Page 4

Chapter 2

Leon

F lames lick their way along the whip as it whistles downward, slicing into the man’s back with a vicious crack. His scream pierces the air of the town square, but the crowd is silent. They’re not here to save him—they’re here to act as witnesses as he pays his “divine penance,” just as the Temple of Ethira commands.

I don’t have time for this. The crowd jostles me as I push through it, the humans barely glancing at me before their eyes turn back to the raised platform where the heretic is having the sin burned from his flesh. We were planning to stay the night in what was supposed to be a sleepy hamlet, only to find these wretched humans all gathered for this disgusting display of religious theatrics. It seems that nowhere in Trova is safe from the Temple’s reach.

But I have more important things to deal with than these aggravating humans and the atrocities they choose to visit on each other in the name of the gods.

I’m relieved to see Alastor pushing his own way through the crowd toward me, but my mood sours as he shakes his head. There’s a pause in the cracks of the whip, and I glance over to see the incendi who’d been doling out the punishment hand the whip over to another. Perhaps his arm got tired , I think bitterly.

“Please,” his victim moans in the brief respite. His voice is a ragged wheeze, as if he has barely enough air in his lungs to speak. “Please, I repent.”

Someone darts forward across the platform, a man whose gray beard marks him as one of the town elders. I hear muttering from two of the humans nearest me.

“What’s he doing? He shouldn’t interfere. Does he want us to get purged?” I can hear the terror in their voices as surely as if I had caused it myself. This crowd reeks of it, every one of them praying they won’t end up under that same whip. I sneer at their fear and the unchecked power they give to the Temple.

The heretic’s body is bowed over a block, his blood pooling around him, but the old man pays no mind to the crimson staining his cloak as he kneels before him. He’s carrying a cup, and as he leans forward to bring it to the heretic’s lips, I see he’s wearing an amulet bearing the symbol of the earth god Classitus—a tree with many branches.

The Temple of Ethira has sunk its claws deep into this kingdom—but it’s still a new religion, and people haven’t forgotten the old ways. Especially not here, in a town hundreds of miles from the holy city of Qimorna. The Temple’s clerics can’t keep watch over every Trovian citizen.

But they don’t have to, do they? That’s what rituals like this cleansing are for. It ensures these people keep watch over each other when the Temple can’t. Through fear and intimidation, the people of Trova do their job for them.

“Come,” I murmur to Alastor. “Let’s find the others. I’m sick of watching this nonsense.”

We push our way through to the edge of the square as the pair of incendi on the platform shoo the old man off the stage. Before we step down a side street, I see the new whip wielder stepping up, raising his weapon.

My other five soldiers are waiting for us, each one made short and round-eared by their glamour spells. But their human disguises don’t hide the air of danger about them as they lurk in the street like a pack of wolves.

“It’s no good,” Alastor mutters. “The town’s got a few decent inns, but they’re expecting a visit from the clerics any day now.”

A high, keening whine drifts over his words—then the crack of the whip sounds again.

So that’s why these fools are making such a spectacle. They can’t be caught sleeping on any blasphemers when the Temple’s monsters come calling.

“I heard some of them talking. They’re worried about a purge,” I say.

Alastor nods, “Terrified.”

I roll my eyes. These Trovians and their religion. It gets in the way of everything.

My oldest soldier, Eryx, spits on the ground through his thick red beard, clearly as unimpressed as I am. “I thought they only purged places hiding celestial casters?”

“They see anyone with celestial power as the worst type of sinner, of course,” Alastor says. “But apparently any place where heretics keep popping up will summon the Scarlet Order these days.”

I don’t doubt Alastor’s words; he’ll have heard it straight from the Trovians’ mouths, and people don’t lie to Alastor.

The heretic’s groans are fading now, almost outstripped by the sound of his own sizzling flesh as the scent of cooked meat reaches us and I take smaller breaths through my mouth.

“Fine,” I grunt. “It’s better we avoid the zealots in case they try to make trouble.”

“You mean in case you lose your temper with them,” Alastor murmurs, earning him a few snickers from the rest of the unit.

He’s not wrong, but just the same, I offer him a look that quickly shuts him up. They know I’m in no mood today.

