Chapter Eight Wilde
Present Day
Strolling Through the City Streets
Pretending to Ignore the Prince’s Guards
“Have you read Evil Mages Through the Ages?” Fitz asked, gesturing with his chin to the top book on my stack.
I tilted my head to read the spine. “Not this edition.” I’d read two other editions, once before my apprenticeship, and once shortly after.
The publishers released one every five years with all the newly titled evil mages and their accomplishments.
Well, not quite ‘all.’ Only the original Lord of Grimnight had made it into the pages.
The edition Fitz had picked up had been published only a year ago. Although the Desolated Lands had cut themselves off from the outside world, they apparently still enjoyed reading our books.
“I’ve read the fourteenth and fifteenth editions,” I continued.
“Did you have a favorite evil mage?” Fitz asked, his brown eyes lighting up with interest.
“The Flower King,” I said without hesitation.
Fitz’s brow furrowed as he sorted through a mental list. “Is that the one who manipulated neighboring nations to use carnations as currency?”
I laughed and nodded. “A lot of his colleagues didn’t take his efforts seriously until the Carnation War began.”
“Did a Chosen One defeat him? End the war?” In his eagerness for answers, Fitz stepped closer to me, brushing his shoulder against mine.
“No, he retired and passed the title off to his apprentice.” At the last second, I remembered to add, “At least, that’s what I’ve read.”
The walk between the Luckless Library and the Misfortune castle was too brief. We’d already arrived at the gates, and I hadn’t learned a single thing about Fitz’s quest.
Fitz paused outside of the gates and shifted restlessly from foot to foot. “Would you like to—”
“Allow me to take those, Your Highness,” an attendant said, holding out their arms for the books.
A second attendant took my stack from me, and I murmured a quiet thank you. My former master would have raged over any form of politeness shown to servants, but I remembered how difficult the job was.
I turned back to Fitz and waited for him to invite me inside.
He took a deep breath and said in a rush, “Would you like to go shopping with me tomorrow? There were a few new releases the library didn’t have that I’m hoping to find.”
It wasn’t the invitation I wanted, but I forced my lips into a soft smile and said, “That would be lovely.”
“Wonderful. Would you like me to pick you up or—”
“We can meet here,” I said.
If he was upset I’d interrupted him, his wide grin didn’t show it. “Then I will see you tomorrow morning.”
Once we finished our goodbyes, I walked away and found a quiet side street with no witnesses so I could teleport back to the lair.
When I arrived in my bedroom, I took off the bent glasses and tossed them onto my nightstand.
They’d need to be fixed later so I wouldn’t be lopsided, but I’d worry about that in the morning.
For the first time in weeks, I finally had a quiet evening to myself—
“Wilde!”
I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath. How had I forgotten about the minions? “What is it?”
“We can’t find the master—”
As their worries poured through the door, I imagined crawling under the sheets and ignoring everything. Somehow, I’d forgotten that resetting the timeline affected the lair and the minions within it. I already knew why they were here.
I opened the door before the imps resorted to throwing each other at it. “The master is away on a top-secret mission, and he’s left me in charge.”
The three imps straightened to attention and gave me sharp, misaligned salutes. “Yes, ma’am, Mistress Wilde!”
The change of title startled me until I remembered how I was dressed.
“Will you be conducting the interviews then?” Bop asked.
And we were back to that. I sighed and leaned my head against the doorframe. “How many have applied?”
“One-hundred-and-twenty-three!” Mimsy shouted with glee, bouncing up and down so that its wings smacked both of its companions.
Where had twenty-three new minion applicants come from? Or had the imps rounded down before when they’d said there were a hundred?
Sour dread pooled in my stomach. Over a hundred minion-hopefuls, crowds in the streets, endless lines in the library … these people didn’t belong here.
“Mistress Wilde?” Bitsy floated closer and touched my hand gently, careful not to scratch me with its tiny claws. “Are you alright?”
“Just tired,” I said, the truth. “Gather the applicants in the throne room and tell them I’ll be down soon.”
“Yes, ma’am!” The imps raced off to follow my orders, shoving each other so that they spun and rolled faster and faster through the air.
