30. Chapter 30
Chapter 30
S tars blinked through the windowpanes lining the stairs to Tanyl’s apartment as Imani’s heeled boots announced her arrival with each step. She could see the dancing ribbons of the Fabric pulsing across the night sky in a spectacle. She’d miss them when she went to Niflheim.
Imani walked with confidence, holding her head high as if she lived there, imagining for a moment that she was queen consort and lived in these rooms. The whole palace had fallen into an unsettling calm in the days after the melee had ended, and with no one in the halls to catch this little display, she let herself indulge.
Death was always possible during assessments, but she thought such a large amount would warrant more comments. The Crown said nothing, however. Imani guessed they actively worked to sweep it under the rug because courtiers related to the dead witches slowly returned home. Any master witches who spoke out against the assessments were assigned a new job away from Stralas.
Unbelievable.
The horror of her gruesome crime against the male elf should be eating her alive, but her mind had never been quite right. In horror’s place, the need for justice and revenge settled in her bones and heart instead.
While going down the hallway, Imani’s mind wandered to the night of her second report. It had come and gone faster than she had anticipated, and much to her ire, Kiran had given her a pittance of information. All he revealed was the nature of the assessment—paired combat—and she’d learned nothing since.
Combat with magic was still her weakest skill, and a one-on-one fight in front of an audience meant she couldn’t run and hide. After she fell out with Esa, they hadn’t been practicing like before, and she didn’t have a strategy yet. She needed more information. Without leverage to gather more intel, the days dwindled toward her execution rather than victory. In the past day, Imani had focused her waking hours on preparing for the final assessment or gathering information on the Niflheim princes. At this point, she desperately needed to uncover anything meaningful for more details on the duel.
The guards usually stationed outside Tanyl’s rooms were in deep conversation at the end of the hall. Imani quickly hid herself under her invisibility spell and, for the first time, commanded a tiny tendril of darkness to slip under the door through all Tanyl’s wards and locks. His spells were particularly nasty tonight. She sensed a new silencing enchantment, which was too powerful even for the prince to cast. Had the First Witch put a new ward over the prince’s rooms?
Still, it didn’t stop her shadows. She smiled.
Moments after stepping inside, she dropped her illusion, but a guard made her jump in surprise. There were normally no guards inside Tanyl’s rooms. He kept them outside for a semblance of privacy.
The man stood with his hand outstretched, halting her. “No visitors tonight. Prince’s orders. Go back where you came from,” he said.
Exhausted and running on too little patience, she brandished her wand and pointed it at him in an obvious threat. The hallway darkened as her shadows pressed against her signature, thin tendrils silently snaking out to wrap around his limbs and neck. “Prince Tanyl is expecting me. Do you want to test my magic tonight? I’m under the protection of the Niflheim princes and don’t mind letting some of my power free tonight if needed.” Imani murmured a spell, and his windpipe constricted.
The guard’s eyes widened. Nervously, he glanced down the hallway then swiftly moved to the right. She loosened the spell. He coughed.
“I’ll be checking outside for a minute, and you better be telling the truth about being expected.”
She almost rolled her eyes at the empty threat, but Tanyl certainly wouldn’t like such defiance against his guard or her slipping by the others unnoticed, even if he had invited her. Still, her patience was razor-thin these days.
Tanyl’s living room was usually a calm and quiet sanctuary, so she was surprised to hear tense voices spilling into the hallway through the silencing charm. While not quite an argument, the heated dialogue made her ears twitch back and forth. The voices grew louder—one measured, the other hissing.
Now , it was an argument.
Who would Tanyl be having such an intense conversation with at this hour? It must have been unexpected—Tanyl cleared his schedule on the nights he spent with Imani.
“You have no right to demand more witches,” the Essenheim prince yelled.
Imani positioned herself behind the wall and cast her invisibility illusion again. She melted into the shadows, unseen.
Tanyl swore, and someone laughed.
