Chapter 10

Honey steeped in a piping cup of jasmine tea. The deep golden fabric of the gown River cinches tight around my waist is familiar, and an image of the warm beverage that never left Morrinne's side flashes in my mind, followed by a pang of homesickness. If she saw me standing here now, adorned in a dress that likely costs more than the entire value of everything we own, tears would drip from her eyes. But they wouldn't be tears of joy as she beheld her daughter in the finest fabric money could buy—she would cry out in horror and beg Sin to show mercy, knowing the elaborate dress was merely his way of sprucing up his next meal before cutting into me like I was nothing more than a tender roast.

"I can hardly breathe," I say as River gives an exceptionally aggressive tug of the corset strings at my back.

"Good. That means I'm doing it right." River meets my eyes in the mirror and smiles apologetically.

Sin arranged for me to return to the ornate room I slept in my first night, before he knew I was the very monster his kingdom was hell-bent on eradicating from existence. The room—more like a small suite—is exactly as I left it, except the large armoire now holds an array of finely tailored dresses, most of them able to be stepped into without the need of an assistant to secure the bodices. While I may have glowered at the fancy attire before, I find small comfort in knowing it was unlikely the Black Art would have ordered for my closet to be stocked if he intended on killing me. Or at least not in my immediate future.

I frown at my own reflection. The rich golden gown drips from my shoulders and fans out at the elbows, leaving my forearms and shoulders exposed. Deep bronze piping in a crisscross pattern garnishes the bodice, and flowers of the same matching golden-brown thread are woven through the skirts in a brocade style masterpiece. I may be the only mage in the room, but it is River who has the real magical hands. She painted my lips a warm shade of pink, the color reminiscent of the rose petal jam I made for holidays and special occasions. The hue is bright against the light brown of my eyes and snowy hair River pinned back with an elegant crystal hair piece. The rest cascades down my back like hilly, snowcapped peaks, all the way to the small of my waist.

Sin lifted the fever from me when he closed my wound, and after a cold wash in the bathhouse and a hearty meal of roast mutton and crusty bread, the blush tint returned to my cheeks. The bruised purple marks left behind from the iron faded from my wrists sometime overnight, and if it wasn't for the Black Art's bidding I must do tonight, I might even be feeling sprightful.

If he told River what I was, she didn't mention it, and I didn't ask. With my fever gone and all traces of iron vanished from my skin, there is nothing stopping me from fighting my way out of here. Nothing except my own stubborn will to not stoop to the devilish legends whispered about my kind.

You've already shown me you aren't willing to do what it takes.

I hate him for being right. I hate myself for allowing him to be right. If I was sure I could remain in control, that I wouldn't fade away as the bloodwitch crawled out from the ruinous depths of my collective, I would have never been taken by Legion, and certainly never rotting away in a subterranean cell beneath Sin's feet.

River pulls the final strings tight, and with a quick fluff of the dress's skirts, she steps aside and clasps her hands together under her chin, admiring her work.

"How in the gods' names did you make this happen?" The annoyance in my voice isn't because her work is poor quality, but rather, the opposite. I look like one of them.

"You and Sin aren't the only ones with magic up your sleeves," she says with a wink. "Now that my most important job is done, I need to get downstairs and make sure the girls didn't let any details slip through the cracks. These balls are quite important to His Grace." River tucks the cosmetics and hair styling tools she brought with her into her basket and leaves, sucking all the comfort from the room when she does. River may be mundane, but her ability to make others feel at ease, even one of Sin's prisoners, is a skill not even the most advanced of mages could replicate.

With a final look in the mirror, I pull my shoulders back and sharpen my gaze. Violence may be my least preferred means of escape, but I need to look the opposite in front of Sin. Lifting my chin and molding my features into marble, I appear strong. Fierce. And definitely capable of punching a dagger through his eye. I run my hands over my waist, admiring how the corset River tightened draws attention to other parts of me that are inherently feminine. And with that final touch of confidence, I drop my hands to my side and march out of the room.

* * *

The foyer that was brimming with violence just a few nights ago now bubbles with ladies dressed in lavish gowns and men tailored in fine coats. Decorative cloths of deep burgundy run along the wide-stretched tables, almost hidden under the silver platters offering assorted cheeses and fruits, and others adorned with glasses of spiced wine. Wrapped around the towering archways are flowers of vermilion red, their vibrant petals the only reminder of the Legion blood that coated the floor beneath them just days before. I follow the beckoning of stringed instruments that leads me to a set of already propped open doors, and beyond them, the castle's ballroom.

