Chapter 16 Izan
SIXTEEN
IZAN
We hit the tenement building in the workers’ quarter at dawn, when shifts are changing and alertness is lowest.
Among the dead, we find documents.
I spread them across a table in the building’s ransacked common room, scanning contents by the light of my own incandescent eyes. Troop movements. Supply manifests. Communication protocols.
And a sketch.
The likeness is drawn from description rather than direct observation, but it’s recognizable. Unmistakably her.
Someone has been describing her to the Blood Regent’s artists. Someone has been providing enough detail to create this image. They know what she looks like. They’re distributing her description to their cells.
“Enforcer?” Corveth’s voice cuts through the haze. “We’ve secured a survivor from the upper floor. He claims to have intelligence about—”
“Bring him.”
The survivor is a young man, barely past adolescence, his robes torn and bloody from the fighting. He kneels before me with the trembling submission of someone who understands he’s about to die and hopes compliance might buy mercy.
It won’t.
I hold the sketch where he can see it. “This image. Who created it? Who distributed it?”
His eyes fix on the paper. “The High Ritualist’s orders.” His words shake. “He wants every cell to memorize her face. Primary target for the containment protocol.”
“Primary target.”
“She’s the only one who can break the oaths cleanly. He needs her.” The young man’s expression shifts, desperation bleeding into zealous conviction. “She’s the key to everything. Once we have her, the network becomes permanent. Unbreakable. She’ll—”
He stops. Stares at my face. Whatever he sees there makes him go pale.
“She’s pretty.” He’s babbling now, fear stripping away his control. “The sketch doesn’t capture it, but the description mentioned she’s pretty. Worth keeping even after the ritual work is—”
I burn him alive. The screaming doesn’t last long.
Corveth’s tone is carefully neutral when he breaks the silence. “The documents—”
“Burn them. All of them except the tactical intelligence.” I don’t look at him. “No one else sees the sketch.”
“Understood.”
The sketch goes last—Alerie’s likeness curling into ash, disappearing as if it never existed.
She’s—
Mine.
The possession settles into my bones with the finality of a brand.
No more.
A knock comes on my chamber door. I bank my power before turning.
“Enter.”
Corveth steps through, expression rigidly professional.
“The intelligence extraction is complete. The survivor from the forge site provided additional details about the containment protocol. I’ve already briefed your deputy, Saelith, on the movement patterns so he can adjust the patrol coordination. ”
“Good. What else?”
“They’re building seven sites total. We destroyed one tonight—the forge district location. Six remain operational.” He pauses. “The designs are specifically calibrated for Vireth magic. Anyone else they captured would be collateral. The primary target is the witch.”
The witch. As if she’s anyone. As if I haven’t restructured the entire operation around keeping her breathing.
“Locations?”
“She’s working on narrowing them down. Using the cascade patterns and the captured documents to—”
“She?”
“The Vireth witch.” Corveth’s expression flickers—the smallest tell that he’s noticed my reaction and is choosing not to address it. “She requested access to the recovered intelligence as soon as it arrived. I assumed you’d want her analyzing it immediately.”
A reprimand rises to my lips for the assumption. Decisions about prisoner access flow through me, not around me. I need to do anything except stand here feeling relief that she’s working, that she’s engaged, that she’s doing what she does best instead of dwelling on the danger closing around her.
“Good,” comes out rougher than I intend. “Keep me informed of any developments.”
“Yes, Enforcer.”
I remain at the window, staring at a city I no longer recognize, thinking about a woman I can no longer pretend not to need.