2. The Mage Behind the Wall #3
My scars reflected in the metal. “I thought you would immediately kill him,” I said honestly.
The sword wavered.
She resheathed it.
“Why haven’t you killed him yet?” I asked tonelessly, heat licking up the walls of my chest, heart pounding.
The Marshal turned and stalked over to the board. She slapped her palms onto the map, staring down at it pensively, head sinking below her shoulders; trees clattered as they fell over.
A manic sound escaped her lips, somewhere between a chuckle and a shriek, as she picked up the figurine of the cloaked Emperor. With her other hand, she raised Tarantula. She held both up to the light.
“Right now, we have a deadly Royal Mage in our midst, held on the tiniest of leashes. We have . . . leverage over him, and he’s trading secrets with us, playing a role.”
A creeping sensation made my limbs numb.
“Why would he—”
“The Storm Wars have not been raging.” The figurines made a cracking sound as she clutched them in her fists. “We’ve been locked in a stalemate for centuries because we have . . . something they want . . . It is the only reason they haven’t used their magic to wipe us off the face of Antichthon.”
“Why don’t we give them what they want?”
“Fool. Did you not hear your own story?” Her gaze bored through me. “If we did that, then they’d murder us all.”
“And if we don’t?” I whispered, shivering. Everything was convoluted—smaller and bigger than I’d imagined, at the same time. Messier.
Her voice was steel. “Then they grow tired of waiting and massacre all of us.”
“So we do nothing?” Thoughts scrambled, I was too exhausted to strategize.
“No,” the Marshal said softly. “We beat them at their game and break the stalemate first.”
“How could we—”
“By taking away one of their assets. Tipping the balance in our favor. Win enough battles and you win the war.”
I scratched at my temples with growing frustration. “But you just said we can’t kill him.”
Sparks leaped in the Marshal’s eyes. “The man is not the asset. Someone else would take his place. But we can use him and use what he—”
She froze.
“This is how we do it,” she whispered, like she’d had a eureka moment. “Your new water abilities, the circumstances—it’s perfect.” She tossed one of the figurines, and it rolled at my feet.
I bent down for it, woozy.
“We use him to get to what we want.” Her voice shook with excitement. “Then we’re closer than we’ve ever been to winning this blasted war.”
Feeling drugged, out of control, I grabbed the model of a man. My head filled with rushing white noise. Nothing made sense. The Marshal stood above me, legs parted wide. I didn’t remember sitting down on the floor.
She crouched next to me, leaning close. Ruthless intelligence burned in her eyes.
Her face hovered beside mine. “Tarantula will be placed in your care. We’ll pretend he’s .
. . training you. Yes—that will work,” she breathed out almost silently.
“You will be his shadow, day and night. You stay close to him, glued to his side, and then when the time finally comes . . . you make your move.”
Doubt wrapped around my neck and crawled down my throat.
I shook my head no.
The Marshal nodded yes.
“Zora Ravenal, you are being issued a secret mission by all the power bestowed on my shoulders as the elected military leader of the one Democratic Commonwealth. Code name: Quest. Your mission directive is to keep Tarantula close and let him lead you to the asset. No one can know, besides the two of us, what your directive is. Not even the twins.”
“That’s a suicide mission. I don’t think I can—”
Pain streaked across my face where the Marshal slapped me. “There’s an active threat against your mother—or have you forgotten?”
I held her gaze, cheek burning, rage hot across my chest. “No, I haven’t forgotten.”
Her face turned blotchy red. “We have intel that the Empire is planning to take Westmere within the next few months. Do you want your mother, yourself, and everyone else on this damned continent murdered?”
“No.”
“Do you want to win the Storm Wars . . . or do you want to give up because you’re scared of the enemy? Do you want to avenge your friend . . . I believe you called her Aurora?”
My head jerked to the side, cheek throbbing as she slapped me again. Harder. I barely felt it. The pressure in my mind was crushing.
“Are you a coward, soldier?” she demanded.
Air whistled through my gritted teeth. “No, sir.”
“Complete the quest.”
“Yes, sir.”
Standing up, she straightened her uniform.
Her hand, wrinkled from time and veined from combat, hovered in front of my face as she held it out for me to take.
I wanted to tell her no way, that I was going back home to the North. Where everyone is starving because of the Storm Wars.
I didn’t want to die for any cause. They’ve threatened Mom. This was the very reason I’d joined the Crimson Army. Aurora.
My plan to gain magic had worked. Damned lucky girl. Stomach in knots, thoughts racing, I tried not to throw up because I was supposed to just be a Knight. Is it possible to be too blessed? I’d wanted magic, but not like this. The new sickening weight of responsibility crushed me.
The Marshal’s lips pursed. “Either you’re a coward or you’re a hero—you can’t be both. Westmere is counting on you.”
With a resigned breath, I took her offered hand.