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Heart raging, Truly scanned the clearing. What to do? What to do? Listen to Westvane and retreat, or stay and help him? Staying would divide Westvane’s attention between her and a fight he needed full-focus to win. Going would mean leaving him to fight alone. Neither option worked for her.

Surrounded by her guards, Lyonesse landed on the other side of the dell. Pink feathers fluttered as she folded her wings and smiled at Westvane.

A chill rolled down her spine. Magic sparked through her in response.

With a hum, Truly welcomed the burn, and fingers flexing, strengthened her hold on the threads. Shifting into a fighting stance behind Westvane, she surveyed the shitshow about to unravel, searching for a solution, trying to figure out how to make Westvane leave Azlandia with her.

Something moved in her periphery.

Without turning her head, she glanced that way. The Wendigo. Still trussed up by her magic, the monster lay face down on the grass, horned head turned toward her. She watched two of its eyes crack open. Black as night, its pupils contracted, reacting to the light. Her mouth curved. The beast’s lip curled in reaction, displaying rows of razor-sharp teeth.

A new plan formed.

The Wendigo’s tail twitched.

Watching new scales form, Truly gathered the ribbons keeping the monster contained, and without warning Westvane, prepared to unleash hell.

51

A DANGEROUS VICE

Black swords blazing in his hands, Westvane watched the contingent of Electi warriors land in his clearing. He heard Truly murmur a warning. She wanted him to be smart and leave Azlandia with her.Live to fight another day— one of her favorite sayings — while he plotted the end of an empire using less direct means.

He hated to admit it, but knew the Door Master had a point.

So much of one, he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it first. Or moved to put a plan like the one she proposed in motion sooner.

Frowning, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Maybe she wasn’t just a pain in the ass. Maybe she was on to something. Maybe now wasn’t the time to make his final stand against the faithless witch who called herself a queen.

Up until now, he’d been so focused on killing Lyonesse that changing tactics to deploy an alternate strategy seemed an impossible task. He decided to try anyway, given Truly’s stubborn insistence, and the fact she might be right. Beheading the queen today wouldn’t solve the issues plaguing Azlandian society. Truly’s plan would take more time, sure, but at least it struck at the heart of the problem. The systematic dismantling of discrimination opened new avenues, creating the possibility for lasting solutions.

Ones that would benefit all Azlandians, not just him. Though, assuaging his need for vengeance ranked high — he was his mother’s son. She’d been selfless, putting him and the health of the realm before herself. His mother would want what Truly wanted — to right the wrongs done to the people and heal old wounds. To put the past behind them in order to forge a brighter future — and eliminating the queen wouldn’t stop the cruelty.

Power was a dangerous vice. Seductive, addictive — in the wrong hands, a sadistic tool used to bludgeon the living.

The Electi elite who replaced Lyonesse wouldn’t relinquish authority. The balance of power would simply change hands. Everything else would stay the same. The deeply ingrained attitudes and institutions — the very ideas and systems perpetuating the injustice — would continue to flourish. The queen’s death would be treated as a form of martyrdom. The highest in the land would build altars in her honor. Songs would be written. Assenta and Croppers would be forced to sing her praises for generations to come.

The thought sickened him.

Widening his stance, Westvane spun his swords. Well-worn hilts whirled against his palms. Black-flamed blades blurred, cutting through verdant scent of forest musk as Lyonesse and her guard settled into battle formation.

His gaze narrowed on the witch responsible for his parents’ murders. For his unfair treatment and jailing. For perpetuating hatred in the place he’d made a home, the only one he’d ever been allowed to claim.

Yes. Without a doubt. The Door Master was definitely onto something.

Her insistence, the strident belief new ways must be tried for a different outcome to be achieved, tempted him with the possibilities. Undermining Lyonesse, digging beneath the rot of Azlandia — installing intelligence networks, striking when least expected, ensuring the foundation Lyonesse stood on crumbled — would work better than challenging her dynasty head-on.

Different ways of thinking. New hope for a generation of subjugated people. And eventually — new laws that ensured Azlandia never went back to the old ways.

His nostrils flared. Westvane stilled the whirl of his swords. “Truly.”

“Already ahead of you,” she said, her voice soft, yet infused with iron.

Without looking, he located her. To his right, standing five feet behind him. Watching his back even though he’d told her to go. He resisted the urge to shake his head. So very stubborn, defiant to the core. Normally, he found that annoying about her. Right now, he appreciated the dedication. The loyalty she showed humbled him.

“Slayer.” The purr in Lyonesse’s tone raised the fine hairs on the back of his neck.

“Lyonesse,” Westvane said, shrugging away his adverse reaction.