Chapter 2
Syneca
To recharge applicable runes, lay them bare beneath the full moon’s face. Speak the names of your ancestors thrice. Let moonlight wash away the day’s desperate magic.
Our small apartment felt too quiet after the chaos. Silence pressed in at the windows, heavy and unnatural, as though even the wind didn’t dare stir. I sat in it, restless, haunted by the memory of Katarina’s scream as the hunters dragged her away.
We hadn’t talked about her for days. Vitoria and I both seemed to agree without ever saying, silence was easier than the truth.
Easier than admitting we shouldn’t have gone to the Bloodwood.
Still, the guilt of running away gnawed at me, threatening to consume every moment if I let it.
But Katarina had been Vitoria’s friend, or as close to one as Vitoria allowed outside of Calder and I.
Acquaintance might have been the better word, yet they had trusted each other enough to share a spell circle.
That kind of trust left its mark. She probably carried her own share of guilt, heavier than mine.
“So help me, Silas, if you do not stop sulking—”
The griffin snapped his little beak at me, cutting off my words. With all the drama he could muster in his current house-pet-sized form, he stood, turned his back to me, and slumped onto the couch like the world’s most offended beast.
“Aw, look at you,” Vitoria cooed from her spot by the window. “Such a pretty little kitty, even with that grumpy attitude.” She reached toward his black wings.
He snapped at her fingertips.
Vitoria jerked her hand back. “Rude.”
From across the room, Calder tossed something small and bloody toward the little beast. The griffin caught his snack mid-air and gave Calder a slow, majestic bow.
Dramatic fucker.
“That is total bullshit,” Vitoria huffed. “He likes you more than me.”
Calder bit into his sandwich, shaking his head. “Well, maybe if you stopped calling him a cat, he’d like you more.”
“He is a cat. Look at him. He’s got paws.”
“Cats don’t have beaks, Vitoria.”
“Birds don’t have paws, Calder. The logic works both ways.”
“He’s an all-black griffin. Half eagle, half lion.”
“The lion half makes him a cat!”
Calder closed his eyes, shaking his head with an exasperated sigh. “He’s not a cat. Cats don’t have wings. Or feathers.”
Vitoria set her book down, tilting her head. “Wrong again, know-it-all. I was down in the Crook last week and saw a cute little kitten with wings sleeping on a fence. Guess what the wings were made of? I’ll give you two guesses.”
I watched them go back and forth, Silas now preening his inky black wings with obvious satisfaction at the chaos he’d caused.
“You’re both wrong,” I said finally, setting down the Grimora Gazette, the newspaper I’d been reading, searching the shifting headlines and small articles for news of Kat’s capture.
They turned to stare at me.
“He’s clearly just a spoiled brat who knows exactly how to get attention.” I looked pointedly at Si. “Aren’t you?”
Silas fixed me with a withering glare, then deliberately began to fade into the shadows until only his piercing blue eyes were visible in the corner of the couch.
“And there he goes,” Calder, the other moody man in our house, said, finishing his bread. “Sulking again. Can’t say I disagree with him. Just a couple of days ago, a hunter put a blade to your throat. Twice in one day, in fact. I’ve trained you better than that.”
I could hear it in his voice. The disappointment laced with something more protective and loyal. Still, it was hard to look the man that’d saved my life in the face and remind him I’d been reckless with it.
Vitoria threw her book at Calder. He caught it with the ease of a trained assassin, the scar on his temple distorting when he shot her a look. Si’s eyes flashed, and I could swear I heard a low, approving thrum from the darkness.
Three delicate taps echoed from the door.
We all recognized that knock. Three taps that somehow managed to sound like a death warrant being delivered by someone very polite.
“Imagoris.” Vitoria’s form shimmered, canine teeth lengthening to delicate points as her green eyes changed to vibrant violet. The transformation to appear as a nymph was seamless because she’d done it a thousand times before.
I pushed back my jealousy. I couldn’t get a grasp on that spell no matter the countless hours I’d tried. Calder already had his blade half-drawn before his boots hit the floor. He shot me a look, and I slumped deeper into my seat. Whatever this was, I wasn’t going anywhere.
The door opened to reveal their usual sprite messenger, hovering at eye level, silver wings beating frantically.
He was no bigger than a bottle of wine, though considerably better dressed.
His five-piece suit had been pressed to perfection, every brass button gleaming.
Even his terror couldn’t diminish the dignity of his appearance.
I wondered if he knew he was summoning my roommates to a kill. Likely not.
“Message for the Heartless One,” the sprite squeaked, unrolling a scroll that was nearly as tall as he was. “If it pleases the recipients, you are summoned to—” His voice cracked as his oversized eyes found Calder’s blade. “To appear at the thirteenth bell.”
