Chapter 43 Try Diplomacy First
(Just Kidding, Kill Everyone Who Saw You)
Kazimir
The portal deposited us in a back alley of Kheldvar’s merchant quarter, between a bakery that smelled of burnt bread and a taxidermy shop specializing in two-headed creatures.
I’d visited Valmont’s capital twice before—once to negotiate trade routes, once to assassinate a particularly annoying diplomat.
The city hadn’t improved. Thorne emerged behind me, somehow managing to look like he’d just stepped out of a tavern brawl.
“Remind me again of our target?” he asked, brushing imaginary dust from his leather armor.
“Lord Matthias Brightwater.” I pulled out the list Vex had provided, cross-referenced with Sebastian’s more eclectic additions.
The flower lord had proven surprisingly useful, providing names of merchants, healers, and even a street performer who apparently juggled while accidentally channeling heroic light.
“Owns a shipping company. Heroic bloodline through his grandmother. Should be at his warehouse office this time of day.”
“And we’re just going to walk in and kidnap him in broad daylight?”
“Preventative custody,” I corrected. “We’re saving his life. No time for stealth today. There are too many on the list here.”
Thorne’s expression suggested he found the distinction academic at best. “And he has confirmed heroic blood?”
“Trace bloodline,” I repeated, stepping over what appeared to be a taxidermic badger that had fallen from a shop display. “We’re reduced to kidnapping people whose great-aunt’s cousin once sneezed near the First Hero.”
“I prefer the old days when we just conquered things.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure, Thorne?
Our other kidnappings went smoothly, and that one this summer worked out very well.
” I suppressed a grin, remembering the way Arabella’s portals had only gotten better each time she tried.
And her parting “gift” to me before we separated. “At least it did for me.”
Thorne grunted, which could have been acknowledgment or his version of an eye roll.
This was day three of what had become a grinding campaign across the kingdom.
Kheldvar was just the latest city on our list. We’d already swept through the borderlands and the town of Goldmar, collected scattered bloodlines from minor holdings in Ironholt, and left a trail of confused nobility in our wake.
The portal magic made it possible—I could deposit our rescued targets at Skyspire, grab a few hours of sleep, and be back before dawn—but it was taking its toll.
The runes in my bones ached from constant use, and Thorne and I had consumed enough coffee to keep a small army awake.
Kheldvar was everything Solandris wasn’t—cramped, practical, and refreshingly lacking in Golden Roses. The mountain city had built itself into every available crevice, creating a vertical maze of stone bridges and precarious walkways. Perfect for hiding. Terrible for large-scale invasions.
Which was probably why no one had bothered with it yet. For me, Solandris was the bigger prize, but Valmont was on the list.
We kept to the shadows, hoods pulled low.
The last thing I needed was some eager guard recognizing the Terror of the Western Realms and raising an alarm.
Not because I couldn’t handle them—I could turn the entire city watch into decorative ice sculptures if needed—but because discretion was key.
The moment word spread that I was collecting people with heroic bloodlines, Auremar would accelerate whatever he was planning.
We found Brightwater’s warehouse easily enough. The man himself was harder to locate, buried under shipping manifests in a cluttered office that reeked of pipe tobacco and disappointment.
“Lord Brightwater?” I didn’t bother knocking.
He looked up, squinting through wire spectacles. “Who the blazes—oh.” His face went pale as recognition dawned. “You’re him. The Dark Lord.”
“Guilty as charged.” I smiled, showing perhaps too many teeth. “I need you to come with us.”
“I… what? No! I have shipments due in—”
A knock at the door interrupted him. “Everything all right in there, Lord Brightwater?” A guard’s voice, concerned and professional.
Thorne and I exchanged glances.
“Fine, Terrance!” Brightwater called, his voice cracking. “Just discussing contracts!”
The door opened anyway. A young guard peered in, took one look at us, and reached for his sword. “Intrud—!”
My shadow spear took him through the throat before he could finish. He gurgled, slumping against the doorframe.
“Was that necessary?” Brightwater squeaked.
“He saw my face.” I stepped over the body, already weaving a disposal spell. The corpse dissolved into shadow mist that would dissipate within minutes. No evidence. “Where were we? Ah yes, your impending rescue.”
“Rescue? You just murdered Terrance!”
“To be fair, Terrance was about to complicate my day significantly.” I let shadows curl around my fingers, a not-so-subtle reminder of who he was dealing with. “King Auremar has developed an unhealthy interest in heroic bloodlines. Yours, specifically.”
