CHAPTER 7 — “Drowned Honor” #6
“They might.”
I turn to look at her—really look at her, with [Arcane Sight] active for the first time since I evolved. The skill shows me mana flows, magical auras, the invisible currents that run through everything.
Mariella has no magic. No active abilities. She’s exactly what she appears to be—a mundane woman with no extraordinary powers.
But there’s something else. A faint… mark. A residue clinging to her soul like old perfume.
“You’ve been touched by something,” I say slowly. “Something magical. A long time ago.”
She freezes. “How do you—”
“New skill. I can see magical traces.” I narrow my eyes, trying to make out the details. “It’s faint. Old. But it’s there. What happened?”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Then:
“When I was born, there was a ritual. A blessing, they called it. Every member of the royal family receives it—a protection tied to the bloodline. It slows our aging almost to nothing once we reach adulthood and keeps us safe, loyal, connected to the throne.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
“That’s why I can remember the old days and still look like this. ”
“Connected how?”
“I don’t know the details. I just know that when I ran, when I rejected everything Dario stood for, the connection weakened.
I started aging normally again. But the mark is still there.
Some part of me is still tied to him, to the family, to the power.
” She looks at me with something like fear.
“If Anton looks hard enough—if he knows what to look for—he might be able to trace me through it.”
That’s bad, Johnson says. A magical tracking system embedded in her soul? That’s very bad.
“Can it be removed?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never found anyone I trusted enough to ask.”
Until now.
The implication hangs in the air between us.
“I might be able to help,” I say carefully. “Not now—I’m not strong enough yet. But eventually. If I recover more of my old abilities, I might be able to break the connection.”
“You’d do that? Even knowing who I am?”
“You’re Dario’s sister. You’re also someone who ran from him, who hates him, who’s been hiding for seven years rather than be used by him.” I meet her eyes. “That makes you an ally. Maybe the only one who understands what I’m fighting against.”
She stares at me for a long moment.
Then, slowly, she smiles.
It’s small. Fragile. But real.
“You’re insane,” she says. “You know that, right? Taking on the Empire, the Church, the entire power structure of the continent—it’s impossible.”
“Probably.”
“You’ll die.”
“Possibly.”
“And you’re going to do it anyway.”
“Definitely.”
She laughs—a real laugh, surprised and genuine. “Then I’m in. Whatever you need. Whatever I can do. I’m in.”
She means it, Johnson says. Against all logic and reason, she means it.
I know.
I extend my hand.
“To impossible things, then.”
She takes it.
“To impossible things.”
We talk for hours after that.
She tells me about life in the palace—the politics, the intrigues, the constant knife-edge of survival. I tell her about the war, about the party, about the moments that led up to my death.
We share secrets like trading cards. Vulnerabilities exchanged for vulnerabilities. Trust built one confession at a time.
By the time we finally go inside, the moon is high and the fire has burned to embers.
Mariella pauses at the door.
“Velthar.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For listening. For not…” She trails off. “For not being what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Something harder. Something colder.” She smiles. “You’re angry—I can see that. You have every right to be. But you’re not cruel. That matters.”
“I try.”
“I know.” She disappears inside, and I’m left alone on the porch with Johnson, who has materialized from somewhere to sit at my feet.
Well, he says. That was informative.
“She’s telling the truth.”
Yes. Which makes this situation significantly more complicated. His ears twitch. You’re harboring the Emperor’s runaway sister while secretly planning to destroy him. That’s the kind of dramatic irony that usually ends badly.
“Usually.”
But not always?
I look up at the stars—different constellations than I remember, two hundred years of celestial drift changing the sky.
“I died once,” I say. “Came back. Rebuilt myself from nothing in a body that wasn’t mine. Cleared dungeons that should have killed me. Evolved a class that shouldn’t exist.”
Your point?
“My point is that ‘usually’ doesn’t apply to me anymore.” I stand, stretching muscles that still ache from yesterday’s battles. “I’m going to break every rule, defy every expectation, and tear down every person who thought they could take what was mine.”
And Mariella?
“Mariella is going to help me. Because she has her own reasons to want Dario destroyed.” I pause. “And because, maybe, I’m starting to trust her.”
That’s dangerous.
“Everything’s dangerous.” I head for the door. “But some things are worth the risk.”
Johnson doesn’t respond. But as I close the door behind me, I could swear I hear him make a sound that might be approval.