Chapter 26 Recognize You’re Not Yourself
(But Have No Idea Who You Are)
Kazimir
The closed alley outside the Gilded Gallows reeked of piss and sulfur, a charming combination that perfectly matched my mood. I stalked through the narrow passages between buildings, shadows rippling at my command as they searched every corner, every hidden doorway, every possible escape route.
Nothing. Not a trace of that traitorous little weasel.
“Find him,” I snarled at more shadow constructs, and they dispersed to search the God Spire’s labyrinthine underbelly.
The rational part of my mind—what little remained through the haze of rage—knew this was futile.
If Pip had been here at all, he’d have a dozen escape routes planned.
The boy might have been nervous and twitchy, but he wasn’t stupid.
I stood there, breathing hard, trying to master the rage still burning through me. Pip. The little weasel had been right there, practically under my nose, and I’d let him slip away.
Because of her. Because she distracted you.
No. That wasn’t fair. Arabella had spotted him in the first place. If not for her, I wouldn’t have known he was here at all.
The whisper slithered through my thoughts again, and I shook my head. These intrusive thoughts were getting worse. They felt like mine but… not. Like looking at my reflection in warped glass.
A man’s panicked yelling cut through my thoughts. I froze, listening. It came again, followed by the sound of something crashing.
Not my problem. I had a traitor to find.
But the yelling had come from nearby—just around the corner. And it was followed by a very familiar voice saying, “I really must insist.” A pause. “That you cease and desist.”
Sebastian. What the hell was he doing in a dark corner of the Spire by himself? Spending time with Griffin was clearly having a detrimental effect on his survival instincts.
For that matter, where was my chaotic enchanter?
I rounded the corner to find the pretty lordling backed against a wall, surrounded by five thugs who looked like they’d graduated from the Generic Henchman Academy with honors in Looking Menacing and minors in Poor Life Choices.
Three goblins with rusty knives, a half ogre whose breath I could smell from twenty feet away, and judging by the way he was swaying, a very drunk necromancer.
They weren’t particularly intimidating as far as villains went—more the type to pick pockets than slit throats—but they had Sebastian outnumbered and cornered.
The interesting part was the plants. Massive, thorny vines had erupted from every crack in the alley floor, creating a verdant cage around Sebastian. They twisted and writhed with his fear, some as thick as my arm, all radiating a distinctive golden-green glow of magic.
“Look at the pretty magic,” one of the goblins cackled, poking at a vine with his knife. “Bet his coin purse is as pretty as he is.”
My already foul mood darkened further.
Sebastian, to his credit, maintained his insufferably polite demeanor even as more vines sprouted around his feet. “I’m certain this is all a misunderstanding. Perhaps we could discuss this over tea? It’ll be nicer, I guarantee.”
“We don’t want your tea, princeling,” the necromancer slurred. “Your purse and whatever else you’re carrying, for starters. And then maybe we’ll see what else you’ve got to offer.”
The implication was clear, and Sebastian’s face went pale.
“There’s been a mistake—I’m not a prince, you see.
” The vines grew thicker, thornier. Any competent magic user would have sent them lashing out, turned the alley into a killing field of nature’s fury.
Instead, Sebastian just stood there looking mildly distressed.
I could have walked away. Should have, probably. Let natural selection take its course. Sebastian had chosen to wander off alone in one of the most dangerous districts in the known realms. These were the consequences.
But Arabella would never forgive me if I let her childhood friend get murdered.
Besides, a more rational voice pointed out, you need something to hit, and these idiots are volunteering.
“Villains,” I said, stepping out of the shadows. All five would-be muggers spun toward me, and I had the satisfaction of watching the color drain from their faces.
“That,” I gestured lazily toward Sebastian, “is my wife’s pet. And while I personally find him about as useful as a chocolate teapot, she’s rather fond of him.”
“Lord Blackrose,” the half ogre stammered. “We didn’t—this isn’t—”
The goblins scattered, their self-preservation instincts overriding their greed. The necromancer attempted to shadow-walk away but was too drunk to manage it properly and ended up face-first in a puddle.
The half ogre was too stupid to run.
The shadows at my feet stretched, solidifying into razor-sharp tendrils that shot toward all five would-be muggers. They screamed. Within seconds, all were suspended in the air, the darkness wrapped around their throats.
“Please,” the necromancer choked out. “We didn’t mean—”
“I’ve had a very trying evening,” I interrupted. “And you’ve just made it worse.”
I tightened the shadows, watching with detached satisfaction as their faces turned purple. The rage that had been burning through me found an outlet in their fear and pain. It would be so easy to keep squeezing until their necks snapped—
“Lord Blackrose!”
Sebastian’s voice broke through my thoughts. I turned to find him still pressed against the wall, surrounded by enough vegetation to count as a small forest. The vines had grown even thicker, some sporting flowers.
“Please,” he said quietly. “Don’t kill them.”
I raised an eyebrow.
