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“The last I saw of him, he hadn’t shifted,” I replied, tying off the thread and cutting the excess free before I raised my gaze to Dragor’s.

“He escaped on foot, presumably headed south, taking the most direct route to Avanis. I had worried he’d attempt to enter Wrathbane and strike at you, but as he didn’t, I have to believe he’s chosen to run.

With my magic replenished, I can hunt him through the sky.

I’ll catch up to him before he makes the border and-”

“Why would he head to Avanis?” Dragor cut in, and I blinked in confusion as I looked at him.

“Where else would he go? He has to be headed there, taking news of the archways to whichever warlord he’s sworn fealty to– not that he will be able to speak a word of them while my curse holds him in its grasp.”

Dragor’s eyes narrowed and he sat up in his seat. “You aren’t hunting the Stonebreaker brute. I’m sending you to hunt the Dragon.”

“No,” I spat, shoving to my feet and glaring at him in defiance, his words barely registering with me before I was hurling them back at him like missiles.

“I don’t give a fuck about the Dragon. Let it fly off to the stars themselves for all I care.

I told you I need to hunt Cayde . I need to make him pay for what he did to-”

A blast of magic slammed into me so powerfully that I was hurled from my feet and thrown through the air, my back colliding with the wall so hard that all breath crashed from my lungs and I was left gasping as Dragor rushed at me.

His hand closed around my chin and he cracked my head back against the wall, his air magic still suspending me off of the ground, placing us eye to eye as he glowered at me.

“You are my creature, Vesper Crossborn!” he bellowed.

“Your life and everything you do with it is mine to command. You will not question me and you will not defy me ever again. And if you do not care for the continuation of your miserable existence beyond your desire for revenge then know this: if you do not deliver that Dragon to me then not only will I make you pay in blood and ruin for your defiance but I will also place a protection around the man you thought to be Cayde Avior which will put him beyond the reach of all the warriors at my disposal. I shall see to it that he is left to roam freely and bask in the glory of his victory over you and those women you loved so dearly for the remainder of his days without consequence for his actions. Because despite my dear desire to see him gutted for not only secreting himself within our borders, spying upon my kingdom and for sullying your flesh with his touch, I am a Prince of Stormfell. And my priority is, and forever will be, the strength of our kingdom and securing our victory in this war. So I will not let a Dragon slip from our clutches and into the hands of our enemies. Do you understand?”

His chest rose and fell heavily, his grip on my chin bruising as fury burned between us and a fight for dominance took place.

I wanted to tell him to go to hell, to chase after the fucking Dragon himself if he cared so greatly for it.

But beyond the haze of my grief and rage, a small voice whispered that he was right.

In the grand scheme of it all, he was right: the Dragon mattered more in this war as a whole. Cayde could wait. The Dragon could not.

“I’ll have your word that I can hunt Cayde down the moment I deliver your Dragon to you,” I hissed. “And that the might of Wrathbane will come crashing down upon him for what he has done whether I succeed in ending him or not.”

Dragor sneered, clearly in no mood to bargain with me or even look at me at all.

He released me, both with his hand and his magic so that I fell heavily to my feet, more than a foot distinguishing our heights again.

“Have it your way, Witch,” he growled, taking my hand in his. “But you’ll make an oath to me too.”

I bristled, magic tingling up my arm and along my spine as the stars leaned closer to listen to our words.

I’d never done this before, in part because I hadn’t had my magic Awakened yet but also because everyone knew that only a fool made a star oath.

Whatever we agreed to beneath the weight of the stars would be sealed with our magic and if either of us broke our bargain then we would suffer seven years of bad luck as payment.

Which in a world torn asunder by war where battle was a constant companion, was akin to a death sentence.

“You will swear to hunt the Dragon down in secret and return it to me here at Wrathbane where I will take ownership of its fate for my own,” Dragor growled.

“You will do this with haste and urgency and in turn, once I am satisfied that your loyalty to me is without question, I will grant you leave to hunt the traitor who pretended to be Cayde Avior while spying upon our kingdom. Do you agree to the terms of this oath?”

“I do,” I replied, my words a clip of my teeth as I was forced to accept this delay to the retribution Cayde was owed.

“Then so be it.” Magic sparked between our hands, drawing them together more tightly, light flaring in the breath of space which divided our palms before sinking into our flesh.

I felt the weight of the oath settling into my veins, flowing through my blood, up my arm and into my chest where my heart pumped it out again into every piece of me.

I withdrew my hand, expelling a harsh breath and Dragor stepped away from me.

“I’ve had a bag prepared for you.” Dragor pointed to the dark pack that sat near a door which I could only assume led to the lower levels of the tower.

“It contains everything you should need for your expedition including a dose of Order supressing power so that you can force the Dragon into its Fae form for the journey back. I don’t care what it takes for you to achieve this goal.

I don’t care how long you are gone. You will not return here without your target, do you understand?

” he asked as he strode towards the door we’d entered through, clearly done with me and I couldn’t say I felt any differently towards him.

I should have been consumed with shame for the betrayal I had so stupidly let happen right in front of me.

I should have been on my knees begging for forgiveness from my prince for having put Stormfell at risk.

But I was so lost in grief and rage that I didn’t have any space left in me for shame or desire for forgiveness. I wasn’t worthy of that anyway.

“I’ll be back within a few days,” I told him as he walked out on me. “You’ll have your Dragon and then I’ll have my vengeance.”

