Page 44

“Trust me. I’m trying to help you. ”

I shuddered. “What does this ritual require?”

“You will understand when the moment comes.”

Magic flashed, and I was no longer standing in an oval room but back on the path between the rocks, miles from the Black City. The stench of unwashed men gagged in my throat. I heard Bogo screeching, but couldn’t find him. My fingers clenched around the weight in my hand—a sword I’d never carried.

Orm’s spawn…mutant…

The rough voices grew louder. I stumbled backward as the men approached.

We don’t want your kind here.

I searched for Kion, but he was nowhere to be seen. Even the horses were gone.

Sounds bounced off the rocks while the guilt from Bogo’s screeching ripped through me. This was my fault. I’d called him through the Wall, bonded to him when he was too young to have a choice. And now I’d led him here, where his enemies lurked.

He’s a small one…kill him slowly…

Snatches of memory—the details Silk found in the minds of those she questioned, then used to create calm, trust. Or disorder.

A test against delusion.

Was I facing myself? My own magic?

Pebbles fell from above, clattering and hitting my cheek, my arm. I brushed at the welling blood…had I bled that day?

There’d been blood, but not mine .

I glanced at the blue sky, then toward the stalking men. Stepping cautiously, I measured their reactions. They crowded closer, murmuring to themselves. When I stopped moving, they halted. What had I feared in those rocks? Losing Bogo? Being unable to protect him? Being inadequate? A failure?

I remembered stabbing a man’s hand…and the sword I held now shimmered into a knife. Too short for defense. I’d have to get in close, avoid the swords, something that hadn’t happened.

No different from Silk, creating illusions…

My heart stampeded with the recognition and I let it race.

The overweight man in the lead attacked, his sword sweeping in an arc.

I spun and sliced with my blade, aiming for his unprotected side.

He stumbled, swore to Orm as blood bloomed.

A second man charged, howling in anger. His elbow caught beneath my chin, crushing the air in my throat and knocking me to the sand.

I rolled, crawled frantically, kicking out as he stumbled after me.

My foot connected with his knee and he went down. Panting, I crawled behind another rock, searching for the thread of magic, the tell-tale sensation in my mind strong enough to grasp and follow back to the mage casting this illusion.

An elusive spark flickered, but before I could react, the illusion strengthened.

Bogo leapt into the air, his small wings beating against a third man whose hands were grasping, tearing at him. I pushed upright. The knife was back in my fist and I swung wildly, as if I’d forgotten every defensive move from my father’s instruction.

The man turned toward me, and I stabbed my magic into his mind, finding nothing but emptiness. Nothing but the illusion being cast until the magic sparked again, deep in my mind, and I locked onto the energy, a faint glow that traced back to the mage wielding it—Camael Soget.

And just as quickly, I was in his mind, making his hands twitch, his feet dance. He brayed like a donkey before the mage’s amused voice broke apart the illusion of rocks and sand.

“Silk,” he said. “Impressive.”

I was on my knees in the oval room, gripping nothing in my hand. My lungs heaved with the effort to slow my breathing. Saliva dripped from my lips.

“I could have done more,” I said, a breathless challenge against everything I hated. Mage cruelty. Their superiority over people they considered weaker than they were, people with no magic or the ability to fight it. The callousness that allowed the red priests to do what they did.

“It isn’t enough,” Ciriane Ymir said.

Her anger chilled me. The room wavered, dissolved into another illusion.

I knelt on burning sand, in the middle of a yellow desert.

Even the sky held a sickening tinge. The air was so arid, my lips cracked.

The blue wool dress I wore crackled, and the hem floated upward, singed with tiny embers.

My hair rasped against my skin; it was too hot to sweat. Too dry to swallow .

There were no footprints in the sand. No way to tell where I’d come from or where I needed to go. The dunes swelling around me blotted out the far horizon. I knew of no desert on Austera like this one, although my knowledge was limited. But if this was an illusion, it would follow rules unknown.

My magic, when I let it out, faded uselessly. The sands shifted. Dunes drifted, slid into each other, and what became obvious was the danger in remaining motionless. To refuse to react.

If I remained still, I’d be swallowed up whole. Devoured by this nothingness. But since the previous illusion reacted to what I did, I would need to participate in this challenge if I hoped to survive. Not wait around for something to happen.