He swallowed. “They don’t deserve to die.”
I stared at him incredulously. “Are you serious?”
“I’m afraid I am.” He straightened his jacket, which had been rumpled in the scuffle. “Violence only begets more violence. I prefer to find peaceful solutions.”
The sheer absurdity of his statement cut through my rage. Here he was, cornered in a dark alley by men who clearly meant him harm, and he was advocating for mercy. It was ridiculous. Naive. Utterly heroic.
And somehow, the absurdity of it helped clear my head.
I let out a harsh laugh. “Fine.” I turned back to the dangling villains. “You heard him. He’s feeling merciful.”
I, however, was not. What happened next was quick, efficient, and thoroughly satisfying. By the time I was done, all five were unconscious, bones were broken, and at least two would need magical healing to walk properly again.
I turned back to Sebastian, who had sputtered and rhymed in protest the entire time. “There—not dead. But they might wish they were. You can dismiss those now,” I said irritably at the vines still writhing around him.
“I… yes. Of course.” He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and the vines began to slowly retract. “I thought you weren’t going to hurt them.”
I smiled coldly. “You said you didn’t want them dead. I obliged.”
Sebastian looked at the villains at my feet, then back at me. “You are correct. Thank you for the assistance, Lord Blackrose.”
“You had enough power there to level half the district,” I snapped. “Why didn’t you use it?”
He blinked at me, genuinely puzzled. “For what?”
“To defend yourself, you imbecile. Those vines could have torn them apart.”
“Oh.” He looked down at the retreating vegetation with surprise, as if seeing it for the first time. “I suppose they could have. That never occurred to me.”
I stared at him.
“Violence isn’t really my forte.” He brushed dirt off his coat. “Besides, they were just desperate people trying to make a living.”
“They were going to rob you. Possibly worse.”
“Yes, well.” He shifted uncomfortably. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
The casual way he said it made something twist in my chest. Not sympathy—I didn’t do sympathy—but a kind of frustrated disbelief. Here was someone with enough magical power to make even me take notice, and he just… allowed people to hurt him.
“If you don’t have the sense to protect yourself,” I said coldly, “perhaps I should have let them have their way with you after all.”
The words were cruel, calculated to cut, but instead of flinching, Sebastian tilted his head and studied me with those unsettling violet eyes. “You’re upset.”
“I’m always upset. It’s part of my charm.”
“No, this is different.” A small vine crept up the wall beside him, flowering with tiny white blooms. “You’re not yourself.”
The fact that he was worried about me, of all things, made the simmering rage flare white-hot. In response, the blooming vine shot forward, wrapping around my wrist with surprising strength.
“What the—” I yanked my arm, but the vine held fast. “Release me!”
“I’m sorry!” Sebastian looked mortified. “It’s not intentional—they respond to my emotions—”
I snarled, and shadows erupted from my hand. The vine didn’t just wither—it combusted, creating a smoking hole in the bone wall that went deep enough to see the chamber beyond.
Sebastian jerked back but didn’t flee. “Lord Blackrose,” he said, and I wanted to hit him just for the sympathy in his voice. But he plowed on, oblivious to the danger. “Would you like to talk about what’s troubling you?”
“What’s troubling me,” I said, my voice dropping to subzero temperatures, “is that I’m wasting time babysitting an idiot who’s too precious to defend himself when I should be hunting down a traitor.
What’s troubling me is that I specifically told everyone to stay out of trouble, and yet here you are, alone, nearly getting yourself violated by street thugs because you lack the basic survival instincts the gods gave a particularly stupid moth.
The only reason you’re still breathing is because my wife has a baffling soft spot for you. ”
Sebastian flinched and went blessedly silent.
“Get back to the apartment,” I ordered. “And if you deviate by so much as a single step, I’ll let the next villains keep you.”
He hesitated.
“Go!” I roared. Shadows erupted behind me, forming into massive wings.
The Scone Lord scrambled away, nearly tripping over an unconscious thug in his haste. I watched until he turned the corner, heading in the right direction, then sent a shadow warrior to follow him. Just to make sure he actually made it back. For Arabella’s sake.
The rage was still there, simmering beneath my skin. But Sebastian’s words echoed in my mind. You’re not yourself.
I thought of Arabella’s face when I’d tried to compel her. The tears in her eyes. The way she’d said, “This isn’t you talking.”
But if it wasn’t me, then who the fuck was it? There was no one else to take the blame for my bad behavior.
The hunt for Pip resumed, but my focus was shattered. Every shadow I sent out searching came back empty. Every lead turned into nothing. The wine’s effects were shifting from heightened senses to a pounding headache, and those whispers kept sliding through my thoughts.
By the time I gave up and returned to our apartment, dawn was already breaking over the God Spire. I’d spent the entire night hunting ghosts and fighting my own mind, the Twilight Wine ensuring every moment was torture without Arabella there to… to…
I was going to murder the Alchemist. Slowly. Creatively. With extreme prejudice.