Dragor paused by the door, his cold gaze roaming me from head to toe as if he were deciding whether or not to believe me on that. “Let’s hope so, little witch. For your sake and mine.”

The door thumped shut behind him, a gust of winter air billowing through the room, sending snowflakes tumbling into the roaring fire where they withered into nothingness before they were able to kiss the flames.

I grabbed the pack and dumped its contents out on the desk, wanting to check my supplies before I left.

Years of training didn’t fade so easily even with the weight of grief hanging around my neck and I knew well the importance of packing for a mission like this.

The things I brought with me had to hold value worth the weight of carrying them.

The jar of Order supressing powder was filled to the brim – far more than I would have expected to need but I wasn’t fool enough to cut down the supply.

There were two sets of battle leathers, black and worn in. A quick inspection confirmed they were my own, likely taken from my room in the palace which was good because that meant they had been fitted to my size and I wouldn’t be battling overlong fabric while I hunted.

I discarded the cloak and dressed myself, locating undergarments in the pack’s contents too and collecting the boots which had been left by the door.

Tightening the laces and straps on my clothes felt like stitching myself back together.

With each buckle and tie, I felt more centred, more myself, more like the witch I had fashioned myself into to survive this cruel life.

I claimed daggers and strapped them to my belt, my wrist, my ankle. I slung my sword sheath on and positioned the lethal weapon in it upon my back.

I packed the spare leathers and undergarments in the bottom of my pack along with the thin bedroll and the stores of food. Nothing fancy but all long-lasting and high in calories to fuel me as I moved at speed.

The medical supplies came next, needle and thread plus a selection of potions and ointments to dull pain and aid recovery.

Standard supplies for a mission which might cross beyond our borders and require me to stay out of sight.

But there was nothing in the way of herbs or ingredients which I might want for casting ether.

I moved around the desk and tugged drawers open, hunting through the items which had been stored in them and finding little of interest. The touch of something cold against my fingertips made me tug a tin containing a deck of tarot cards from the back of the final drawer and I arched a brow as I inspected them.

The cards were finely made, hand painted with an edge of silver around each rim.

They were decorative, gaudy – the kind of thing courtiers wasted their gold on and flashed around at tea parties.

And yet, as I made to toss them back down, I hesitated.

There was a weight to the cards as I shifted them between my fingers, the ethereal face of The Empress catching my gaze as I passed her card from one hand to the other.

I had never given much time to the study of tarot, though of course I understood the mechanics of it.

But my education into forces beyond our control had long been more focused on ether and the bargains I could make with the darkness.

Still, I knew better than to dismiss the pull of the deck when it called to me.

I flipped the cards over and shuffled them quickly, the design embedded within the deep purple which backed them drawing my attention. It was a skeletal hand, a single, crooked finger beckoning me closer.

I dealt a hand and flipped the cards, reading them quickly to see whether they might help point me in the direction which would most quickly see Cayde’s death at my hands come to pass.

The Hermit warned me of the path ahead, the cloaked figure ominous as he hunched over his glowing lantern.

I placed Temperance down, reversed of course, as if I needed any warning that I was in danger of giving up on myself – it was already far too late for that.

Then The Devil, also reversed, because I was clearly on a path of vengeance.

I blew out an irritable breath. The cards were stating the obvious.

Next came The Tower, its white walls burning and struck with lightning, a weighted sense of prophecy seeming to fall over me as I looked upon it, making my spine straighten and the air stir around me.

Well, I supposed if my life was going to hell then it made no difference to me if the entire world was set to burn with me.

Besides, there hadn’t been stability in The Waning Lands since the start of the war and I doubted there would be any in my wretched lifetime either.

The last card I turned over was Judgment, the bastard blowing his shiny gold horn on the face of it seeming to arch a brow at me like I should know exactly why he had been called from the deck.

He could have been urging me to trust myself, but as it had been proven beyond all doubt that I should never again do that, I took it to be a reference to the souls I would likely be harvesting while on this fool’s errand.

I gave up on drawing cards and stuffed them all back into their tin, though for some reason I tossed them into my pack.

Perhaps they’d help me on my journey, or perhaps the stars were urging me to bring them.

More likely I was simply hoping they might offer me some comfort in the dark when despair would no doubt come calling my name.

But whatever the reason, I left them nestled among the rest of my things.

There was a piece of twine in the drawer which was long enough to tie around my neck.

I secured the vial holding the blood of my sisters to it and tucked it beneath my leathers so that I could keep their sacrifice next to my deplorable heart.

I didn’t deserve the life they’d bought me with their own, but I would make good use of it in their names.

I took up the woollen cloak once more and wrapped it around myself before shouldering the pack.

I reached for my windrider automatically, my fingers flexing at my side before I let my arm fall limp as the whistle died on my lips.

Wherever it was, I doubted I’d see it again.

I headed back to the roof of the tower and looked out over the snow-strewn landscape beyond, strands of wet, black hair whipping against my cheeks, chilling me even more thoroughly than the frigid wind could manage alone.

I cast my eyes over the mountainside, knowing I needed to make another stop before heading off to hunt down the Dragon. I didn’t relish the prospect, but only a fool would set out without what I needed. And if there was one thing I’d sworn never to be in this lifetime again, it was a fool.

“Stay close to me, sisters,” I breathed to the wind which stirred at my words as if they truly were drawing nearer. “It’s only your strength which keeps me moving at all.”

And with that, I took a running jump from the top of the tower and called on the wind to snatch me into its grasp.