“We’ll move on to the nearest stop from here—village or town, I don’t care?—”

“Oi!”

I’m cut off by a jowly man striding toward us with his thick brows pulled together. He’s wearing a badge that probably designates him as a person of importance around these parts, but he’s just made a fatal mistake thinking I answer to anyone in this cursed land.

“Get back into the square,” he orders. “Everyone must be present for the penance.”

He is not a smart man. I know this because one look at my unit should tell him we’re not the kind of people you push around.

Alastor glances at me and knows there’s only one way this is going. He tuts at the human. “Oh dear. You just had to go and stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, didn’t you?”

The man slows his steps a few feet from me, eyes almost popping from his head in anger. “Excuse me? The edict of the Temple demands?—”

“I suppose you’re going to say your Temple demands you make a fuss about us not attending your idiotic ritual and draw the attention of everyone in that square to our presence,” I say, my voice cool as ice. “But I’m afraid I can’t allow that to happen.”

I close the gap between us, my hand around his throat before he can even lift his own. The realization that he’s about to die flits across his face and I smile at him. I’m told that even in human form, when I smile like that, it’s frightening. I squeeze my hand and watch as the fat sod struggles to breathe.

“Leon,” Alastor says in warning. I loosen my hold on him and the human takes in a gasping breath. Before he can expel it, my hand tightens again, more sharply this time. The snap of his neck is too quiet to be heard from the square. The crowd is talking now, voices floating between the buildings, so the thump of his body dropping to the ground goes unnoticed.

Alastor turns his head up to the sky, which is rapidly turning gold with the sunset. “Let’s go get the horses,” he suggests, looking at me for confirmation. “Then we can at least reach the next village before the inns close for the night.”

I nod my approval, my soldiers shifting the body into a shadowy corner. No point bringing attention to ourselves by having someone discover it before morning.

As we make to move out, Damia crouches down beside it. To someone who didn’t know her, it might look like she was paying her respects to the dead man. But I’m not surprised when a shining black band ending in a scaled head slowly curls from beneath her collar.

The yellow-eyed snake is Damia’s constant companion. Her geostri power gives her an affinity for its kind, but magic isn’t the only reason the snake is so docile around her. It flicks its tongue excitedly as she pulls out a knife and severs two of the man’s fingers. She lifts one to the snake, who eagerly strikes at it, unhinging its jaws to swallow the digit whole. Yes, Damia always makes sure to keep her scaly friend well fed. Before she packs away the second finger for later, she pauses, squinting at the man’s face.

“Wasn’t he the one up on the platform?” she asks, “With the whip?”

I picture the dead man holding the thick leather rope, alight with the flames of an incendi. There was a smirk on his face as he made sure his neighbor pays penance with spilled blood and split skin.

I shrug. “Possibly.”

Good riddance either way.

We slip back through the square. The crowd is shifting, people already starting to peel away now that the penance has come to an end. A handful of humans stand on the stage, untying the limp and lifeless body of the heretic from its post. I doubt they meant to kill him—execution tends to be a job for the clerics—but humans do get carried away. Especially when they’re trying to avoid having the same thing happen to them. Better to take it out on a neighbor.

By the time we reach our horses, secured to hitching posts outside a public house, the streets are nearly empty. People have been quick to get home, no doubt eager to retreat to the comfort of their beds and sink into sleep to chase away the evening’s stench. By the time our group has retraced the darkening streets back to the main road, the townspeople have already retired for the night, the windows of their houses dark.

As we go, I stretch my magic outward, letting it slither into the houses like Damia’s dark serpent. Unlike humans, I have two types of magic at my disposal—a terrial power and a sensic power. One lets me reach not into the earth’s elements but into the mind, gripping people where they’re most vulnerable. That power unfurls now, seeking out those already slumbering, wrapping itself around their unconscious thoughts and burrowing into their dreams.

Hungry flames biting skin, guttural groans and a set of dead, accusing eyes…

The first scream goes up, echoing through the empty streets. Then another, closer this time. Someone lights a candle in their bedroom, scrabbling to chase away the nightmares; a few houses down, a woman weeps.

Alastor glances at me, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“It would be rude not to leave them a gift,” I say.

We ride on, a chorus of screams rising into the night air.

