The Serpent and the Wolf (Dark Inheritance Trilogy #1)

Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

The city was locked down within minutes.

Reid and Vaasa found their party, few of whom commented on Vaasa’s choice to ditch Mathjin. The wise advisor also kept his mouth shut, though something about the anger in his eyes told Vaasa they’d have that conversation later. That there would be hell to pay for not following his plan.

Back at the High Temple, Amalie snuck off to find someone she knew from Wrultho, someone she insisted would have some answers about how they’d gotten Ignac into the arena. Given the creature had targeted him, there had to be a connection. Vaasa bathed, redressed, and kept herself under control.

When Amalie returned, they learned that the rest of the coven was already at the Sodality of Una. It was the only coven that would meet with theirs, despite Melisina’s pleas to the other high witches.

Technically, they hadn’t been given permission to leave the High Temple. Koen escorted them personally, at Amalie’s demand, and it was the only reason they made it down the three blocks to the enormous building. Waiting at the entrance was Brielle, curls bouncing around her face like a halo. Vaasa’s heart leapt into her throat, though Brielle only grinned. “Your coven is waiting,” she said.

Nodding quietly, they followed Brielle through the dim, golden stacks of the Library of Una and down to the lowest floor, where only a few of the lanterns had been strung far enough to reach. Two women in red acolyte robes stood up straight at their presence, eyeing Brielle first and then eyes widening at Koen and Reid. Brielle smiled at them both, and they nodded their heads sternly to Amalie and Vaasa. Behind the wrought iron barrier of the seventh floor, the stacks were washed in golden light, sconces perched upon each oak bookshelf, the bracket ornamented with different patterns of twisted metal. With a small extension of her palm, light started to grow in Brielle’s hand, and Vaasa caught her breath.

She’d never seen one of the witches of Una manipulate light.

As they plunged down a dim hallway, the light almost diminished apart from Brielle’s little orb, and then the corridor opened into a catacomb beneath a separate tower. Climbing the marble staircase ornamented with more oak and iron, they found themselves on the first level of their witch’s tower. Two more sprawling staircases led to the same balcony and more hallways expanded off the sides, leading to what Vaasa thought were private rooms. In the middle of that second-level balcony was an enormous, long rectangular table, and perched upon it was a small, familiar group of witches.

Vaasa let out a small breath of relief.

“You’re alive,” Romana said in jest, feet up on one of the tables settled in the center of the enormous room with a book in her hand. Mariana sat at her side, blond hair pulled away from her face. Suma looked up, grinned, and then dug her nose back into her book.

Melisina rose from the table and shuffled forward, down the steps, and then gathered all four of them in her arms. Vaasa tried not to be uncomfortable with so much physical contact, and Reid muttered something to his mother about being overbearing.

An unfamiliar woman watched from next to the table. Short silver hair hung gently over her lean, friendly face. Narrow hazel eyes looked them both up and down, hands lifting to reveal intricate lines of ink upon soft brown skin. Her black robes indicated that she was a sage, though not one whom Vaasa recognized.

“Consort,” she said, greeting Vaasa, then turning to Amalie. “And you must be Amalie. I’m happy to see you both safe.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Amalie said with a dip of her chin.

“Leanan Day. I’m the high witch of Una.”

Melisina’s counterpart here in Dihrah, then. “An honor to meet you, Leanan,” Vaasa said.

With the strange openness of the witches in the room, Vaasa wondered with a small pang of frustration how easy it would have been to find them all if she’d only bothered to be honest.

“Did you find your soldier from Wrultho?” Leanan asked Amalie. Vaasa wondered silently if this “soldier” was the same man Amalie had told her about weeks ago when they’d eaten lunch; the childhood friend who had been her first love.

Amalie scurried up the steps, towing Vaasa with her, and then gripped the edge of the table. Her foot started to tap. “I did, and I think there’s something going on with Ton.”

Subtly, Reid moved to the space behind Vaasa, pulling out a chair for her to sit in and then standing behind it, hands on the top. “How do you know this soldier?” he asked Amalie, the undertones of his words sounding a little more like How do you know we can trust him ?

