Page 69 of Bitten & Burned

Thirty-Seven

PYRAXIS

Kravenspire, Sol, Verdune

Heat pressed into my waist—Quil’s arm lay heavily across me. He was breathing steady, slow, little puffs of air that made my hair flutter.

I turned my head to the other side and couldn’t help smiling. Vael had nodded off against the headboard, and Anton’s head was currently cushioned on his shoulder, both still fast asleep.

Dmitri and Cassian were already gone, but I saw the remnants of their night spent in the chair by the door and on the floor beside the bed, respectively.

Every morning since Rellin’s confession, they’d lingered here with me. They went about business in the manor by night, but by dawn’s first light, they were all here in my room, with my window covered, lying around and near me.

I was still embarrassed about how badly I’d acted the day I’d spoken to Rellin. How I’d shaken and screamed and cried. But with them all close by, the bond humming happily with all of us in the room, I felt… oddly better about it.

The bond’s benefits manifested in other ways as well. My head was clear—clearer than it had been in nearly a week. I’d spent most of it sending Pulses to my father about the daggers I needed, as well as one to Thalia about the Pyraxis. I’d muddled through everything else the best I could.

But today? Today felt different.

If anything, the revelation ultimately hadn’t softened me: it crystallized my anger into sharp points. Knives. Honed for precision.

I knew with whom I was angry, and I knew on whom to turn the rage that filled me. One and the same: Silas Drummond.

Where before I’d been screaming and verging on insanity, I was now sharp and clear. I knew what had to happen… and I knew I was the one who had to do it. I had never felt so sure of anything in my life.

I shifted slightly, and Quil sniffed heavily, grunting as he stretched. “You alright, sweetheart?”

I hummed and turned into him, pressing my face to his neck. “Right now, yes. Ask me again in ten minutes.”

He chuckled softly and turned to look at the other side of the bed. “Aw,” he said. “I wish I could draw.”

I laughed and kissed his neck. “It’s sweet how all of you have stayed here with me all week.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it. Nowhere else I’d rather be. I’m sure the other feel the same. Now, speaking of…” He straightened slightly. “Where are Dmitri and Cassian?”

“I dunno,” I said. They were already gone when I woke up.”

“Probably waiting for all of us in Cassian’s study again. We need to head down there. Kind of a big day today.”

I groaned, snuggling closer.

He sighed and wrapped his arms tighter around me. “Or in a minute, I guess…”

We would leave the next night for Caer Voss.

I’d been in touch with my superiors at Blackthorn, and they had promptly changed the wards after what had happened with Drummond.

I was surprised they’d believed me; maybe that was just him getting in my head and making me think I was crazy.

Because they’d been mortified when they learned what had happened and were already well into changing every ward before I even sent a Pulse.

As it was, they’d be fully warded by the time we arrived. We’d be staying in the archives for the day and setting off the following night for Dun Drummond.

Word had spread; the Arcanum of Caer Voss had been informed of Dr. Drummond’s activities, and he no longer had a job there. I was sure that truly bothered him. He was nothing without his career and his prestige, and I’d gotten it all taken from him in a few days’ time.

Of course, that was just his professional life.

The law enforcement brigade in Caer Voss, and frankly everywhere else in Verdune, left much to be desired.

In Verdune’s wish to remain a largely academically-minded region, it had skimped on funding for law enforcement agencies.

As such, since no one was currently kidnapped or in immediate danger, our case would have been shuffled to the bottom of the stack.

No, if something was to be done about Silas, we’d have to do it ourselves. We would have no help from the brigade.

I’d taken some time to myself that morning to bathe thoroughly, change the bandage on the sigil on my thigh, and fix my hair.

I was feeling very put together—as opposed to most of the time recently, when I felt like a dead fish on two legs.

The others had all cleared out of my room while I finished, so I made my way on my own.

I was expecting something in the mail. Two somethings, actually.

As I hurried down the corridor, I rounded a corner and walked to where I knew they’d all be: huddled in Cassian’s study once again; Quil and Anton sharpening knives, Vael bent over a book by the fire, Cassian and Dmitri discussing tactics.

Dmitri was holding an axe in his hands, testing the weight and the grip on the handle.

I moved quickly, reaching for my bag and placing it upon a table. “Please tell me the mail came today? I’m expecting some parcels, and they were supposed to arrive two days ago. Please tell me they arrived today…”

Quil nodded, pointing to two small packages on the main table, one in brown paper, bound thrice in black twine, the way Thalia always sent her parcels.

The other was in a jet black box with the Marlowe family crest stamped upon it.

My heart leapt as I darted to the table to gather them.

I untied the twine on Thalia’s and unwrapped the package gingerly, so I wouldn’t spill what I knew was inside.