* * *

MORGANA

The village of Otscold is busy tonight, the lights of the houses like blazing eyes in the dark. I’m conscious of every person who passes me—their faces morph into the features of my guards as they get close. But no one from the manor should be here yet. In an hour, when half of them finish their shift, they’ll make their way down to the Fox and Deer to spend their earnings at the only place in town worth spending them.

What none of them know is that I visit the village as often as they do. I’ve been sneaking out of Gallawing for a decade, visiting Otscold as much as I please, even when I’m supposed to be under lock and key.

It was Will’s doing, though he never knew about it. He used to set up scavenger hunts for me when I got particularly miserable and bored, hiding various fancy ornaments around the manor and making me search for them.

That was how I found the door behind the bookshelves in the library. It was caked with dust and grime and clearly hadn’t been used in years, but when I managed to get it open at last, there was a staircase down into the basement, right into an old delivery tunnel that came out beyond the manor grounds.

That’s how I earned my only shred of freedom—the one that’s stopped me going insane. I guess it’s a good thing most of my keepers are so used to ignoring me that none of them questioned just how many hours I spent in the library “reading.” I did plenty of that too, but half the time I wasn’t anywhere near the books. Instead, I was scampering down the lane to Otscold—and to my friends.

Friends . Without Tira, I wouldn’t have been brave enough to seize the opportunity. But she talked about the village with such animation that it seemed like a magical world to me—one full of the life and energy my own world lacked. All I had to do was follow her lead and keep an eye on the clock. I was always back in the library by the next mealtime.

It was enough, a lifeline. I learned more than I can say playing in the outer fields with the village children. It’s there I got into my first fight, learned my first curse word, and eventually, as we grew older, had other firsts too.

The Holmses’ inn puffs thick smoke into the sky, creating fresh clouds on the already overcast evening. It means Kit, Tira’s older brother, is at work. Like his mother, he’s an incendi, but his special talent is an ability to keep a fire going, burning just as high or low as he wants, for days on end. It means that in the colder months, the inn is the most inviting place for miles.

His face twists in surprise as I meet him coming out of the kitchen of the pub. A strange tightness settles on my chest thinking of the particular firsts I shared with him. He was my first kiss, the first—and only—person I’ve ever had sex with. We were close, for a while, but we drifted apart when he realized stolen moments were all I had to offer. I don’t blame him for moving on. He deserves better.

None of that matters today. All I can think is that this might be the last time I see his easy, open face.

“Ana?” he asks.

“Hey, Kit.” I try to sound relaxed. “Is Tira around?”

“She’s upstairs.” His brow furrows as he glances around the busy pub. There are faces I recognize and others I don’t, including a burly group of travelers in the corner. “Should you be here? Won’t your lot be coming in soon?”

“My lot.” He means my guards.

Kit and Tira’s parents know full well I’m not supposed to leave the manor, but they always turn a blind eye to my being at their pub, as long as I’m careful. Showing up at this hour, when the guards are near at hand, is not careful. But it just so happens this is the only time I could get out today without the guards noticing my absence. I had to be seen eating dinner, or someone would come looking for me. But we’re late enough in the day now that no one will have reason to check on me until morning.

I’m so close to freedom, I can taste it. In half an hour, I’ll be able to hitch a lift on the butcher’s wagon to get to the next town over—and from there, I can arrange for passage on a coach. Just half an hour, and I’ll be on my way.

“I’m not staying long,” I explain.

Kit nods, relieved, and gives me a warm smile. He doesn’t ask why I’m here, which is for the best. The fewer people who know, the better. Upstairs, Tira’s already holding the wrapped bundle in her arms, clutching it like an infant, her face pulled tight.

“Don’t, Tira,” I warn her.

“I didn’t say anything, you ghoul.” She sniffs.

“But you’re going to get emotional,” I say, “And then I will too, and I won’t be able to leave, and I’ll have to stay in that damned place withering away until I actually look like a ghoul.”

“Too late,” she shoots back, and I give her a strained smile. She shoves the bundle into my hands.

“There, proper clothes. Better for traveling. There’s some coin too?—”

“No, Tira, I don’t need it.”

“I know you’ve swiped some of those pretty baubles from the manor, but it’ll still take time to sell them on the road. So until then, take it. No arguments. Neither of us have time.”

