Chapter 1
One
Ivy
The room where I’m being held prisoner smells like stale perfume and blood. The latter I assume comes from the crusted red-brown smears that streak across the gilded wallpaper.
This mansion must be the residence of some noble—or used to be before my captors took it over.
A couple of the men in soldier uniforms are digging through a wardrobe carved from fine marlwood, matching the elaborate frame of the four-poster bed.
Shards of crystal that might have once been fancy perfume bottles litter the thick rug.
Along with the smeared blood and the broken crystal, someone has slashed into the cushions on the chairs so the stuffing spills out like fluffy guts. There’s a darker ruddy splotch in the middle of the bedsheets that I don’t want to look at too closely.
Beyond the broad picture window, all I can see is the nearby stone wall and a sprawl of empty fields beyond it. The house’s shadow stretches long in the late-afternoon sunlight.
I’m guessing this is one of the country estates I’ve heard and read about, a summer home where some exalted family could retreat when they tired of city politics.
It doesn’t look as if anyone’s been having a relaxing time here recently.
The men toss several dresses that they retrieved from the wardrobe onto the floor. Their leader peers down at them.
Lothar, the king’s secondary magical advisor and apparent head of the conspiracy to murder that king, shifts his tall, lopsided frame with a thoughtful air.
I still haven’t gotten used to the asymmetry of his body, one arm missing all the way to the shoulder in one of the most extreme dedication sacrifices I’ve ever seen.
That is, one of the most extreme outside of the poor accomplices he and his supporters have had carved up to the barest edge of survival. Great God help us all, how much power can this man wield when he combines his gift with those of his victims?
I have no idea what his gift even is. So far I haven’t seen it in action, haven’t felt the tingle of magic coursing off him.
He points at a confection of sleek pewter-gray silk. “That one. Fine but not too eye-catching. Have our ‘guest’ put it on.”
His thick baritone takes on a sneering edge with the word “guest.” We both know he’s not offering any hospitality to me.
But my arms move all the same. My hands lift to yank off the plain woolen dress I was wearing when he stole me away from my companions this morning.
The wound on my side where one of Lothar’s underlings stabbed me last night aches beneath its bandage. With all my might, I scream silently at my muscles to resist.
I can’t so much as clench my jaw, let alone hold my body back.
The woman standing next to Lothar has me in the iron grip of her gift, partly fueled by the sacrificial accomplice slumped against the nearby wall beneath a shroud.
Sweat gleams on Zaneta’s forehead beneath her parted dun-brown bangs and her slim fingers twist at her sides, but her control has shown no sign of ebbing.
At her silent demand, I shuck off the trousers I was using as an underskirt as well. Apparently the scourge sorcerers don’t care about my humble underclothes, because she has me pick up the silk dress without adjusting those.
I don’t have to get fully naked in front of a bunch of hostile strangers. One tiny blessing in a heap of shit.
Lothar holds up his hand, and Zaneta follows his unspoken command to stop me. He frowns at the grayed ribbon wrapped around my upper arm. “What’s that for?”
My puppet master propels an answer out of me. I don’t see any need to lie about this, but I stay brief. “A memento.”
The leader of the Order of the Wild lets out a scoffing chuckle. “I’m not indulging your sentimentality, fiend.”
He tugs off the scrap of fabric—my last remaining fragment of my little sister. A cry of protest snags in my throat, unable to burst out.
Watching me with a look of challenge as if daring me to flex my magic at him, Lothar holds the ribbon to a lantern lit on a side table. My objection crawls through my chest, digging claws into my innards, but I can’t move an inch. Can’t stir so much as a spurt of my power.
Normally in a situation as threatening as this, my chaotic magic would be wrenching at me to set it free, to let it blast apart all these villains. And in this particular case, I think I might let it, consequences be damned.
But Zaneta’s control over me is keeping my magic locked away inside me too. Actually, that’s probably what’s causing her the most strain. The restless energy wobbles around my heart like it’s set at a slow simmer, but I can’t whip it out of me.
Flames lick up the ribbon, blackening it in an instant. Lothar drops it into an empty wash basin just before the fire reaches his fingers. More smoke wisps up as the fabric crumbles away into ash.
My throat feels as if it’s clamped shut. I can barely breathe.
It’s all right. It was only a bit of cloth.
He can’t touch my memories of Linzi. He can’t destroy what she meant to me.
There’s a whole lot more he could destroy, though.
Lothar motions to Zaneta, and she compels me to pull on the gown. I can’t take any pleasure from the smoothness of the silk sliding over my skin. It only makes me think of the last time I wore dresses like this regularly—when I was pretending to be noble myself at the royal college.
When I had a countess-to-be’s ghost lodged in my head, guiding me through the treacherous noble world. When I had men with me who became allies and then friends and then so much more than I’d ever dared to hope for.
All of that is gone now, as lost as my sister’s ribbon. All thanks to Lothar and his sadistic schemes.
My head remains silent. Julita’s spirit leapt out of me last night to help defend me from her vicious brother.
She’ll have passed on into the embrace of her godlen now.
I have no idea whether the godlen who’s watched over me is paying any attention to my current predicament. It’d be awfully nice for Kosmel to get on with showing me an escape route if he has any mind to.
And my men… The four men who’ve become not just my lovers but a tightly knit family like I thought I’d never have again…
It’s been several hours since I last saw them. My last words to them, propelled from my throat by this scourge sorcerer’s magic, were mocking them for trusting me.
Gods only know what they believe happened. Whether they’ll see me as anything but an enemy even if they manage to find me.
Fresh tears prick behind my eyes. I will them back as I tighten the lacing on the dress.
Lothar would only laugh at my weeping. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, no matter how much anguish burns in my chest.
