Page 16 of The Chains You Defy

By the time my human Glamour sat firmly in place again, I was sweating, and my energy was hissing and complaining. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say even my magic was angry with me for losing Nayana and was acting like a petulant child to punish me.

The towers of the royal castle in Ivreia’s capital, Ivreiana, appeared on the horizon, but I could only dwell on my mission and on destroying the King of Merchants.

“We have to be cautious, in case there is a trap waiting for us.”

I nodded to Antas. “Yes. The trail we followed was too distinct and too intentional; also, bringing a prisoner to the most obvious place possible is more than obnoxious.”

“You should hide in the background.”

I snorted in disgust. “Do you even know me? I just need a suitable weapon. This old sword doesn’t even deserve to be called one.”

With my strength non-existent, I could forget using my beloved arsenal of magically conjured weapons, no matter how much this admission pained me.

Soon after we’d left the dingy inn I’d woken up in after the disaster of Amalach, Antas had given me a steel sword, which had been crafted by a master armorer according to my uncle, but either the blade’s creation had been a millennium ago, or someone should introduce the Ivreian manufacturing industry to a modicum of standards. Even I would undoubtedly be able to forge a better sword. Not that I’d ever spent a single day of my life around a smithy, but honestly, how hard could shaping scraps of metal over a fire be?

“Then at least repose while the rest of us search for information.”

“We’ll see about that.” I had no intention of staying in whatever hovel we’d end up in.

Of course, I could trust my comrades, but they’d proven time and time again how their methods of gathering clues were lacking in delivery and results. They missed the certain ruthlessness necessary for the job—and why bother with scouting when we knew where they detained my human?

Since I vibrated from the inside because of pure frenetic vexation, there was a fifty-fifty chance I’d just bolt to Feroy’s headquarters the moment we’d passed the gates. Considering the suspicious glances from my comrades, they were well aware.

But if they believed they had any right to hold me back, they’d soon learn that reluctant allies ranked far belowheron my list of priorities.

Silence reigned until we reached the city gates.

We didn’t have to wait long for our turn to present our fake papers. I observed the Ivreian men closely. Had one of them permitted the merchant to enter the city, allowing him to bring my Nayana with him? My handtwitched with the compulsion to draw my sword and find out.

“Oi, Frida. Come over,” the guard controlling me barked to his left, and I frowned.

My soldiers looked slightly alarmed, and I wondered if this was the moment that would justify blood raining down on Ivreiana. A small smile tugged at the corners of my mouth at the image.

“Is there a problem?” I asked, eyebrow raised.

“No sir. I called my colleague because he was hoping to pass you a message.”

A burly man with auburn hair hurried toward us before I could run through different scenarios—one worse than the other—in my head.

The additional guard’s uniform told me he outranked the one who’d checked my papers, and the newcomer dismissed the other with a wave of his hand. To my surprise, all men started to vacate our surroundings, and the supervisor waited for everyone to be out of earshot before turning to me, lifting his hands up in a peaceful gesture.

What was going on here?

“Excuse me, Sir Cantor, but my brother asked me to deliver a message. Well, if you can answer me one single question.”

“What question?”

“What is your real name?”

A thousand warning bells went off in my head. “And why has your brother reason to presume I have another name than the one on my documents?”

“Because if that’s the case, he has important information for you.”

“Why?”

“He doesn’t want to be caught in a river of red.”

This smelled like a trap. But on the off-chance this relative of his was genuine, risking exposure could presumably mean intel. And if not, deceit would give me the best reason to let out my anger and frustration, even if I had to use the miserable excuse of a sword. “I’m called Dion.”