“Thank you.”

“And you be careful. I mean, not just with traveling on your own. They say everyone in Newtown’s frantic about the upcoming cleric inspections. Most of the county thinks they’re going to wake up with the Scarlet Order in their front yard.”

“I’ll be fine, Tira. I won’t stay anywhere long enough to get caught up in all that.”

It happens about once a year. The Temple’s clerics visit each community, make sure everyone’s paying proper reverence to the gods and keeping heresy at bay, and then—usually—they leave. But every now and again, things can go badly. Purges are rare, but that doesn’t make people fear them any less. “People do crazy things when they’re afraid, Ana,” Tira says. “Just watch yourself, you hear?”

She’s right to worry. Having grown up behind the manor walls, I know next to nothing about how to survive in the outside world. Truth is, I’m equal parts terrified and excited to get away. But anything would be better than staying.

Tira turns away before I can answer, trying and failing to hide the way her face is falling. I don’t tell her it will be okay, that we’ll see each other again—I have no idea if either of those things is true. I just feel a wave of gratitude for the friendship that has kept me going all these years. The potion might have been sustaining my body, but Tira helped keep my soul alive.

She’s still looking away from me, so I pull her into a hug from behind, squeezing her waist, and she gives my arm a pat. We don’t need to say we love each other. We both already know that, as much as we know I won’t survive at Gallawing much longer. Especially now.

Without another word, I pick up my bundle and head downstairs.

My foot is on the bottom step when I hear Kit’s voice across the pub, raised and stern.

“And I’m telling you , sir, you’re just going to have to buy another.”

“Unacceptable.”

The voice sends an instant chill up my spine. It’s not just the anger in it, or the odd accent. Something else puts my teeth on edge. I whip my head around to see one of the travelers from the group I spotted before squaring off with Kit. A flagon lies on the ground between them, beer seeping into the wooden floorboards.

“I won’t pay for your clumsiness, whelp.”

He’s red-headed and maybe in his forties, a bright russet beard doing nothing to soften his glower. I keep walking, shouldering the pack I’ve folded Tira’s clothes into. I doubt the spillage was truly Kit’s fault, but I’ve known him to handle belligerent customers like this many times before, so I’m not worried. Throwing a drunk out on their ear is hardly a challenge for Kit’s sturdy build.

But…next to the red-headed man even he looks vulnerable, especially when two of the man’s friends—a blond man and a woman—stand to face Kit too. I pause, trying to work out what’s nagging at me about the scene.

There’s something dangerous about this group. I’ve read about the enchanted creatures that live in the dryad forest, the Miravow, and I’m reminded of them now: huge bears and panthers and other enormous predators with sharp claws and teeth. Each of these seven people look primed to pounce at a moment’s notice, even as half of them sit at rest, swigging their drinks.

The woman who’s standing puts a hand on the bearded man’s arm.

“Calm yourself, Eryx,” she says serenely. She looks young in the face despite her silver hair. “You’ll make the poor boy soil himself.”

Her voice sets off alarm bells in my head. There’s a strange echo to it, not just some foreign lilt, but an unnatural resonance, like air dancing in a shell.

Kit draws himself up at the woman’s insult.

“Listen here, ma’am?—”

The four of them are standing so close together, their shadows crowd each other on the inn floor, surrounding the dark patch of spilled beer. Kit is nearly the same height as the rest of them, and yet by some weird trick of the lamp light, the shadows of the three travelers look much longer than his.

Except… is it the light? Or some other trick?

Kit is readying himself to evict the unruly customers. But my instincts scream that he’s about to make a grave mistake.

I take a step closer, getting a better view of the other four travelers still seated. Two are in conversation, ignoring the unfolding drama. Another pair sit in silence. The dark-haired man looks so relaxed he has his head down, resting on his chest, almost like he’s sleeping. Yet something tells me he’s aware of everything going on around him.

There’s definitely something off about all of them. My eyes dart to the strange shadows again, my heartbeat picking up as I consider that magic could be at play here.

What was it Etusca said about glamour spells?

You have to look for the cracks—the slip-ups in the illusion.

Like an echo in a crowded room, or a flicker in a reflection.