“That’s preposterous. I’m nobody. I ship grain and occasional exotic birds.”
“Your grandmother was Lady Pennyweather,” Thorne said, consulting our list. “Third cousin to the First Hero’s line. It’s distant, but apparently close enough for Auremar’s purposes.”
Brightwater’s face went from pale to ashen. “How do you know about—”
“Because I make it my business to know.” I stepped closer, noting how he shrank back. Good. Fear made this easier.
“This is kidnapping!”
“Preventative custody,” Thorne and I said in unison.
Brightwater looked between us, clearly searching for options. Finding none, he deflated. “Can I at least leave a note for my secretary?”
“No.” I was already weaving the sleep spell, subtle threads of shadow magic designed to induce unconsciousness. No point in having him cause a scene. “Take a deep breath, Lord Brightwater. This will be much easier if you don’t fight it.”
His eyes widened as the magic took hold. “You can’t just—”
He slumped forward. I caught him before he could brain himself on the desk.
“One down,” Thorne said, already pulling out a pre-prepared sack. We’d learned after the third rescue at the border town of Goldmar that unconscious nobles were much easier to transport when properly packaged. “Where next?”
“The Fekete twins. They run a healing clinic in the lower district.” I glanced at Sebastian’s additions to the list. “Apparently, they also make excellent jam. Sebastian was very specific about that detail.”
I opened another portal, this one leading to an abandoned warehouse we’d designated as our collection point. No sense in dragging unconscious bodies all over Kheldvar. Thorne hoisted Brightwater over his shoulder and deposited him inside.
The route to the healing clinic took us through Kheldvar’s notorious Crow’s Nest district—a vertical slum where buildings clung to the cliff face in defiance of gravity and common sense. Unfortunately, it was also heavily patrolled.
“City watch ahead.” Thorne nodded toward a pair of guards checking papers at a bridge checkpoint.
We could turn back, find another route through the Crow’s Nest. But that would add an hour to our timeline, and I had a dozen more targets to collect before nightfall. I sighed. “I don’t suppose they’d accept a bribe?”
“You could try.”
We approached casually, keeping our hoods low. The guards—one veteran with a scarred face, one fresh-faced youth who couldn’t be more than eighteen—barely glanced up.
“Papers,” the veteran grunted.
“We don’t have any.”
The veteran’s hand moved to his sword hilt—a trained response, nothing personal. But the young one made a fatal mistake. His eyes widened as he caught sight of my face beneath the hood.
“By the First Hero, you’re—”
No choice now. The moment my name left his lips, every guard in a three-block radius would converge.
Two shadow spears, two bodies. I was getting quite efficient at this.
“You know,” Thorne observed as I dissolved the corpses, “at this rate, Kheldvar’s going to have a significant guard shortage.”
“They should invest in better training. Specifically, a ‘Don’t Stare at Dangerous Villains’ course.”
“You could have tried the bribe,” Thorne pointed out mildly.
“And when they inevitably refused and recognized me anyway?” We crossed the bridge. “This was always going to end one way. How many is that now?”
“Seven, including the warehouse guard.”
“Still better than that time in Drakenhold when I had to kill the entire palace guard because one of them recognized my boots.”
“To be fair, those were very distinctive boots.”
The Fekete twins were, predictably, in the middle of treating a patient when we arrived. A young boy with scales covering his body lay on their examination table, his mother wringing her hands next to him.
I strode into the clinic with an announcement. “This establishment is temporarily closed.”
The twins—identical women in their thirties with prematurely gray hair—looked up in perfect synchronization. It was creepy as hell.
“Lord Blackrose,” they said together. Also creepy.
“You know who I am. Excellent. That saves time.” I gestured to Thorne, who was already moving toward them with sacks in hand. “I need you both to come with me.”
“We’re in the middle of—”
“Treating a curse, yes. Dragon pox, if I’m not mistaken.” I examined the boy briefly. “Third stage. You were going to use moonwort and silver-blessed water.”
The twins exchanged glances. “How did you—”
“I’m not completely ignorant of healing magic.
” Thanks to Arabella’s influence, I’d been forced to expand my knowledge beyond mere destruction.
“The treatment will work. The mother can administer it.” I turned to the terrified woman.
“Three drops in warm water, once every six hours. The scales will start flaking off by tomorrow night.”
“But—”