls himself an inquisitor.’ It was hard to miss a gemstone nasal piercing and a dozen bronze bangles on each wrist in a war camp. ‘Do you notice anything else?’

Thea scanned the campsite, chewing her lower lip. ‘Their sigils… They’re… wings. The same as the one I pulled from those enemy forces off the coast of Thezmarr last year.’

‘The very same,’ Wilder agreed. ‘And what about the power radiating around us? Do you feel it?’ he said quietly, watching her face for any signs of recognition. Her eyes grew wide with realisation as the familiar warmth of magic hummed out towards them.

‘That’s…’ Thea took a ragged breath. ‘That’s empath magic I feel, isn’t it?’

‘You tell me… You’ve felt it before, haven’t you?’

Slowly, Thea nodded, returning her gaze to the enemy force below. ‘Artos… It’s Artos’ magic.’

Wilder dipped his head.

‘How can this be?’ Thea gaped, her eyes roaming over the Harenth dungeon master as he moved across the campsite. ‘I… I don’t understand.’

‘We think he’s been using his empath ability to get others to do his bidding for some time now, and framing Anya for their work.’

Thea whipped around to face him. ‘Framing her? You saw what she is.’

‘A master of shadow, yes – butwhowas she attacking in that ballroom, Thea?’

Slowly, a crease formed between Thea’s brows, her features slackening as she visibly swallowed. ‘Artos.’

‘Artos,’ Wilder agreed, flinching as an elongated shadow was cast across the campsite below. ‘Look on the northern side,’ he told Thea, not daring to take his eyes off the reaper he saw there.

She let out a muffled cry as she saw it too, watching as its sinewy body stalked towards a pen of prisoners chained together.

‘Wilder,’ she breathed, gripping his arm and starting forward.

But he held her back. There was no saving these people, not now. Time and time again he had tried himself, but to no avail.

Frozen in horror, Wilder and Thea watched as the king of wraiths reached into a villager’s chest, darkness spreading like a disease around them, the smell of burnt hair permeating the air. A lump formed in Wilder’s throat as he warred with his instinct to pull Thea away from this nightmare, but she needed to see it for herself, needed to see what Artos was capable of, what he was doing to their world.

In silence, they watched as the reaper wrought its curse upon the innocent prisoner. Ribbons of darkness dancing around the campsite, screams piercing the night.

‘Is this how the shadow-touched are made?’ Thea whispered, her face pale. ‘Is this what you meant?’

‘A shadow-touched person is the result of a failed attempt at what they’re trying to do here,’ Wilder replied slowly, trying to keep his own memories from overwhelming him. ‘This is something worse… See the creatures created here? They are not of the same ilk as shadow-touched folk. They are mutilated with shadow from inside, not out… They are cursed experiments, blindly carrying out the will of their master. He has a hold over them.’

‘And you’re sure it’s Artos?’ she asked with resignation.

‘He’s the most powerful empath in history,’ Wilder said, clenching his jaw. ‘Do you remember that mercenary attack in Harenth? The prices on our heads?’ It had been a shameful moment of weakness for Wilder, but a pivotal moment in Thea’s warrior education.

‘How could I forget that? I killed eleven men that day.’

Wilder remembered it well. ‘It was Artos. Artos put out the hit. My sources confirmed it a few weeks ago.’

Thea was quiet for a moment before she spoke again. ‘He seemed so outraged…’

‘A fine actor, apparently,’ Wilder allowed.

‘If all this is true… What does he have planned?’

‘Artos collects people and power,’ Wilder told her quietly, his skin prickling at the proximity to the horrors below. ‘We have no idea who is under his control. We can’t know who he’s influencing, not when he’s so strong.’