My eyes dart to the reflection of the scene in shiny metal tankards on the travelers’ table. And there, quick as a blink, I see it: the figures standing beside Kit waver, their reflections changing shape for just a second.

It’s very rare for a human to be able to disguise themselves like that. Terrial magic doesn’t lend itself to it. But fae…their sensic magic can twist your mind into knots, can make you see things that aren’t there. Etusca worked in Filusia for a while, and she told me about their gift for deceiving the eye.

She didn’t have to teach me about the fae’s gift for brutality. The history books made that all too clear.

I’m beside my friend in an instant.

“Kit, I need to talk to you,” I mutter in his ear. He nearly elbows me as he rolls up his sleeves, throwing me a disgruntled look.

“Not now, Ana.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the travelers, who look a mixture of amused and intrigued as to what he’s planning to do.

I grab his forearm and tug with all my might.

“Yes, now ,” I say through gritted teeth.

Fae, here in Otscold—far from the usual trading routes in the east. I can’t imagine what they’re doing here, but it can only mean trouble. And I don’t want that trouble anywhere near the people I love.

Kit glares at the strangers, and I pray to the gods he’ll listen to me. A fae is twice as strong as a regular man, and that’s before they use their mind-magic. I shudder, trying to block out the horror stories about their power that leap into my head.

Relief floods through me when at last Kit lets me drag him away into a corner where no one can overhear us. He turns on me, his usually open face twisted with tension.

“What’s so important?”

I don’t let go of his arm, digging my fingers in for emphasis and fixing him with an intense stare.

“They’re fae,” I say.

“What?” He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“You were about to square off with seven glamoured fae.” My mouth is dry as I say it. I doubt the county has seen this many of their kind since the war. The question is whether they’re bringing death with them this time too.

Kit looks like he wants to turn to stare at the travelers, but mercifully he stops himself. Still, the color drains from his face, as surely as if a pack of ravenous wolves had stalked into his parents’ pub.

“How do you know?” he whispers.

“That’s a question I’d also like the answer to.” The voice comes from behind us, rumbling like thunder, and we both spin round. “How does a village girl spot a fae?”

I look up into a pair of fathomless gray eyes staring down at me from under dark brows, and I have to take a step back. Something tells me if I don’t, I might get lost in that gaze. I didn’t glimpse the traveler’s face before; he was the one who looked like he was sleeping. Apparently, that was just another act. Another lie. Just like their glamoured features and their merchants’ clothes. I’ll eat my hat if a single one of them is a merchant—especially the one standing before me. He carries himself like a soldier, and he’s built like a fighter too: I can see the shape of his muscles across his broad shoulders and down his toned arms, each tendon tensed like they’re ready to strike. I’m oddly reminded of a storm, and the intense, terrifying calm right at the center of it.

“You don’t have any quarrel with Kit,” I say. I’ve heard enough stories about fae to know they can be bargained with—carefully. Very, very carefully. “I’ll pay for your friend’s drink. Then there’s no need for trouble.”

“Interesting.” His eyes move between Kit and me. My hair bristles on the back of my neck, and I brace myself. There’s no telling what sensic magic this fae might have. With a snap of his fingers, he could wipe away my memories, manipulate my fears, read my every thought like a book. Anything’s possible, and without a spark of power of my own, I have no way to defend myself. Everyone in the pub, even with their powers, would be at a disadvantage against one well-trained fae, and there are seven .

“I’m sure Eryx would appreciate that,” the man says, glancing over his shoulder at his friends. It’s then I see the hint of a smirk on his full lips, disappearing again as he looks back at us. He’s playing with us, but I don’t know how deadly the game is.

I have to hope if the fae are in disguise they want to pass through Otscold unnoticed, and hurting us would conflict with that. “However, that doesn’t solve the issue of how you came to be so well informed about?—”

The door to the inn swings open, and a flash of uniform I recognize all too well silences the fae’s words in my ears.

I stopped to save Kit, but I’ve lingered too long.

The Gallawing guards are here.

The tall fae blocks me from their immediate view where we’re standing over in the inn corner, but any moment now he or they will move in the wrong direction, and I’ll be exposed. Then months of careful planning, years of dreaming, will be ripped away from me.