Amalie paused. She started tapping her foot again. “He is a family friend and a member of the ICF. Just like I do, he has connections to Wrultho’s people.”

Family friend didn’t seem to explain her tone, or the way a small flush crept up her neck as she folded her arms and tried to pretend no one had asked. Shame seemed to flutter on the edges of her mouth, but she lifted her chin and held her ground.

Without a doubt, the same man. The one Ton had sent her away for.

Melisina cut in, uninterested in Amalie’s trip down memory lane. “Ton’s men are willing to turn on him?”

“I don’t know,” Amalie said. “But he said something was off. Like they were uncomfortable or divided.”

“Who can blame them?” Koen asked.

Between Amalie’s taps, Vaasa tried to give the magic breadth. Tried to release little bits of it from her fingertips. The more they spoke, the closer the magic became to a bird of prey feasting on her insides.

“What happened at the colosseum?” Leanan asked. “Let’s start there.”

Amalie recounted the details to them all, describing the monster with terrifying accuracy and leaving out the part that included Vaasa.

“That sounds like a Miro’dag,” Brielle whispered, shifting uncomfortably in her chair.

Amalie stopped tapping, and her lips parted in recognition.

“I suspected,” said Koen, who slid into the spot nearest Vaasa. “It is a demon of sorts.”

Vaasa’s ears perked up at that.

“A Miro’dag requires a very specific sort of magic, a dark and terrible one long extinct,” he said. “It is a henchman belonging to a Zetyr witch.”

Zetyr, the god of bargains and souls.

It was one of the most infamous sets of bloodlines that had ruled what was now Wrultho for generations. Vaasa had read about it when she’d been searching for information on Veragi. The most prominent family had been slaughtered by one of their own, and then the coven turned on itself fighting for power. At the implications of this, a coldness unfurled deep in Vaasa.

“No one has seen a Zetyr witch in centuries,” Leanan argued.

“It sounds like a Miro’dag to me, as well,” Melisina said.

“So they aren’t extinct?” Romana asked, closing her book and crossing her arms in disbelief.

Melisina gestured for Amalie to continue, giving her the floor. Shifting her weight, Amalie decided to take up the space she deserved, and it was the single moment of relief Vaasa felt. “I’ve read no records of them for at least a few generations, though we have few records dating past the founding of our coven.”

“I’ve read the same.” Koen pushed up his glasses. “You saw it, too, Amalie. Did it seem like Zetyr magic to you?”

Her eyes darted around, lips pursing. Hesitantly, they landed on the foreman of Dihrah. “I’ve only seen sketches, though the description makes sense. It… resembles oil.”

“I don’t understand,” Vaasa said, finally speaking. All the different kinds of magic felt like too much to carry—too much to process. Especially when each coven picked and chose what was acceptable to share. Chances were, even if there was a written history of this kind of magic, it was locked deep in the sodality in Wrultho. And of all the territories, Wrultho was the least likely to offer anything to Vaasa.

There were few times in her life when she wasn’t the most informed in a room, wasn’t the one with the answers. After everything today, she wanted to fight someone or run the perimeter of the Settara. Anything to work off this energy.

Suma extended a hand to Vaasa’s forearm, her large brown eyes gentle. “Just as we get our magic from Veragi, Zetyr witches get their magic from their god. We do many things—and so can they. Their methods were awful and twisted; they could even conjure illusions and pretend to have magic they didn’t truly possess. But Zetyr can only bargain the use of their power; it cannot be willed without a trade.”

“Which implies there is someone making the bargain and someone else actually using the magic,” Leanan said.

“It is always foolish to assume there is only one enemy,” Vaasa whispered.

Koen crossed his arms. Reid curled a hand on her shoulder, but she shook him off. She didn’t want to be touched, not by anyone. Anything.

That voice in the back of her head blared in warning.

While assumptions were dangerous, she couldn’t bring herself to believe Dominik wasn’t behind this somehow. The sheer discord it had sown was enough of a reason to presume he had something to do with it. It couldn’t be just Ton.

If Dominik was bargaining with people who had far more magic than her, what chance did she stand of surviving this? “I need to think,” Vaasa rasped, sliding her chair back from the table in part to stand, but also to put space between her and everyone else. She spun, placing her hands on the wooden banister of the second level.