I gathered the damaged skirt, flipping the back hem upward to cover my head—a shield against the relentless sun. The underskirt moved the air around my legs as I walked, giving scant relief. My booted feet sank with each step.

I continued on while nothing changed. Dune after dune appeared. Sand slithered down the sinuous slopes. My vision blurred. When the searing in my throat reached my lungs, each breath grew shorter, harsher. Then I recalled something my father said.

“In the desert, you get lost in the sameness, so think about what’s happening, not where you are. Then change the outcome.”

I wasn’t sure how to use such advice with an illusion. But what action could I take to change the outcome? When I wandered with no help in sight?

I could call dragons .

Of course. Illusion demanded interaction. The challenge was in facing the obstacle, solving the problem. The idea gathered strength as I stared at the limitless sky. A dark speck took form and grew larger…a dragon. Gliding on heat waves, flying toward me.

I dug with my hands and feet, crawling up the slope of the dune. Standing at the crest, I shaded my eyes with one palm while the gritty wind abraded my face. My heart beat heavily, slowly.

High above, the dragon circled, then flew away. I followed, stumbling up the next slope, my feet dragging sluggishly. When I reached the crest, I stared through endless heartbeats.

Stared at the dark shapes scattered across the yellow sand.

Bodies.

My legs turned spindly. The skirt covering my head fluttered across my cheek, a mockery of Silk’s veil.

The bodies were bloated and distended. Cadaverous and grasping.

Slowly, I walked. Staring at grotesque faces, twisted from torture or fear, as if they’d died that way.

A sob rose in my throat. I recognized those faces. They were the men I’d condemned. But I refused to name them. To bring them into reality.

I stared at my gown, no longer blue but white, the hem dripping with blood.

My boots had disappeared, and my bare feet were stained red .

Desiccated voices filled the air. The laughter was rough and clashing. The insults were bitter.

How many men over the years? Men I’d lied to as Silk?

I’d hated their deceit without seeing my own, and justified what I did as mercy, when I was as corrupted.

Their words curdled my soul. Forced me to hands and knees while my stomach retched and impossible bile burned in my throat.

I had to get away, find something else…water…

a reprieve. Forgiveness. A way out. I crawled over the next dune and came upon the aftermath of a battle.

Men. Boys. Some with the shining armor of the King’s Guard.

Others in crimson-black cassocks. Carts with broken wheels.

Horses, their bodies swelling in the sun.

Among the dead, more faces came into focus: Wilem. Ildoran. When I pulled the spear from a red priest’s body, his eyes flew open and he said, “You refuse the king’s command?”

“Did you?” I screamed at the sky. “Did you refuse to aid my mother when she needed you? Or were you cowards, hiding in your Stone Tower as if it didn’t matter?”

The air surrounding me wavered and then settled with the fretfulness of a Davinicus ship, tossed on the building storm.

I longed for the deluge of rain to clear away the oppression. For enough water to drown in and end this ordeal.

“Make your point,” I rasped. “What is this test?”

The air rippled again, and out of the mirage, a woman walked.

Although she was too distant to identify, each step radiated a silent threat.

The apparition wore nothing but black. A black gown.

A black veil covered her head and face. An unfelt breeze had the fabric drifting like smoke around her body, and when she got close enough, I stepped back.

She was me. The shadow version of Silk. The justice speaker coming to condemn the accused. Her hand moved in a gesture that swept toward the many bodies littering the sand.

“Everyone you’ve ever killed.”

“No.” I shook my head. “The red priests killed Wilem—”

“Because you were there.”

“Ildoran was alive when I last saw—”

“You made him violate his oath. Did you think there’d be no consequences?”

“That one…” I gestured toward a body wearing the uniform of the King’s Guard. “I didn’t kill him. I didn’t cause this.”

“You are an abomination, Senaria Wraithion. Just being who you are kills people.”

Pressure in my chest—I struggled to remain calm. Inhaled charring air, choked it out again. Moved woodenly as I walked between bodies. Each one took on the features of those I cared about. Renwick Raz. Essabeth, with her golden hair. Fennor.

Finally, an honest man.

Beyond them…dragons…displayed like Tova in her last moments. Lassa was there, her body distorted. Bloodied. Others I did not know.

Recognition drove me to my knees when I found Bogo. Pain splintered through me. Tears blurred my eyes. The sounds I made were strangling, and I could not stop rocking.

“Senaria.” Nikias stood beside the woman in black .