He rolled the parchment with shaking hands. The sprites always feared Calder, no matter how kind he was to them. Rumors became legends in Grimora, and though Calder’s story began in a different place entirely, he’d been here in the capital city for years and years.
Calder sheathed his weapon and plucked a silver button from the bowl beside the door. With a small dip of his chin, he flipped the button to the messenger. “For your trouble.”
The sprite’s entire demeanor changed. He clutched the button with both hands, turning it this way and that, watching the light catch its surface. For a moment, his fear was forgotten entirely.
“Much obliged, sir. Much obliged indeed.”
He zipped away down the narrow corridor, his delighted laughter echoing off the stone walls.
Calder shut the door and reached for his coat. “Well. A zero-notice summons. That’s not ominous at all.”
I stood, pulling three fresh runes from my pocket. “Here. The shield charm’s stronger than your last batch. I used garzonite. More expensive. More power.”
He caught them without looking, already moving toward the door. Vitoria had shifted back to her natural form, but the violet still lingered in her eyes. “Try not to get yourself killed while we’re gone, Synnie,” she said sweetly.
“Try not to let Eda Mire turn you both into decorations for her wall. You know how fickle the Mistress of Blades can be.”
Calder paused at the threshold. “That’s not funny.”
“Who’s joking?”
By the time the two assassins got home, I could barely keep my eyes open.
Calder dropped two runes into the bowl by the door, their dull clink against ceramic telling me everything I needed to know about how the night had gone.
He usually came back with four or five. Sometimes six if things went smooth.
Two meant their victim wasn’t the only one that bled.
Vitoria followed him in, her violet eyes already fading back to green, but there was something tight in her jaw, something that made her look older than her twenty-seven years. She kicked off her boots with more force than necessary.
“That bad?” I asked, though the answer hung in the air like smoke.
They exchanged a look. Quick. Practiced. The kind that came from years of shared secrets.
“You’ll hear about it tomorrow,” Calder said, shrugging out of his coat. A spray of something dark stained the collar. “Everyone will.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’ve never kept a job from me.”
His hand stilled. When he looked at me, the brutal edge he carried everywhere else softened into something almost apologetic. “It’s not about trust, Syn. You, of all people, should know that. This one—” He scraped a hand down his face. “It’s safer if you don’t know. Just until morning.”
“Safety by ignorance?”
Vitoria’s voice was flat. “Your reaction at the Chancellery tomorrow needs to be genuine. When you hear, when everyone hears... you can’t know before then. The job was easy enough, but it’s going to cause backlash.”
I studied them both. The exhaustion that went deeper than physical. The way Calder’s hand kept twitching toward his blade even here, even safe. Whatever they’d done tonight would ripple through every district in the city by morning.
“Someone important then.” It wasn’t a question.
Calder crossed the room, dropping into the chair across from me. “Important enough that if anyone at work suspects you knew before the announcement—” His jaw tightened. “It’s not worth the risk.”
The protective fury in his voice made something in my chest twist. This man, who could gut someone without blinking, who’d earned the name Heartless One upon rivers of blood, sat here worried about my safety over mere information.
“Fine.” I leaned back, matching his stare.
Four knocks echoed through our flat. Not delicate like the last sprite messenger. Not urgent like the hunter’s. Four measured beats, perfectly spaced. We all knew that rhythm too.
Vitoria’s shoulders sagged. “So much for sleep.”
She moved to the door while Calder and I stayed frozen. Some visitors you didn’t acknowledge. Some business stayed in the shadows where it belonged.
The door cracked open just enough for me to catch a glimpse, red hair like spilled wine, a different hue than my copper, and wings that glittered gold even in our dim hallway. Vitoria stepped out, pulling the door shut behind her with deliberate care.
We didn’t talk about her midnight meetings. We didn’t ask where she went some nights, returning just before dawn with her eyes too bright and her hands steady. Privacy was currency in Grimora, and we all had debts we paid in silence.
“Get some rest.” Calder stood, but hesitated at my chair, his fingers ghosting near my shoulder without quite touching. “Tomorrow’s going to be—” He stopped himself. “Just get some rest.”
“You too.”
He almost smiled at that. “Goodnight, Syn.”
Silas materialized fully, his chosen size filling the corner, and for a moment, just a heartbeat, griffin and assassin locked eyes.
Something passed between them. Not words.
Not even thought. Just understanding, dark and certain as death.
People would be on edge tomorrow, and he was going to have to stay alert.
Calder disappeared into his room, and I was alone with my familiar and the weight of whatever storm would break over the city come morning. And I’d be in the best—and worst—place possible to hear about it.