There must be a way to leverage this information, to gain the upper hand. Secrets were a bargaining piece and pride was often people’s downfall.

Dominik wanted the Wrultho forces to stand down, to move out of his way. If he had such magic, why wouldn’t he just take what he wanted? Surely someone as brash as Dominik would have decimated entire armies by now if he could.

There must be a limit. A threshold to what his bargainer could accomplish. Looking to Reid, her magic flared again. But it was Melisina who spoke, voice soft and calm. “Let’s focus on what we do know.”

Vaasa forced herself to breathe. They knew so little, and because of her, they didn’t stand a chance at working with the witches from Wrultho.

She looked at Amalie, who gave the smallest of nods, like she understood more than anyone else the guilt and fear that coursed through Vaasa.

But she didn’t want understanding. She wanted solutions. She wanted to know she wasn’t about to get them all killed.

“Perhaps it was one of the competitors,” Koen suggested. “Like Ton. Maybe he set up the entire ambush and killed Ignac to cover it.”

“Why would he do something that stupid?” Reid asked. He leaned back against the banister now, only looking to Vaasa when she spoke.

Shrugging, Melisina said, “His competition arrives with a new bride from the very empire Ton is at war with? He of all people has something to lose if you are elected—most notably, his pride.”

Koen uncrossed his arms. “It’s quite possible Ton has gone to desperate lengths to influence this election.”

“If that were the case, why not just attack Reid outright?” Romana said.

“Your city-states are dangerously linked in terms of resource distribution,” Vaasa said. “To make a movement of aggression against any of the territories would only further isolate Wrultho, which is something they can’t afford.”

“Ton isn’t a political genius,” Koen pointed out.

Reid snorted his agreement.

Vaasa shook her head, brushing both of them off. “He’s fighting for Hunt’s approval, which means he wants to be a player on the Icrurian stage.”

“If he hadn’t been the one who started the violence with Asterya, he’d probably be a real contender in this election,” Amalie sneered.

Of everything she knew about Ton, one thing was clear: the man wanted power. But Amalie was right. The old-fashioned way, Ton could never win.

“He is ashamed, seeking a way to matter. And I suspect his goals are in line with that motivation,” Koen agreed.

“He wants bloodshed. If it was he who summoned that creature, he would have used it against Asterya already,” Vaasa said.

“Okay, so then we know nothing,” Romana said.

“We know nothing for sure,” Koen confirmed.

Frustration crawling over her skin like tiny bugs, Vaasa laid her hands flat against the table. “Can you get me everything you have on Zetyr magic?”

“It isn’t much, but I can,” Leanan said.

Reid shook his head. “It’s late, you should—”

“Don’t,” Vaasa warned.

The two held each other’s eyes for a brief moment before Reid finally crossed his arms and stepped back from his chair. “I’ll come find you in a few hours. Kier will come for me and Koen any moment now.”

“Go,” Melisina said. “This place is safe. No Miro’dag will find us here.”

Lips pursed, Reid gave a solid nod, then spun on his heel, descending the stairs without another word. Koen dipped his head to everyone and sprinted after him, the two foremen disappearing into the shadows of the first floor.

All Vaasa wanted was to be alone. To have the space she needed to put together these moving puzzle pieces.

Undoubtedly, they were all connected.

Brielle approached the bookshelf at her right. Plucking out a black leather-bound tome, she slid it across the table. “Start with this. I’ll retrieve a cart and bring you everything we have.”

“Brielle—” Vaasa stopped, then collected herself as the woman turned to look at her again. “Thank you.”

With half a smile and little nod, Brielle sauntered across the room and started pulling books off the shelves.

“There is a room in the back,” Leanan said. “A place you can study in quiet.”

“I’ll go with you—” Amalie said.

“No,” Vaasa said, interrupting, knives in her blood.

Hurt flashed across Amalie’s eyes, and that dug into Vaasa, too.

There was nothing she could do or say that was right.

Vaasa swept up the book and bowed her head to them all, then quickly disappeared from view.