Her skin prickled. Melodic yet mocking with an edge of sensuality, she knew that laugh.
Peering around the wall, she shouldn’t have been shocked, but her mouth still fell open at the sight in front of her.
Tanyl and Kiran sat in two chairs positioned near the fireplace, angled toward each other. Tanyl’s features contorted into a furious glare, his body so rigid he appeared seconds away from attacking. Across from him, Kiran sat like a lion. He lounged languidly in a chair, one ankle on his knee, as if chatting with a friend—or a child. His hands were steepled, and he displayed a maddening grin. As always, he was dressed in executioner clothing, wearing a black shirt perfectly fitted to his hard chest and torso. Tanyl, in blue pants and a white shirt, was a stark contrast.
Magic swirled in the air from both men. Tanyl’s burst from him at erratic moments, while Kiran’s remained constant, the invisible coils slithering around him like a cloak.
If the intense new wards were any indication, neither prince wanted anyone to know about this clandestine meeting.
Leaning forward in his chair, Tanyl lowered his voice. “Why do you think you can renegotiate?”
“Happens all the time in politics, I assure you, Tanyl,” Prince Kiran said, his tone condescending.
The male still hadn’t left his casual position, but Imani could swear he was fighting a smirk. “It’s quite simple?—”
Tanyl slammed his fist on the table, and it echoed through the room. “ Simple ? Your demand is not simple. We’ve complied with every detail in the agreement.” Tanyl’s voice had a hard edge to it.
“Tanyl, please. I hate being interrupted. Besides, you’re smarter than this. Are you going to force me to spell it out?”
Not waiting for a response, Kiran smirked and plowed on. “Fine! Since you’ve been such a pleasant host, and I enjoy reveling in my brilliance, I’ll indulge you.” His voice sounded too alluring, too smooth, as he braced his arms on his knees with a wicked gleam directed at the Essenheim heir. “You promised us at least fifty of your best witches. We only have two elves remaining—I’d hardly call that sending your best. You lied about their delay. They aren’t coming. Therefore, you owe us more witches for the next assessment, elves or not.”
“It’s not our problem your ascension assessments are killing your candidates.”
“It’s not our problem the agreement didn’t protect you if your people disobeyed orders.” Kiran paused.
With Tanyl so clearly backed into the proverbial corner, the princes stared at each other momentarily.
“Do I need to remind you of your kingdom’s precarious position right now? Despite this transgression, my brother isn’t asking for much, although he’d be well within his rights to do so,” Kiran murmured, acting like a good little lapdog.
Liar , she thought. The dynamics and aspirations of the Illithiana family were far more complicated than most people assumed. Indeed, she’d seen firsthand how Kiran influenced his brother; Saevel relied on his counsel and took his guidance seriously. Dare she say the influence bordered on manipulation?
But besides what she’d observed with her own eyes, she’d still learned significantly few solid facts about the youngest Niflheim prince, and the additional rumors weren’t helpful.
She swallowed, keeping her magic signature from responding to her emotions. She needed to keep it locked up tight lest the princes sense it.
Kiran continued steepling his hands, letting the silence permeate the room. He basked in it. He’d won. Tanyl knew it. Imani knew it.
Imani held her breath as Kiran inclined his head in amusement. The Serpent Prince liked playing with his food before he devoured it. Imani could admit that never knowing what the Mad Prince might say was infuriating yet somewhat enjoyable. Kiran liked the bloody game more than the outcome.
“You look like you might cry, Tanyl.” Kiran pretended to pick at his nail. “I’d be happy to give you another moment to compose yourself before you agree to the addendum binding.”
“Fuck you, Kiran,” Tanyl snapped.
Kiran gave him a fiendish look, as if nothing delighted him more than those words.
“You’ve left me no choice,” Tanyl conceded. “I’ll support the request for renegoti?—”
The hairs on her arms stood up as a burst of chilling magic flattened her against the wall. Any warmth evaporated, and she could hardly breathe as the coldest magic she’d ever experienced whipped through the room.