The room is a storm of color and dance. Women's skirts, sewn from the fabrics only available at elite modiste shops, whirl around the room as the musicians signal the next partner dance is about to begin. A glorious gold chandelier dripping with crystal accents hovers above the center floor, where men are lining up on one side, and women the other. I recognize no one in the sea of cosmetic painted faces. These are the lords and ladies from high-ranking families—families that live in Blackreach—and ultimately serve the kingdom. More tables presenting an array of foods—meat tarts, mushroom pastries, and flaky pies overflowing with a brilliant pink-red filling resembling rhubarb stretch across the perimeter of the room.

I move through the throng of bodies, some swaying to the music, others gathered in small groups. The indistinct chatter of politics and potential marriages and dowries nests in my ears until the clinking of silver against glass calls my attention to the far side of the room.

There, Dusaro stands on top of the dais, holding his glass of mead above his head as if saluting the gods. The crowd quiets as he begins to address the room. "Our beloved guests—nothing brings me greater joy than to be here, amongst the greatest and mightiest families of Aegidale. To celebrate together the great fortunes to grace our land under the fine leadership of my son and his beautiful Hand."

His beautiful Hand.

I offer up a silent thanks to whichever god or goddess is looking out for my old friend, though I'm certain she doesn't consider us friends anymore. The mass of lords and ladies to my right steps backwards and bow in synchronized unison as Sin and Ileana walk with rehearsed grace to replace Dusaro on the dais.

Despite Ileana's mundane nature, she looks equally as powerful standing next to the Black Art. Her warm sepia skin is as clear and bright as daybreak, her angular face framed by a long mane of thick raven curls that hang to her waist. Her delicate brown shoulders peek through her thin-strapped dress, the color like melted steel with deep blue beading along the neckline. The beaded accents glimmer like tumbled gemstones, and I instinctively run a hand along my neck as the image of Cosmina's sapphire necklace that was a staple to every outfit she wore prances through my mind.

Ileana smiles at the crowd, warmth and softness replacing the daggers she once stowed in those dark brown eyes. At her side, Sin wears a long-sleeved burgundy surcoat with gold threadwork along the shoulders and neckline, and fitted black pants. His usual unbound hair is tied loosely at the nape of his neck, and he mirrors her smile, his emerald eyes bright with excitement. Looking at him now, fitted in his formal wear and his militant paws not wrapped around my throat, he looks… good.

Sin takes a step forward, and the last of the excited whispers fall silent. "Tonight… isn't about negotiations. It isn't about war or winning or sacrifice. Tonight, is for your families and mine, honoring those we love and will protect at all costs. Now, raise your glasses with me to a better and safer tomorrow."

A mural of goblets fly into the air with shouts of ‘to a better and safer tomorrow' as the noble men and women bid their toasts and drink their wine. It takes all my self-restraint to not knock the glass away from the lord pulling a deep sip of his mead at my side. While transcendents dip their heads as they hurry from one dimly lit alley to the next, lords wear their fancy coats and make toasts in fortified castles promising their extinction. Disgusting.

Sin and Ileana step down from the platform and are instantly swallowed in a circle of eager townsmen intent on bending their ears, probably pitching more ideas on how to eradicate the shifter problem. I uncurl my fingers, not having realized my hands balled into fists, and move to a less crowded part of the room, near one of the striking white pillars.

With a steadying breath, I force my face to relax and fix it with one of casual interest as I scan the room, flexing my collective away from me. A chorus of emotions invade me. Scattered notes of intention and feeling—pride and joy and lust—dance through me as the hymn of their collective energies prod at me with their melodic songs. Gluttonous desires that fill my mind with thoughts of balmy summer nights and tangled sheets tear through me like a violent wind. My eyes sting with greed, images of crown jewels and golden trinkets prance before my eyes, invisible to all but me. Something sweet like gardenias laced in vanilla beckons to my nose as thoughts of corseted gowns and ripe bosoms wrestle for my focus. Tilting my head to the side, I casually press two fingers to my temple, steering my collective through the room, listening for anything reminiscent of betrayal. I continue to scan, to read…beauty, coin, the tranquility of rainy evenings spent indoors—

"Evening," says a male who sidled up next to me.

I jump, my collective snapping back to its place behind my eye, and my hand smacks against my chest with an audible thwack. A young man with wavy chestnut hair and a matching well-groomed beard grins widely at me. A second too long passes before I remember to force a smile back.

"Bennett Langston. My apologies, my Lady—I didn't mean to startle you."

"Wren. Lovely to meet you, my Lord," I say, extending my hand.

He grasps it firmly in both of his and raises it to his lips. "Bennett," he corrects and kisses the backs of my knuckles.

If I wasn't so determined to play my part well, I may have vomited on his leather shoes which have been shined to a mirror finish. But like the good lady I am, I offer a polite smile and drop my hand back to my side.

"Why don't I recognize you?" Bennett asks.