As the witches gradually left with each turning of the hour, Vaasa’s magic flopped back to life and sank like she’d swallowed rocks. Their footsteps and the echoes of doors closing hardly registered. She stayed seated at a table in a room off one of the three hallways, where she could see the expanse of Dihrah through large windows. The City of Scholars glittered beneath starlight, streams of the lights of Una running gold along the oak table and chairs she sat at, playing upon the rivers of crimson and ivory in the marble floors. Alone, she reviewed every detail of the conversation they’d had, of conversations she’d had prior. Of the attack. Of every word she’d said to Dominik. Of the letters she’d reviewed with Mathjin.

A witch was hiding. One who had killed her mother and probably Ignac Kozár in front of every major Icrurian player.

There was only one person who had so much to gain from all this death. One person who had systematically removed every threat to his ascension until there were only two left.

And now she sat here, knowing well enough who those two people were.

She’d learned everything she could about the god Zetyr tonight since there was so little on the magic itself. The mythos surrounding him was laden with cruelty: possessions of mortals, the sacrifice of loved ones, tales of a sinister trickster. There were horrific legends about the bargains he struck and how they were built on twisted words. When she could not find answers about the Zetyr coven precisely, she turned to historical records, but most of them were written in a much older dialect of Icrurian that she could not decipher wholly. In the endeavor for truth, gaps in the context behind certain words and sentences were enough to sink her ambitions. She couldn’t uncover a translation that made sense.

Whoever this was, they were infinitely more powerful and far sneakier than Vaasa could hope to be. If this witch had managed to stay hidden this long…

The scent of the Miro’dag curled in her nose again, and she dragged her hand through her hair, nails nearly hurting her scalp. The truth was that she had probably never met the witch. Wouldn’t even know what they looked like. Someone so powerful—so coveted—was bound to stay concealed.

Then again, she knew better than most that the best way to hide was to blend in.

The sound of the door opening made her jump.

Amalie slid through, hesitation on her charming features. “It’s practically morning, Vaasa. You need to sleep.”

Gritting her teeth, Vaasa looked down at her books again, the words blurry now. She was a little worn out from people telling her what she needed. “I’m not tired. Go back, I’ll come when I’m ready.”

“You’re burning yourself out. If you don’t rest—”

“I don’t care,” Vaasa snapped, looking up from the tome and squeezing her hands into fists. She knew the witch was right. She was exhausting herself. But what other option was there?

All this death would be on her hands.

Amalie’s lips pursed, but she didn’t step farther into the room. Nor did she turn and leave, as Vaasa expected her to. “Don’t close me out, Vaasa.”

Jaw tightening further, Vaasa bit back the angry response that immediately came to her tongue.

Amalie must have seen the poison in her eyes, though. Must have read something in her body language. Her back straightened and her voice lowered. “You’re harming yourself. This coldness, it isn’t who you are.”

Rage was the forefront of what Vaasa felt, irritation like a blade down her back. This coldness was exactly who she was. Why couldn’t Amalie see that? Why couldn’t they all see it?

Vaasa slammed her hand onto the table. “I don’t want your wisdom or your advice right now.”

Shaking her head, Amalie said, “I am your best friend. Don’t do this.”

“I don’t have a best friend!” Vaasa burst out. “I am here for three years and not a day more.”

The moment the words were out, it was as if Vaasa could see them in the air. As if she were reaching for them, but the edges of the letters kept evading her grip.

And then they just hung in the air between them.

Amalie stared at her as if she’d been struck, but then pressed her lips harshly together. Wetness shone in her eyes, but she shook it away.

At the sight of that, regret washed over Vaasa like a tidal wave so powerful it stole the air from the room. This wanting, this foolish desire to throw everything else out the window and make it right. It was ironic how she could see the wrong in what she’d done and yet not do anything about it. Not change her path, as if she was already so far in it would be worse to turn around.

It didn’t matter. She didn’t get the chance.

“Noted,” Amalie said in a clipped tone.

And then her only real friend—her best friend—slipped out the door, closing it loudly behind her.

And as she sat there alone, Vaasa wondered if all this work, all this introspection and trial, had been for naught.

If perhaps she hadn’t learned anything at all.