Chapter 33
Oziel
Leaving Isabelle behind feels fundamentally wrong, like I’ve abandoned a vital part of my soul and left it exposed and vulnerable.
She’s still within the bounds of the property, close enough that I can sense her presence.
Unlike yesterday, when I didn’t know her exact location, and my mind was occupied with all the potential dangers.
That awareness gives me some comfort. If she were in danger, I’d know instantly.
But knowing isn’t the same as being able to protect her, and I hate this distance between us.
Still, my headstrong human insisted on staying behind, determined to uncover answers I’m not convinced exist. I’ve been wrong before—admittedly, not often—but I’m hoping this is one of those rare occasions.
I want her to find whatever truth she’s looking for.
And if I’d tried to stop her? Isabelle would’ve stood her ground and argued until I was too drained to continue.
Frankly, I don’t have the strength for that battle today.
If she’s gone for longer than a few minutes, I will send guards to her for peace of mind.
Garvan follows me, silent and obedient, like a shadow. He says nothing when I enter my study, going straight to my desk. The door closes softly behind him, and he hesitates slightly before making his way over to me.
“This traitor needs to answer for his crimes. Do you not agree?” As I ask, I reach for the mortar sitting atop the desk, surrounded by various herbs and dried flowers.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had to perform a blood tracking spell, but the ingredients come back to me as if they are permanently seared into my brain.
“You’ve always been swift to deliver punishment, my lord,” Garvan says, his gaze flickering to the dried blood on the blade.
“But perhaps we should consider speaking with this demon first and hear their reasoning. Knowledge is power, and if they possess insights we lack, this could be our chance to uncover valuable information.”
My fist comes down on the table hard; capped jars of ingredients fall over from the force. Eyes flashing, Garvan wisely takes a step back, never once looking away from my ire. Anger rolls off me in waves, suffocating me with its intensity.
“The time for speaking is over, courtier.” I hiss his title like a vulgar insult. Garvan’s fists tighten at his side, jaw clenched. “We will do this my way. Death will be a mercy compared to what I have planned.”
This demon will find no mercy. Time and time again, they have endangered our kingdom, leaving us vulnerable so our enemies could strike when we were at our weakest. There is no redemption for such treachery, no path back from the destruction they have willingly invited.
And I will not grant mercy, especially not to a demon who has stood by as their own kind fell to the curse.
Garvan doesn’t push again, stepping back out of the light.
It filters onto my desk, illuminating my work area.
With great caution, I scrape the dried blood from the dagger into the mortar.
This spell doesn’t require much blood—a simple drop will do—so I have more than enough to find my traitor.
Crushed-up cardamon and dried thyme are placed in next.
The last two ingredients aren’t easily found.
Blood of an elder dragon and tears of a pixie priestess.
There’s just enough to complete this spell, but I’ll have to pay someone a great sum of money to obtain more.
A problem for another day.
Gripping the pestle tightly, I press it into the mixture, grinding the ingredients together with steady, deliberate force.
As I work, I channel the last remnants of shadow magic I possess, willing it into the spell.
At first, nothing happens, only the sharp, earthy scent of thyme rising into the air around us.
Then, ever so slowly, a change takes hold.
The mixture stirs with an unnatural energy, a faint red glow flickering to life within the bowl.
It pulses, weak at first, but with each passing moment, the light deepens, intensifying until the entire concoction is engulfed in a rich, crimson hue, pulsing like a heartbeat.
The mixture is strong, taking on a life of its own.
A flash of bright red light nearly blinds me before a thin wiry line, like a strand of yarn, branches off.
This is it. The moment I come face to face with the demon that has put themself above those in my kingdom.
The glowing red line glides around the room, as an invisible tether pulls me along.
The light moves to the window, flickers once, and goes out.
It happens again.
And again.
“What the fuck?” I snarl, my voice sharp with frustration.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to work. The glowing light should have surged forward, hunting down the traitor with precision.
Instead, it falters and dies at the window, flickering as though some unseen force is caging it in, refusing to let it escape.
I clench my fists, my pulse pounding in my ears. I did everything right. Every ingredient measured perfectly. I spilled enough blood to ensure the spell took hold, enough that failure should have been impossible.
And yet…
The light won’t move beyond this room.
A slow, creeping realization slithers down my spine, cold as a blade’s edge. The sweltering-hot room chills to an uncomfortable cold. There’s only one explanation.
The traitor isn’t out there.
They’re in here.
Just as the thought crosses my mind, I spin around, but it’s too late. He’s once again one step ahead of me. A sudden, invisible force seizes me, locking my body in place. My limbs stiffen, frozen mid-motion, as if time itself has conspired against me.
Then, like stone, my body hardens. And everything fades to black.