Tanyl’s voice abruptly cut off, and a dead silence fell. Inching herself forward, she stole a glance into the room. Confusion overtook her face, mouth gaping.
The Essenheim heir sat frozen in place, his mouth hanging open still. But it wasn’t only Tanyl. The clock stood still, and even the flames in the hearth appeared solid and unmoving. Indeed, the whole room had frozen in time—except for one thing.
Imani had read about this rare magic before—cadence magic. Unless the person was the caster, cadence magic stopped time for everyone and everything as long as the witch could hold the spell. But it didn’t originate in the Mesial Realm.
Kiran had been gifted magic from the Under. Indeed, she wasn’t the only witch with mixed brands, although she was reasonably sure they weren’t illegal in Niflheim.
Kiran sat glaring at Tanyl, white-knuckling the sides of the chair. Not one hint of mirth remained on his beautiful face. Instead, pure hatred overtook his body.
Imani filed this away as another fact about the prince. She had no idea what he truly thought about anyone else—not her, not his family, not anyone. But it was clear how he despised Tanyl, and it was a profoundly personal hate.
Furthermore, he possessed astounding magic.
Imani’s mind reeled as she fought against what her body knew was happening with what she thought to be impossible. Were other Niflheim breeds—and elves—gifted this miraculous magic, too? Tanyl had said creatures from their slips might be getting through. Were they breeding with beings from the Under? If so … Imani shuddered, imagining going up against them. They had no chance if Niflheim even sent a handful of witches like Kiran.
She was certain no one in Essenheim had knowledge of the prince’s cadence magic and would bet all her money Kiran wanted to keep it quiet. If Essenheim knew Niflheim possessed such power, it would change everything.
This magic was a significant discovery.
She might be able to use this against him, but the secret was so profound Kiran might kill her on the spot, as well. It was risky. She needed an incentive, not a threat.
Bringing a shaking hand up to her mouth, Imani shut her eyes and tried not to breathe too loudly. It was hard when her heart pounded. Even a tiny inhale of breath might be heard across the room by Kiran’s elven hearing, especially with the profound absence of sound and the fog of her breath hitting the frigid air.
Imani dared another glance into the sitting room.
Out of his chair, Kiran stood at a desk, rifling loudly through papers, searching for something frantically—a sly fox in the hen house.
She blinked. As fast as Kiran moved before, he sat again, careless, like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t performed the miraculous. He murmured another spell with his wand, and the room roared back to life.
“—ation tomorrow,” Tanyl continued, oblivious.
They sat in prickly silence.
“Smart decision,” Kiran said, his venom-coated smile growing wider. “Now, there’s something else I want from you?—”
“There are many things I want from you, Kiran,” Tanyl grumbled.
“From me ? What could I have that you want? How fascinating. I’m certainly curious,” Kiran said conversationally, crossing his arms before dropping the feigned cheerfulness. When he spoke next, his voice was flat and emotionless. “I propose a trade. An answer for an answer.”
The Essenheim heir pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” Tanyl sighed.
Barely a second passed before Kiran bit out his inquiry. “How many masters in the Order practice divination?” Prince Kiran went absolutely still and fixed his gaze on the Essenheim heir. Her ears moved again, sensing a desperate undertone from the elf.
She glanced down at her divination brand—well, her sister’s.
Tanyl scoffed. “If you’re trying to see if you’ll be monarch, try something else. Not even our best master witch could cast such a spell for me.”
Kiran chuckled with him, like they were old friends. The sound made her skin crawl. “As transparent as ever. Can you find me someone or not?”
Taking a quiet inhale of breath, Imani tried to calm her response, knowing she had a divination brand. She could help Kiran if he needed something, which was an incentive she could work with to get more information on the final assessment.
Anticipation buzzed through her limbs, her magic tingling, and the fire dimmed no matter how hard she tried to hide her excitement. The sitting room darkened.
Both men’s heads whipped toward the doorway.