Kit spots them too.

“Ana.” The panic in his voice mirrors the hot fear rising in me now.

The fae merely quirks a curious eyebrow and follows our gaze.

“Friends of yours? Should I invite them over?” There’s calculation, rather than enjoyment, in his voice, but it still burns me. I’m about to lose every glimmer of hope I have, and he’s toying with me.

But maybe…maybe, if he’s not furious, he’ll be willing to work with me. That’s the other thing I know about fae—they love to make a deal.

“Kit, go take their orders,” I tell my friend.

He stares at the fae in front of us. “But?—”

“Go,” I say as forcefully as I can without raising my voice. “It’ll buy me time.”

At this, Kit edges around the fae, leaving us alone in the corner of the inn.

“Listen.” I speak quickly, trying to keep one eye on the guards as they spread out across the tavern’s spare tables. “I’ll trade you. You have sensic magic, right? You can manipulate minds. Use it to get me out of here without those men noticing, and I’ll tell you how I knew you were Filusian.”

The fae lifts his sharp jaw, considering this, and I start to feel tentatively hopeful.

Then the gray eyes shutter, their depths disappearing behind a cold, blank wall.

“No.”

The word cuts through me like an icy wind.

“What? Wait?—”

Before I can say another word, the fae turns his back on me and walks away, leaving me clearly visible to everyone in the tavern. It takes only seconds for one of the guards to look up and see me. It’s the young guard who tried to protect me from Bede earlier. His eyes widen in shock and I shake my head, praying to any gods who might be listening that he’ll turn away and pretend he didn’t see me. But then he stands so suddenly his chair clatters to the floor, alerting the others.

“You.”

I scowl at him. All my waiting, my meticulous preparation, flashes before me. Every careful second spent stashing the potion, every hour spent poring over the library maps, plotting my route. I consider running, but five armed men are already advancing on me. I’d never get away.

Several hands close around my arms like shackles, ready to drag me back into a pit I’ll never escape. I want to shout for help, but what can anyone here do for me? Just like always, when it really matters, I’m on my own.

“Ana!” I see Tira on the bottom step of the staircase as the guards start pulling me toward the inn door. I can read her face as easily as she reads mine—she wants to say something, to stop this somehow—but her family will already be in trouble for my being here. I can’t bear to make that worse, so I just shake my head. A few feet away from her, the dark-haired fae sits with his friends. He throws me a brief, unreadable look, his gray eyes once more endless as the sky, then turns his face away.

I can’t look away, knowing he’s doomed me. I picture those eyes and a deep hatred burrows into my gut as the guards march me from the inn.

They barely say a word to me while they escort me back to Gallawing Manor. I wonder if they’re more annoyed about missing out on their drinking time than concerned about my pathetic break for freedom. Now I’ve lost my chance, and the realization pushes me down into the earth, making every step heavier than the last.

I let them pull me up the long path to the house, through the front entrance I don’t ever remember using. The doors are as high as three men, built into a chipped stone arch where someone, years ago, chiseled away a coat of arms. They shut behind me like the clanging of prison bars.

They drag me through the corridors, until I see Bede patrolling up ahead. The closer we get to him, the sicker I feel. He sees us and is confused for a moment, then his face widens into a terrible smile. He’s realized what I’ve tried to do, and my failure is his entertainment. I’m still here right where he can get at me. For once, I can’t manage to pretend like he doesn’t affect me, so I don’t try. I glare at his repulsive expression as we pass him—and I’d be a fool not to recognize the look he gives me in return.

I’ve always thought that in some ways, I am lucky. If it wasn’t for Etusca and my medicine, I’d be dead, and at least I’ve always had a roof over my head and food on my table. It’s more than many can say. But tonight…I’d change places with a beggar on the street in a heartbeat.

The guards push me into my bedroom and the click of the lock sounds loud to my ears. I look around me as my fury builds. I loathe this house so much it makes me want to scream. I think maybe I do, because my throat hurts, and there’s a clanging noise as the goblet I’ve hurled from my bedside hits the opposite wall.

My rage burns itself out fast, though—and it’s replaced by fear. I didn’t get what I wanted tonight, and that means I have to come up with a new plan before Bede can take what he wants from me .