"I'm only visiting Blackreach, so I'm afraid I don't know many faces. His Grace and I are old friends."

"Well, our mutual friend sure knows how to host a ball." He leans in closer and extends his hand, eagerness sparkling in his deep blue eyes. "May I have the next dance?"

"Oh, I don't know. I think I'd embarrass myself and you," I lie. My father was an excellent musician and taught me most of the partner dances when I was a girl. Dancing is one of my favorite pastimes. Or so, it used to be.

"Spare me one whirl on the floor, and if you deem me bloody incompetent on my feet, I'll never ask for another one again." He waves me forward, dipping his head slightly to meet my eyes.

I bite my lip as I fail to come up with an excuse quickly enough, and after an awkward number of seconds later, I slip my hand into his. Fine. I already put on the damn dress. His smile stretches too wide for his face, and he leads me towards the center of the floor. We separate so we face each other from opposite sides as the musicians play an opening piece, a warning the number is about to begin, sending the last of the ladies scurrying to take their places.

The dance is simple. Bennett and I step towards each other, and placing our palms together, we move in a slow circle. First one direction, then the other, before dropping our hands and switching sides. As we step around each other, I notice Bennett is rather handsome, if you are attracted to noble men who look the part. And judging from his wandering eyes sweeping from my neck to the ties of my bodice, I am willing to wager he finds me attractive too. We join hands again, and he spins me away from him, his hand finding the small of my back as I twirl back. Nervous laughter spills from my lips, and I regret the awful sound immediately. As we sidestep, my feet perfectly in line with the ladies who have undoubtedly danced at dozens of balls, Bennett angles his head towards me.

"You look as delicious as the feast, Lady Wren."

I smile with forced sweetness. "Do you always charm ladies by comparing them to beef pies, Mr. Langston?"

He laughs quietly and presses his lips against my ear. I stiffen at the contact. "Only the ones I'd love to taste."

Oh, royal men, how they take my breath away with their scintillating compliments.

Saving me from that uncomfortable exchange, the music slows to a close, and we bow to one another. Bennett reaches for my hand and kisses the back of my knuckles again.

"Mr. Langston."

I never thought the sound of the Black Art's voice would bring me relief.

"Your Grace," Bennett says, his attention snapping behind me as he dips into a deep bow.

"I see you've met my friend." Sin's mouth twitches into a slight smile as he steps up next to us, and I'd be surprised if the forcedness of it didn't cause him pain. Is my presence truly that disgusting to you, Your Grace?

"She was just doing this fool the honor of dancing with him." Bennett shoots a coy wink in my direction.

"I was visiting with your father. He appears to be keeping sound health, as do you, Mr. Langston."

"Thank you, Your Grace. We are keeping well indeed."

"May I steal a dance with our lovely friend?" Sin asks, as if Bennett could refuse if he wanted to.

Bennett leans at the waist once more and glances my way. "My Lady," he says in farewell before turning and leaving us.

I hold in the smirk. I have spent my life pretending to be something I'm not, but never once have I pretended to be a lady. While grateful for the distance between Bennett and myself, I swallow hard before turning back to face Sin, who has already assumed his place on the gentlemen's side of the floor. Taking my spot opposite him, I lift my chin and set my feet in the proper position to begin.

The weight of the room presses in on me as heads turn and stares burn into my back. No one here recognizes me, and they are no doubt wondering who the mystery woman is, and why the Black Art has asked her to dance. I share in their curiosity.

Slowly, he drags his stare up my body and back down again, and I swear layers of my skin begin to melt away everywhere his eyes peruse over me, lingering on the fit of my dress and the lines of my neck. Sad you didn't get to rip my throat out, Your Grace? I fix him with a molten leer of my own.

His black hair, secured at his neck with a leather tie, falls down the back of his reddish-brown coat. His jacket fits snuggly in the shoulders and arms, showing off the swells of muscle beneath, and his black pants are tighter than the baggy ones I'd seen him in before. If Bennett is handsome, Sin is something darker, wilder, and infinitely more dangerous. He raises a dark eyebrow at me, and I can almost hear his question in that stupid, low voice of his—like what you see, witch?

The wailing of violins fills the space, and I step towards him, the skirts of my gown sliding across the stone floor behind me. He exposes his palms and I don't hesitate pressing mine against them. Something reminiscent of a static charge pulses between our hands, as if the magic in mine is reacting to the power in his. I'm not certain he feels it too, but I swear his narrow eyes widen slightly as if he does. Or maybe he is just repulsed by the thought of brushing skin with a bloodwitch.

"Do you know who the Langstons are?" Sin asks.

"I don't know who anyone here is."

"They manage Aegidale's trade, domestically and with our neighbors across the sea. Their support—particularly Bennett's father, Sterling Langston—is very important to my father and I."

