Chapter 17 Play Their Game
(When Refusal Means Death by Creative Cursing)
Kazimir
Evenfall wouldn’t stop blubbering.
The entire journey back to Skyspire, the man alternated between sniveling gratitude for our timely rescue and incoherent ramblings about how Lightbringer had “gone mad” and tried to kill him. As if I gave a single, solitary fuck about his traumatic swamp adventure.
“Please, I can be useful!” he begged as I shoved him back into a cell. “I know things—”
“You’ve been saying that for the past hour.” I slammed the cell door with a satisfying clang. “The only reason you’re still breathing is because my wife finds you marginally more valuable alive than dead.”
“Arabella—she wouldn’t—”
“Your daughter,” I said, letting ice creep into my voice, “just executed a knight-commander without blinking. I’d reconsider your assumptions about what she would or wouldn’t do.”
The memory of it sent a hot rush of desire through me. Watching her crush the life from a man who’d threatened her family, her power flaring bright and ruthless—it was the most exquisite thing I’d ever seen.
Her situation with her father, on the other hand, was going to take more time. She was still processing. And until she dealt with her past, I’d keep putting Evenfall back in his cell.
“You should have let me kill him,” I’d said to Arabella as we prepared to leave the swamp. For emphasis, I’d pushed Evenfall face-first into a foul-smelling puddle.
She’d given me a hard look, but it wasn’t condemnation. “Information first. Then you can have what’s left.”
“Promise?”
The barest twitch at the corner of her mouth was all the answer I needed. That, more than any words, told me we were fine.
The dungeons, however, were not. Griffin’s little reanimation project had been catastrophic.
Containment wards were shredded. The binding matrices that kept prisoners from tapping into their magic were completely fried.
At least it explained how Lightbringer had gotten as far as he had.
I spent the rest of the day and most of the night rebuilding the entire security infrastructure from scratch.
By the time dawn bled through the grimy high windows, the runes on my bones ached with a deep, grinding pain, and a spectacular headache was pounding behind my eyes.
Griffin, at least, had the decency to look properly terrified when I finally cornered him.
“My lord, I’m s-so sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Shut up.” I leaned in close. “You’re confined to your laboratory until further notice. No leaving except for meals and sleep. You will focus entirely on the Heirloom research, and you will report your progress to me twice a day.”
“But my—my other experiments—”
“Can wait. Or rot. I don’t care.” The shadows at my feet darkened. “The only thing you should be thinking about is how to make the Heirloom work without killing us. Do you understand?”
He swallowed hard. “Yes, my lord.”
“Good. Because if another disaster happens while you’re supposed to be solving our most critical problem, there won’t be enough of you left to reanimate.”
And because I was still furious, I pointed to the stack of ward anchors that needed reinscription. “And after that, you’re going to carve every single one of these. By hand. No magic. And if you make even one mistake, I’ll have you start over from the beginning.”
His face went white. “But that will take—”
“Weeks? Months?” I let him feel the cold fury I’d been holding back since I’d returned with Evenfall. “Yes.”
That seemed to break him. He just nodded, his throat working. The thought of that tedious, mind-numbing labor was the worst punishment I could think of for someone like Griffin. It was almost cruel enough to satisfy me.
Almost.
I was crossing the bridge from the dungeons to the Great Hall when Vex caught up to me, her once-again silver hair catching the morning light. At this point, I was so used to the frequent changes that I barely registered them.
“We’ve found something for your houseguest to do,” she said without preamble.
“Please tell me you’ve thrown Sebastian off a lightning bridge.”
“Baking.”
I stopped walking. “Vex.”
“He’s in the main kitchens.” She had a thoughtful look on her face. “The staff is fascinated.”
My voice rose. “He could be poisoning the entire citadel.”
“He’s still under guard, though he doesn’t seem to notice,” she replied, amused.
“He goes nowhere but the kitchens and his chamber without my express permission,” I growled. “And see that he doesn’t poison anyone. Accidentally or otherwise.”
“Yes, my lord.”
We reached the Inner Sanctum’s courtyard to find Arabella pacing, her expression thunderous.
Nyx was perched on a high pile of rubble from the reconstruction, pointedly facing away from her.
The dragon’s scales shimmered with an even deeper rosy hue than before, the pink tint spreading across her obsidian hide like a sunrise bleeding through storm clouds.
Even her wing membranes had taken on a faint blush, giving her the appearance of some exotic jewel.
“She’s sulking,” Arabella said when she saw me. “Apparently, she was trying to warn me about the escape while we were in the North Tower, but I sent her away. Now she won’t come down.”
“Have you tried apologizing?”
She narrowed her eyes. “What would you know about apologizing?”
“You’re right,” I said with a smirk. “It’s a useless strategy.”