Once they were out of sight, I went over to the wardrobe. I didn’t have time to fully change, but I needed to meet my future minions as an evil mage, not a demure young lady. I wrapped a floor-length black cloak around my shoulders and pulled the hood up.
Then I teleported into the middle of the throne room. Dizziness washed over me, twisting the room and the crowd into a blurred mass of colors. I breathed carefully in through my nose and out through my mouth to steady myself before any applicants could sense my momentary weakness.
When the throne room came back into focus, I wasn’t sure what I would find.
I hadn’t been there since Trey’s almost death.
I half-expected the floor to be destroyed, roots punching through it, and a pool of wet blood to glisten from the base of the throne.
Instead, I found the floor polished to a pristine black, undisturbed.
When I looked toward the throne, my breath caught in my chest.
The twisted branches and roots forming the cursed throne had withered, becoming brittle, broken shadows of their former glory. Some clung stubbornly to the wooden chair they’d originally grown around, though they all shied away from the deep slash in the back where a sword had once pierced them.
The shock faded into relief. If the damage to the throne lingered even after I’d altered the timeline, it would be permanent. Nothing could restore the cursed thing to its former glory, and it could never hurt Trey again.
At some point, I would burn the remains. The imps would gladly help, drawn to the fire and the drama of watching the past turn to ash.
The spectacle had to wait, though, because it didn’t look like the minion applicants would.
“There you are!” a human shouted when he spotted me. “We’ve been waiting all damn day.”
I assessed him from the shadows of my hood.
Six foot, brawny, with a curved sword on his belt and an ugly scar over his eye.
Intimidating to some, but not what I liked in a minion.
The lord might have liked him. He liked to feel smarter than everyone in the room which meant he usually hired less competent minions.
“Leave,” I ordered.
The human blinked, startled by the immediate dismissal. His shock quickly morphed into fury as he strode toward me, hand already on his sword. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Little bitch, you think you can order me around?”
Others in the crowd laughed, a few voices calling, “Where do you think you are? We’re minions! Of course she can order us around!”
A mottled red flush spread across his face.
“I’m here for a job with the Lord of Grimnight, not some bitch!
” He rushed forward and grabbed the hood of my cloak, yanking it off to show everyone my face.
“Looks like a little lady is trying to play with the big boys. Run along and get yer daddy, this is men’s business. ”
Tension filled the air as the minions watched.
If I showed weakness now, they would descend upon the lair, claiming it for themselves.
If I killed the man, it would cement a certain reputation I didn’t want to cultivate.
Evil mages who killed their visitors usually attracted righteous warriors to their door.
He’d already disregarded one order, so I didn’t bother to give him a second. I raised my hands, splayed my fingers wide, and pushed. A sound like ripping fabric tore through the air as the space behind him split open. There was a glimpse of another black throne room, a torn-up battleground.
Blood pounded in my ears and spots formed at the edge of my vision. I ignored it all as I gathered my magic and shoved the man through the tear.
The crowd gasped. As if their shock had sucked up all the magic in the room, the rip dissolved and disappeared.
“I am the Lord of Grimnight,” I declared. My former master had never earned the title, so it felt right to rip it from his weak grasp. “Anyone who has a problem with that can leave.” I waited a beat before saying, “Either on your own, or I can show you the way out.”
Several minion hopefuls peeled off from the crowd, slipping away quietly to avoid confrontation.
I waited to see if more would leave and tried to hide my irritation when they didn’t. At least eighty remained, which meant I either had to find another way to scare them off or I’d have to interview all of them.
An orc cleared his throat. I recognized him—Fyodor, the leader of the original crew the master had hired. “Do you prefer master or mistress?” he asked.
The minions weren’t part of my plan to court Treasure, so I gave him a cryptic answer, “Evil has no gender. Refer to me however you like.” Then I raised my voice and called to everyone gathered, “Form a line. If you’re with a crew, I only need to speak to your leader.”
The master would have sat on his throne, no matter how uncomfortable, and lorded over everyone in the room. I couldn’t bear to touch its smoldering remains, so I had one of the imps bring me a more modest chair and sat in that while the line formed.