I drew in a slow breath as nausea swept through my body.
I was eight winters, and we were preparing to move once more. I would miss my friends, but Papa said it was an adventure, and Tibris had promised he would make enough friends for both of us.
One of our neighbors had insisted we attend a party at her house. Ovida was one of the wealthiest women in our village and had become friends with my mother. Her son Ardaric was Tibris’s age. He and Tibris would sometimes let me play by the river with them.
“Come, Prisca. Have something to eat.” Ovida smiled down at me.
The door crashed open. Ovida whirled, her smile disappearing. My father grabbed my hand and pulled me away, holding me close. “Tibris,” he called, and I’d never heard his voice sound like that before.
Papa was scared.
Tibris stood next to Ardaric, both of them staring at the doorway.
I turned my head, dread rippling through my body.
A man dressed in black robes stalked into the room, guards behind him. “Ardaric Narayon,” he called, and Tibris went rigid, shoving his friend behind him. Papa let out a desperate, choked sound that made my chest hurt.
The assessor strolled toward Tibris, and all I could see was my brother’s face, so pale, his lower lip trembling. But he stood his ground.
I launched myself toward him. Papa scooped me up, holding me against his chest and covering my mouth with his huge hand. I twisted in his arms until I could see the assessor looming over Tibris, his hand inches away from his chest. The assessor angled his head and then pushed Tibris away. Mama darted forward and grabbed Tibris’s arm, pulling him toward us.
Ardaric faced the assessor. His chin stuck out, but his eyes were wide and glassy. I kept my gaze on his face as Mama took me from Papa’s arms. Ovida was struggling in the arms of one of the guards,
“Please, please don’t hurt him. Please!” Ovida screamed. “He’s just a little boy.”
Why would Ardaric be hurt? He’d never hurt anyone in this village. He always shared his toys.
Mama leaned close until her lips were pressed against my ear.
“Watch, Prisca. Watch closely. See what happens when a child is caught using forbidden magic.”
The assessor was smiling now, his hand hovering above Ovida’s chest.
“One of the corrupt, here in this very village,” he announced.
“Ardaric!” a voice roared. Matous was here. Ardaric’s father was a bear of a man, and he carried his sword. He sliced through one of the guards holding his wife. The assessor ducked, but Matous caught his neck with the edge of his sword. Blood sprayed.
Black spots danced in front of me, and the world suddenly seemed far away. Voices had turned to echoes, but I could hear my father.
“Cover her eyes,” Papa hissed, holding Tibris back. Mama ignored him.
Matous fought like a man possessed, but more guards were streaming into the house, the crowd of villagers pressed against the walls with nowhere to go.
One of the guards ran Matous through. The big man fell to his knees, the light already dimming in his eyes. The eyes that had crinkled each time he smiled at us, handing out sweet treats whenever we visited.
Ardaric’s scream was haunting. Ovida echoed that scream, falling to her knees.
A healer had already arrived and was holding one hand over the assessor’s neck. He pushed her away.
“Without proper healing, it will scar,” she said.
“Silence,” the assessor hissed.
The room was quiet but for Ovida’s sobs as the assessor stood once more.
“Oh, how the corrupt have been allowed to flourish in this village,” the assessor said. “We must keep a closer eye on the peasants. Take the corrupt to the city,” he ordered. Ardaric struggled, but he was no match for the guard, who cuffed him about the head. He reached for his mother, arms wild, his mouth open in a silent scream.
“Please don’t take him. Please. Burn me instead. Please! My baby!”
The assessor ignored her, stalking toward the door. Ovida’s eyes met mine, and then she gazed past me to my mother.
“You’re a seer! How could you not see this?”
The guard swung his sword.
I cried out. My father’s hand clamped over my eyes. Ovida’s scream cut off with a thud.
I shuddered. A cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck, and the assessor’s face swam in front of my eyes. The High Priestess was still chanting, so I bowed my head in an attempt to pull myself together.
Had my mother allowed that family to die so I would be forever haunted by the knowledge of what would happen if I were caught? So I would stifle the flame of my magic until the day it burst free, too strong for me to control without training?
She couldn’t have done something so evil. Surely…
Yet this was the same woman who had stolen me from my real family. And never returned me. I had parents out there somewhere who had mourned me. Who had likely assumed I was dead.
I felt eyes on me and glanced over my shoulder. A woman with pale blond hair was staring at me, her gray eyes burning into mine. I turned around and leaned close to Auria.
“Who is that woman behind me? The one who looks like she wants to slit my throat.”
Auria turned. “Oh, that’s Wila,” she whispered. “Don’t worry about her. She hates everyone.”
The High Priestess flicked us a glance, and I bowed my head. When I was sure she was no longer looking, I watched the assessor.
The child-killer.
I mouthed the prayers and made my own vow.
Before I left this castle—whether it was out the front gates, through the tunnel in the dungeon, or through that same tunnel to the stake—the king’s assessor would be dead.
Finally, we were ready. Time and time again, spies had been sent into Sabium’s castle. And always, he had found them, killing them in new and inventive ways.
So now, it was my turn. Our new plan was bold—bordering on reckless. But Sabium had taken so much from us, our revenge was well overdue.
I pulled on my boots. We were in some no-name inn, and I’d had little sleep on the sagging mattress the night before. I would have preferred sleeping on the ground, but my men had once again demanded better food.
“You think he’ll issue the invite?” Rythos asked.
Sabium wouldn’t be able to help himself. “Oh yes. If I act suitably chastened and desperate for an alliance, he’ll invite me into the castle.”
“Hunting with him? How will you refrain from killing him?” Marth muttered.
“Simple. Lorian kills him, and we never get into that castle.” Galon glowered at Marth, then turned the same look on me. “This is risky, and you know it.”
“It’s the only option. I’ll meet him to hunt a few beasts, let him best me with his magicked arrows, and tell him I’ve rethought Gromalia’s insistence on staying out of his little issue with the fae.”
As far as the king was concerned, I’d taken the first step, tucking my tail between my legs and agreeing to meet in his kingdom. Sabium’s hunting cabin was close to the town where I had forced Prisca to use her magic.