Arabella opened her mouth, likely to tell me exactly how useless I was, but was cut off by a flash of blue-green smoke.
The haze coalesced into a heart-shaped crystalline vial that hovered between us, pulsing with a sickly light.
A viscous liquid swirled inside—sometimes fuchsia, sometimes gold, never settling.
“That’s… new,” Arabella said, reaching for it.
I caught her wrist. “It’s from the Syndicate—the Alchemist.”
“How can you tell? And why not just send a letter?”
“Presentation.” My eyes narrowed on the shimmering alchemical compounds coating the vial. “The Alchemist finds simple correspondence boring. Likely when they sent the letter about your father, they didn’t have time to send something more dramatic.”
I motioned for Arabella to take it. We all knew what this was about. The moment her fingers brushed the glass, the vial dissolved. The liquid didn’t fall; it hung in the air, forming glowing, molten script.
Dearest Lady Blackrose,
How delightful that your father yet breathes! The possibilities are simply thrilling. As you’ll recall, you now owe me a debt for the information regarding your father’s planned assassination. I have decided how you shall repay it.
You and your fascinating husband will meet me at the God Spire in three days’ time. Bring the item—you know the one. Or perhaps you don’t? How wonderfully uncertain!
Should you fail to appear, or attempt any silly heroics, the consequences will be of such that even your new power cannot mitigate.
With anticipatory delight,
The Alchemist
The words hung in the air for a moment longer, then melted away into smoke that smelled of sulfur.
Vex whistled low. “The Alchemist’s getting bold.”
“By every rune etched into my bones,” I snarled, “I’m going to flay them alive and use their entrails to spell out ‘Fuck Around and Find Out’ across the battlements.” I clenched my fists. “Or perhaps as garland for the winter solstice. I haven’t decided which would be more satisfying.”
“What’s the God Spire?” Arabella asked.
My headache intensified. “The Syndicate’s main stronghold in the Lawless Expanse. To the east across the Shattered Sea.”
“That’s not ideal timing,” Arabella said, her hand rising toward her head as if to touch the Heirloom that was still fused there. “Can we refuse?”
“Not without consequences,” Vex said. “Debts to the Alchemist are magically binding. Refusal triggers a cascade of curses designed to be instructive.”
“The kind that make death seem preferable,” I finished. “Their curses tend to involve painful, grotesque transformations that can’t be reversed.”
Arabella sighed. “So we go. Despite the Heirloom situation and the corrupted ley lines, not to mention a waiting invasion.”
“It’s a trap,” Vex stated flatly.
“Obviously.” I took a deep breath to focus my anger into something productive. “Three days isn’t enough time to sail there, and even if it were, I don’t want to mess with pirates or sea monsters.”
“Can’t you just open a portal, or…” Arabella made a vague gesture I’d come to recognize as her shorthand for “do something impossibly magical.”
“Not to the God Spire. The entire Expanse is shielded against that kind of entry.” I paused.
“And anyway, it might be too far for a personal portal, even for me. But sailing won’t be necessary.
” I turned to Vex. “Contact Captain Brecca with urgent instructions to be prepared to leave first thing tomorrow from Azroth’s Claw. ”
“Who’s Brecca?” Arabella asked.
“My ship’s captain.”
She frowned. “But you just said you didn’t want to sail.”
“I did.” A crooked smile curved my lips. “Some things are more entertaining as a surprise.”
Vex cleared her throat. “And what of Lord Sebastian?”
I considered it. Leaving him here unsupervised was a risk. Taking him into the heart of the Syndicate was another. But I preferred the risks I could watch. “He comes with us,” I decided. “I want him where I can see him.”
“Very well.” Vex nodded and departed to begin the preparations.
Arabella waited until she was out of earshot, then turned back to me. “So we’re really doing this? Traveling across the sea to meet with a maniacal alchemist while I have a world-altering artifact fused to my skull?”
“The Alchemist knows about the Heirloom.” I gestured to the golden circlet.
“I’d bet all my titles that’s the ‘item’ they referred to.
And they know we can’t refuse. Which means they also know we’re in a position of weakness.
The retreat from Solandris, the corruption, the fact that we’re scrambling for answers—the Alchemist has impeccable timing.
This summons isn’t just about collecting a debt.
It’s about forcing us to show our hand when we’re most vulnerable. ”
“So what do we do?”
“We go. We play their game. And we get back here as quickly as possible to deal with the real problem.”
Above us, Nyx gave a mournful, theatrical cry as she took off into the sky. Apparently, our lack of attention had offended her.
Three days to prepare for walking into the heart of Syndicate power, wearing an artifact that could reshape reality. All to pay a debt to one of the most unstable entities in existence.
What could possibly go wrong?
I mentally began listing disasters—it was a very long list.