When my hands drop back to my sides, Lothar looks me over with one of his hard smirks. Revulsion crawls over my skin that has nothing to do with his uneven frame.
This man must be a psychopath above anything we’ve encountered before in our quest against scourge sorcerers. He’s built a country-wide conspiracy while pretending to serve the family he wants to see slaughtered.
A country-wide conspiracy that powers itself with the total mutilation of orphaned twelve-year-olds.
His “Order of the Wild” claims to be following the true desires of the gods. The people he’s egging on have insisted that their mad, violent practices will bring even the All-Giver back after centuries since the Great God abandoned our realms.
I’m not sure yet whether this man actually believes the stories he’s spread or whether it’s all a tactic for some other purpose.
The magic advisor motions to one of the soldiers who sorted through the dresses. The stranger steps closer to run a comb through my tangled hair. I can’t even wince, let alone recoil from his touch.
While I endure the primping, a slim man with a sallow face appears in the doorway.
He can’t be more than a few years older than my twenty years, and his slight figure is nearly swallowed up by the layers of embroidered silk and velvet he’s dressed himself in.
You’d think he was suited up for a ball.
He peers at me, his stance stiffening, and darts a glance toward Lothar. “I heard you brought one of the riven here.”
A mix of horror and revulsion colors his tone. The typical reaction of most people to my cursed magic, but it makes my stomach lurch all the same.
Lothar speaks with the same chilly authority as before. “You have nothing to worry about. She’s utterly under our control.”
There’s a gloating note to that last sentence. I’d grit my teeth if I could move them.
The foppish man shudders and flicks his hand down his front in a hasty gesture of the divinities, as if calling on the gods to protect him from me. “When you asked for the use of the estate, I didn’t realize—”
Lothar’s tone hardens. “You committed yourself to our cause. Are you starting to doubt my judgment after all?”
Somehow the other man—the heir to this estate?—turns even paler. “No—no, of course not. All I can offer to the All-Giver and the Order of the Wild.”
He scurries off, maybe hoping that if I do end up exploding with evil magic, he’ll be far enough away to escape the onslaught.
Was he really master of this estate already? Or did he turn on his parents the way I’ve heard other noble heirs did with the Order’s backing?
When the man with the comb steps away from me, Lothar glances over at a second duo of sorcerer and shrouded accomplice waiting at the other side of the room.
The sorcerer is leaning against the vanity, studying a gleaming metal object they retrieved from my pocket when they were checking me over for weapons.
The locket that can be used as a signal to my men. If the sorcerer presses his thumb to the pane on the inside, they’ll know where to find me.
But the stout man has only peeked inside and otherwise has been murmuring fragments of the odd language the scourge sorcerers use while examining the exterior.
“Have you untangled the magic on it?” Lothar asks.
The sorcerer shakes his head. “It’s definitely been blessed, but it’s not giving me any impressions of specifically how. That must mean it’s not currently active. I can’t pick up on any magic emanating off it right now.”
“Keep it in that containment box of yours, then. We don’t want to risk it creating some disruptive effect when we’re not prepared.”
The lopsided man turns back to me. “I don’t suppose you’d tell me the truth about what it’s for if I let you speak.”
I simply glare back at him, wishing my hatred could sear into him the way my magic currently can’t.
Lothar hums to himself. “Tie her hair back. The style doesn’t need to be ornate. We’ll cover it with the hood of her cloak regardless.”
Zaneta wets her lips. “Are we going tonight?”
“The more time we delay, the more chance Konram has to adjust his plans. Gods only know what he’s made of recent events.
” He glances toward her accomplice. “We won’t be able to bring the blessed one right into the palace.
He’ll be too obvious. You can continue channeling power from a bit of a distance, I assume. ”
His sorcerer bobs her head. “Yes, Master Lothar. But it’ll take all my concentration.”
“That’s perfectly fine.” Lothar’s smirk crawls back across his face as his gaze meets mine. “Our riven sorcerer will finally do something worthwhile with that wild magic of hers. She can take care of the rest.”
A chill sweeps through my body. I flail against the invisible hold on me with a renewed surge of defiance, but I still can’t budge a single muscle.
What is he going to do with me?
What is he going to make me do?
I don’t know whether Lothar can read my horror in my stiffened expression or if my response is easy to guess. He steps closer to me, his pale brown eyes gleaming with a manic light.
“You don’t like this? Such a pity. You’re lucky you had as many years of freedom as you did.
Your kind is an abomination—a blight on the realms. Born with so much power you never had to give up so much as a tuft of hair for…
You should be grateful I’m letting you be such an important part of our revolution. ”
Is he sour about how much he sacrificed for whatever gift he’s got? It’s not as if anyone forced the choice on him.
And he doesn’t even bother to use his own magic much, considering the way he’s ordering his underlings to handle all the sorcery.
What exactly is he so bitter about?
I can only imagine the caustic remarks Julita would have made about the royal advisor—and imagining them makes my gut twist with the loss.
Somehow she always found something to say that bolstered my spirits, no matter how dire a situation we found ourselves in. I got used to having that bit of company—of friendship—as ephemeral as her ghost was.
It’s better for her that she’s moved on. She deserves some peace. And I have plenty of practice surviving on my own.
I never thought I’d find myself in a position where I didn’t want to.
Lothar snaps his fingers at the men in the soldier uniforms. “Prepare the carriage. I want to be riding out within the hour.”
Zaneta sucks in a breath. “What would you have me do with her once we reach the palace?”
The magic advisor lets out a cool chuckle. “If all goes well, I’ll be able to get us right to the royal family through my authority alone. Stay ready to intervene on my command if needed. We’ll gather them all in the audience room.”
His gaze pierces me, even colder than before. “The moment we step into the room and she can see them, have her crack every one of their pretty royal skulls.”