The first package contained a small bag; within that, a grainy substance that gave off a faintly greenish orange flash.

Small flecks of what looked like iridescent tree bark caught the light.

Pyraxis. Volatile stuff; I’d have to be very careful with it.

Once applied to the blades, they’d grow hot and never cool; every cut would move through someone’s body, solidifying their blood until they died.

I carefully set it aside and went to open the other box.

In that one, I pulled out two small sheathes, woven from fine black metal that glinted bluish purple in the light.

It was tightly knit in the way that only my father could muster.

I lay the sheaths flat upon the table and ran my fingers over the fine knitwork.

Two witchsteel sheaths that would match the two daggers he’d also sent, although these weren’t made with Emberlaced witchsteel.

Black and glinting violet-magenta in the light, I brought them up to inspect the folded steel, doused in moon water, and Emberlaced throughout.

The blades shone in the low light, the Emberlace shifted the color, giving them more of a warm tone than witchsteel normally didn’t have, a product of the saltfire used during the Inera fold and tempering process.

Holding the two blades aloft, I struck them together, the resounding hum telling me that the Final Emberlace had indeed been cast. I’d need a fire for what I needed to do next, one hotter than the one in the fireplace.

Luckily, I knew Halemont had what I needed somewhere, though I'd never sought it out before. I brought the daggers over to the fire near Quil and Anton. “I need a forge,” I said softly.

Quil looked at me, and at the daggers in my hands. “Are those them?”

“Good…” Anton murmured, reaching to run his fingers over the blades. “Beautiful craftsmanship. Your father’s?”

“Yep,” I said with a smile.

Quil rose, gesturing towards the door.

“Come back soon, darling,” Anton murmured, reaching for my hand and pressing his lips to the back of it.

“As soon as I enchant my blades,” I replied, squeezing his hand before releasing it.

Quil and I made our way down the corridor to the back side of the Halemont estate. Once outside, he led me to a small building mostly hidden by the overgrowth. A small smithy, complete with a forge. Quil walked ahead and stoked the fire up for me.

“Your father made those?” he asked, even though I’d already told Anton as much. He peered at the polished blades.

“Yep. They’re Emberlaced, so the Pyraxis will take.”

He nodded once. “Just for defense, right?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

“Alright, well, it’s ready,” Quil said when the fire finally roared high enough, stepping aside as I brought out the bag Thalia had sent: the Pyraxis. I stood over the coals and sprinkled some of the glowing granules into a nearby bowl before I dumped them into the flames all at once.

The coals sizzled and glowed anew, blindingly hot as I lowered both daggers in. I left them until they, too, began to glow, then I pulled them out and dunked them in the bucket of water to cool. Well, not completely. They’d never cool all the way, thanks to the Pyraxis.

But the handles would cool. And I’d have my weapons.

As I slipped them gingerly into the witchsteel sheaths and stashed them in my satchel, I smiled back at Quil. “Okay, I’m ready.”

As we walked back to the study, Quil took my hand, pulling me back.

“Rowena, are you alright?” he asked, his dark eyes searching mine.

“Yes, I actually am better today than I’ve been in a long while.”

“Because you look… slightly… manic.”

I couldn’t help the smile that stretched across my face, even if Quil wasn’t returning it. “I… don’t feel manic, Quil.”

“Have you decided what you’re going to do about Silas?”

I’d mostly been mulling him over in my head for the past few days. I hadn’t shared this with any of them. Now was as good a time as any.

“Oh, I’m killing him,” I replied.

Quil blinked. “What?”

“I’m killing him. He did this to me. I have to live with it forever, and I’m killing him. He has to die for what he did to me.”

Quil took a breath and began, “Sweetheart, I don’t know if you should be making that decision now, you’re… far too calm about this.”

“Should I not be calm about this? I thought decisions like this benefited from calm.”

“Yes, but… gods, killing someone is difficult. In battle, that’s one thing, but slow? One on one? Hearing them talk to you? It’s so much harder. It stays with you forever.”

“You seem to do it easily enough,” I countered.

“I do it because I have to. Not because I want to,” Quil murmured. “I just don’t want you hurting yourself more because you feel you need to serve him this death sentence. You can give it; you don’t have to be the executioner.”

I swallowed thickly. “Quil, I want this.”

He nodded once. “Okay. Then I’ll be there to help and support you in any way I can. Just know. You don’t have to. I can do it for you.”

I tilted my head, reaching for his hand. “Thank you, Quil.”

He kissed my fingers, and we strolled back to the study. My resolve felt more real now than it had been before.

Once I found out everything I needed to know from him… Silas Drummond was a dead man.