Chapter 50
Gaetano
I stand before the witch, almost like the first time I met her. Back then, I had nothing but the clothes on my back and the raging ambition to bend the world to my will. Now, all I have is my experience, marked by dozens of runes etched into my skin, and my bond with Nicole.
Madeline surveys my dirt-covered body, that cold fire gleaming in her expression—the same spark that always ignites before she inflicts pain on her victims. She savors her triumph, certain she’s pushed me to the edge.
Magic stirs in my chest with new resolve, fueled by Nicole’s presence somewhere in the distance.
Scenes flash through my mind—puzzles, trials, illusion traps I could conjure in seconds.
The problem is, Madeline would destroy them in half that time.
Physical illusions won’t break her. I must win with the mind. And what better weapon than doubt?
“You want trials, Madeline?” I say, before teleporting to the outskirts of the cemetery. “Then reach me.”
I shroud her in a mist of magic that hides her from view.
When the fog lifts, we are no longer in the graveyard.
We stand inside the ballroom where she once hosted her grand gatherings.
The setting is more modern than I remember, with chandeliers replaced by mounted lights, the floor shining like polished silver, and golden plaster rippling across the walls in rhythm with the magic in the air.
In illusions shaped by doubt, most harvests see themselves exposed. Clothing, after all, is our ultimate defense. Yet, Madeline rises in the center of the hall, draped in sheer crimson lace, radiating dominance, lust, and disdain in a single pose.
I focus, strengthening the illusion. My goal isn’t to defeat her here but to uncover a sliver of doubt—something to exploit in the next trials. The illusion is designed to fracture her from within, to bring a fear, a memory, a mistake into the light.
A woman in a formal gown materializes in the air and rushes to her. “Madeline! You are marvelous tonight!” Her voice trembles with awe and fear.
Madeline extends a hand backward, as if to a pet, and the figure drops into a bow.
At that moment, two men appear beside her.
I recognize Count Valmoro—who once groveled with his forehead pressed to the floor—and Baron Scala, one of her earliest apprentices.
Their faces glow with blind devotion, and their voices rise like a hymn.
“My lady…” the count whispers, kneeling before her. “Your beauty dims every spell I’ve ever tried to master.”
“No magic outshines your presence,” the baron adds, taking her hand as if holding a relic. “Even the stars pale beside your eyes, Madeline.”
With a wave of her wrist, Madeline dismisses them.
That’s ridiculous! I observe from the far end of the illusory hall, hunting for cracks. I need ghosts from her past, accusations, regrets. Yet, the illusion can’t find any.
Could this woman truly hold no doubt?
Madeline moves across the room with a poise that seems to claim ownership of everything she walks on.
She crosses half the hall, and nothing slows her down.
Then, Dimana Devichoni descends toward her.
She’s one of Madeline’s most loyal supporters, head of the Devichoni di Rovero family, a blood-sworn house from Northern Italy.
I’ve seen her at countless dinners, raising glasses in Madeline’s name.
“This time you’ve outdone yourself, Madeline!” she exclaims. “This party is much better than when that Joker was lurking around. His illusions were dull, his tricks tired.”
I hold my breath. She’s manipulating my illusion.
Madeline smiles. “It couldn’t be otherwise, considering his magic was never particularly strong.”
They both laugh. A man joins them, another familiar face from her events. “I still wonder why you accepted him as an apprentice,” he says.
Madeline raises an eyebrow. “Gaetano has his strengths. Just not in the realm of magic.” Her gaze locks onto me, even though she shouldn’t be able to see me. Yet, she does. She directs her next words to me: “And now, I’ll prove it to you.”
The illusion shatters, revealing the bleak cemetery landscape. Fear tightens around my throat. Madeline dismantled the illusion with too much ease.
A second later, she stands before me. “Was that your whole trick, Gaetano? To show me… myself?” Every syllable slices into me.
“You think I’m one of your little harvests?
My fears were burned to ash long ago and reforged into power.
And my doubts? I drown them in the blood and terror of my enemies. As you’re about to see for yourself.”
The momentum in my chest fades, like someone has reached into my ribcage and torn it out with bare hands, then thrown it into the grave beneath our feet.
