47. Vera
Vera
FOUR AND A HALF YEARS AGO
“Begin.”
Scarven’s command prompted Mortep into action. The Alchemist inserted the needle into the soft flesh of my arm, and I didn’t even blink at the sting. He stopped bothering with the immobilization serum three months ago—that was the last time I tried to fight it, when I nearly burned his thumb off.
Mortep burned Swift’s back for that indiscretion. I hadn’t retaliated since.
As always, the black and gold serum spread up my arm like ink, and my senses slowly faded. The laboratory scents of smoke, spicy herbs, and coppery metal dulled. My breaths evened out as the familiar lightness filled me, removing all fears, all warning, all thoughts.
For the last six months, these tests had become a weekly event.
I was tugged down the dank stone corridor, strapped to a chair, and injected with the same toxin.
Truthfully, the threat to Swift wasn’t the only reason I stopped fighting.
These moments where the drug entered my system had begun to feel like a reprieve.
A moment of serenity, when my mind went blissfully blank.
And then…nothing. Nothing except Lord Scarven.
“Vera,” he spoke into my mind, “your services are required tonight.”
I stood, movements rigid, and planted myself in front of him, awaiting his instructions. His satisfaction rippled through my mind, an extension of my own emotions.
“A nobleman, Lord Byron, has caused some friction amongst my council. He’s proving to be a thorn in my side.
I need a majority vote to enact our border restrictions with Tenebra, and he’s convinced several members to stand against my plans.
” Scarven paced before me, his crisp black pants standing out against the dirty, bloodstained stone.
“I cannot make a direct move, of course, but Lord Byron needs to learn what happens to those who oppose me.”
I nodded without pause. “Tell me what to do.”
He faced me, dark eyes gleaming. “You’re going to give him a message.”
The wind was biting, like a thousand cold needles pricking the only exposed skin at my hands and a small ring around my eyes. The black leathers, mask, and boots Scarven ordered me to wear covered everything else.
I stood before the double doors of a large house.
Dark timber framed pale stone walls, each sharp angle and steep gable reaching toward the midnight sky.
Behind me was a shadowed garden of tangled roses and wildflowers, with a path of crushed grass trampled deliberately beneath my boots.
The only light came from the silver moon—no candles flickered in the windows, no lit fireplace, no sconces.
Lord Scarven wanted a message sent, and here I was.
I peered up at the heavy oak door with the Byron family crest engraved in the center.
Shifting my fingers into talons, I dug them into the wood, scraping four jagged lines down the length of the door.
I kicked it down and marched into the entryway, wood splintering the quiet night.
I could have entered unnoticed, but I knew Scarven liked to toy with his meals.
I trained my Shifter hearing for any signs of life, and frantic whispers reached me from a hallway on my left. “Did you hear that, Arthur?” a woman asked.
“It was probably just the wind, dear,” Arthur Byron responded with a yawn. “Go back to sleep.”
Got you. Aiming for the room the voices came from, I slunk down the hall, passing heirloom portraits of the Byron family—round-faced, mustached father; prim and proper mother with a high-collared gown; two bright-eyed toddlers in matching suspenders.
My eyes glazed over them and landed on the master bedroom door.
I didn’t bother kicking this time. Piercing a talon into the palm of my hand, I licked the line of blood, copper and salt bursting on my tongue. “Vata lai.”
The spell for “open” was expounded by my blood magic, and the door didn’t merely open—it was ripped from its hinges, blasting forward and breaking into a dozen pieces as I barged into their room.
Two figures sprang up from the bed, sheets pulled high, eyes wide and frightened.
Before either could move, I held out my arm and shot a stream of phoenix fire in a deadly circle around their bed.
The woman yelped and clung to her husband, whose fear was magnified in the blaze, every wrinkle pronounced by the flickering shadows.
“S-stop right there!” he stammered, holding out an arm. Both his metal wedding ring and signet ring glistened back at me.
I cocked my head. With blood still on my tongue, I concentrated on the jewelry and muttered, “Incendar.” Instantly, the rings glowed orange as my fire spell ignited.
“Ah—ah!” Lord Byron screamed, shaking his burning hand. Molten silver dripped down his fingers, the scent of his charring skin pungent to my nostrils. “Make it stop! Please, make it stop!”
A boiling rage combusted inside of me. It felt foreign—not my own, but Scarven’s. These men on his council were so weak. Sniveling cowards, who could barely wipe the snot from their noses.
“Do you want to know how to make it stop, Lord Byron?” I seethed. Scarven’s words flowed from my tongue like water.
“Y-yes, yes! What do you want?” He tried to pull at the rings, but they were fused to his burning fingers.
I stepped forward, and my flames parted for me, letting me stand in the midst of the inferno. “You will vote in favor of the bill tomorrow at the council meeting. If you don’t, well…” I hummed darkly. “There will be consequences.”
Spotting the delicate gold chain around his wife’s neck, I uttered the fire spell again, and the metal hissed.
Pink welts formed on her skin as she shrieked, fingers clutching the red-hot chain.
Scarven loved it when these people gave us such easy targets.
Anyone they cared for could be a weapon.
Their love was trivial, but useful nonetheless.
“Do you understand?” I growled. Byron nodded, head bobbing up and down feverishly, the skin around his rings now flaking off in blackened pieces.
“Good.” I turned on my heel and walked to the exit.
Their heightened wails made me pause, and I spun, placed more blood on my tongue, and said, “Finiscere.” The banishment spell instantly stopped the fire on their skin, but I left my phoenix flames blazing, stepping over the wooden splinters of their door with smoke licking at my back.
The last thing I heard was Scarven’s voice stroking the back of my mind. “Good girl.”