Cold seeps under my skin, crawling toward the core of my magic and trying to wrap around it, to smother it.
Her words are a trap, meant to drag me back into the old belief that I never could defeat her. That I still can’t.
I glance over my shoulder. The illusion continues to surround Nicole, giving me a false sense of comfort that she’s safe. The clock in the sky tells me otherwise.
Eleven minutes to midnight.
I bite the inside of my cheek until the pain grounds me. If I don’t act fast, Nicole will suffer.
I lift my head. I may have failed to enter Madeline’s mind and access her fears, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. Every living creature has them. I just need to sift through my memories of her and find moments when her confidence faltered, when her eyes darkened with unease.
The ticking becomes pounding—maybe it’s the clock, maybe my own heart—as I delve into recollections of the past.
Nothing stands out. Nothing strong enough to use. Madeline has always considered herself the greatest witch who ever lived. That her enemies are born of envy. That hatred directed at her is nothing but unrequited love. She’s convinced the entire world worships her.
Then a thought flashes and it stops me cold.
What if that belief is her weakness?
She cursed me because she believed I was acting behind her back out of idealism. That I was trying to prevent a war. It never crossed her mind that I was planning to rip the crown off her head.
My pulse quickens again. If I’m wrong, I’ll waste another one of my precious few moves. But I can’t think of any other way.
I square my shoulders. “Your second trial is a question, Madeline.”
“Ooh, a riddle?” She glances at the sky, where the clock still hovers. “You do realize I have access to knowledge beyond this world, don’t you? What could you possibly ask that would surprise me?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “You tell me. Why did I try to dissuade the Cantoni family from going to war with the Karelians? What was I trying to accomplish?”
Her eyes narrow, locking onto mine. Please say it: ‘To save innocent lives,’ or: ‘To get my attention, Gaetano.’ That’s her favorite answer for everything I do.
But her silence lasts too long.
Come on, Madeline. You know this one. It’s easy.
At last, her lips part. “Because you couldn’t bear the thought of everyone submitting to me.
You believed you were more worthy of leading.
So you plotted to damage my reputation among the other witch families, starting with whispering to the Cantoni that the idea to pull back was mine.
” She pauses. “Any witch with half a brain knew the Karelians had to be subdued. Claiming otherwise would make me seem unstable. And that was your goal, wasn’t it? ”
Her smile is cold, almost polite. “Well, Gaetano… have I answered your question thoroughly enough?”
My hopes collapse. Not because I wasted my second chance so recklessly, but because I’ve spent years convinced she didn’t see through me. If I was wrong about that, maybe she’s right about everything else. That I lack strength. That my magic is just a shadow of hers…
The clock’s ticking pounds inside my skull like a gong, stealing my breath with each toll. Eight minutes to midnight. Whatever illusion I conjure next, she’ll shatter it. The only thing I’ll accomplish is draining the last of my magic.
I scan the yard again, avoiding the spot where I hid Nicole. I’m out of time and options. “Madeline,” I say, my voice flat and final. “I challenge you to a direct magical duel. Your third trial is to defeat me in a clash of energy.”
She freezes, lips tightening into a sharp line. I can’t tell if I’ve thrown her off… or she’s enjoying this. If this were any other witch, I’d think she appeared unsettled. But Madeline?
She throws her head back and laughs—a high, vicious cackle that slices through the graveyard, scattering the shadows like startled bats. The harvests retreat to the very edges of the field.
My own skin bristles from the weight of her power vibrating in the air.
When she looks at me again, her eyes are glassy and clouded. I recognize that expression. It only appears when a witch channels all her energy into her hands.
Her voice drops, venomous and loud enough to carry across the dead.
“I thought you were the manipulator… but it turns out, il mio giullare, you’ve been the fool.
While you played pretend, thinking you could slip away, you tightened the noose around your own neck.
Now I’ll beat you at your own game, and you’ll remain trapped in this castle forever.
And your lover? She’ll be my slave for as long as she breathes.
Believe me, you’ll wish you had let her suffer the consequences of a broken contract. ”
In that moment, the fog in my mind clears, and everything snaps into place. I finally understand what Madeline aims for.