"You want me to get a read on this Sterling?"

He shakes his head. "I want you to stay very close to Bennett for the evening. If the Langstons are up to something, he's privy to it. Find me immediately if there is anything indicative he is conspiring with…" he cuts himself off, glancing at the dancing couples on either side of us. "Conspiring with them," he finishes.

"Do you think he might know anything about my family? If… they… have come for them?"

He spins me away from him, and when I whirl back, he slips one hand to my waist and pulls me closer to him. "Unlikely he does, but I might," he purrs, his voice too low for anyone but me to hear.

"What do you know?"

"There isn't a lot I don't know, Wren." His voice sounds almost disinterested, but in the few encounters I've had the displeasure of sharing with the Black Art, I've come to recognize the forced levelness of his tone right before he proposes a one-sided bargain.

I stare up at him, trying to force him to meet my gaze, but he looks over my head at the couples dancing around us, plastering a casual expression on his face and not one of a man about to deliver an ultimatum. "Can we skip the foreplay and jump straight to the point, Blackheart?"

His lips widen, and he runs his tongue across his top set of teeth in a movement that is pure animal. "I think that's the first time a woman has ever asked me that."

I may be dressed like a lady, but the look I shoot him is anything but ladylike. "Hm, I suppose they didn't want to be disappointed so soon."

The hand at my waist grips me a little tighter, and he curls his fingers between mine where our palms remain pressed together. Still looking away from me, he inclines his head slightly, steering his words towards my ears and mine alone. "Careful, little witch."

Before I can respond, Sin spins me away from him again, and I perform the solo steps with proficiency. I smile to myself at the thought of Sin's curious expression at my back, wondering where a little witch learned to dance. Grabbing my skirts, I whirl back towards him, and if he was questioning where the knowledge came from, he doesn't ask. We join at the palm again.

"So, are you going to continue to exploit my gifts in exchange for the safety of my family, or are you ready to negotiate like a big boy?"

The smirk on his mouth has me instantly regretting my word choice. "Contrarily, that is not the first time a woman has called me that." His eyes flash to mine, and he wipes the grin from his face in the same motion. "But that is precisely what I'm going to do."

"And should I grow tired of being your personal spy, Your Grace, then what? Are you going to kill me and lose the one secret weapon you have at your disposal?"

The melodious violin-led number mellows to a close, and we bow once to each other. Around us, the couples scatter and return to their conversations, while the Black Art and I remain planted here, chest to chest, as if seeing which of our fiery stares will melt the other first.

"Do not mistake my affinity for strategic advantages as anything but that. You are merely one power play in a sea of many. The second your existence ceases to benefit me—you said it yourself—you are at my disposal."

"If you care about this Sterling so much, why don't you send me to read him instead?"

"Because the Langston boy is attracted to you," he says, his expression reserved. "And I imagine it is easier to read a man's underlying intentions if his thoughts aren't scrambled, but rather fixed on one emotion." His gaze slips to my collarbones and then a little lower, before he jerks his attention back to my face, making his point.

My hands clench so hard, my knuckle joints nearly tear through the skin. I keep them balled up at my sides so I don't reach out and yank his tongue straight from his mouth. For him to infer Bennett was indeed interested in continuing our evening together, Sin must have been watching us. Unease trails an icy finger across my neck at the thought of the Black Art having eyes on me without my knowledge. "You are a rotten person."

His attention darts to something behind me.

"When I heard there was a Legion witch named Wren in our home, I knew it had to be you," Ileana coos, seemingly unconcerned with any guests that may be lingering in earshot.

I spin on my heels and shut my mouth at once, realizing it had fallen open slightly at the sound of her voice.

"Surprised to see I didn't rot and die after you and your sister left me for dead?"

Shame floods my cheeks, and I take a step towards her before halting, remembering her new title. I clasp my hands against the front of my skirts and slip into a curtsy. "I have been worried about you, Ileana—my Lady," I correct. "I'm so… that night—"

"Save it," she snaps, cutting me off. "Do what you've been brought here to do, and when this is over, don't expect my help when Singard realizes how worthless you are to the kingdom." She gives me a pointed stare, unsheathing the daggers she has mastered hiding in her tawny brown eyes, and walks away, her tall, slender frame bleeding into the crowd.

Her words plunge a sword into my gut, even if they were expected. I don't blame Ileana for hating me, not when she knew Cosmina and I fled to safety in the shadowed woods while she remained bound in rope and starved. She doesn't know how that decision has haunted me every day since, in both my waking hours and nighttime ones. But it doesn't matter.

I left. And I didn't go back.

"I suggest you find Bennett," Sin says from behind me.

I wait for his footsteps to fade into the joint noise of the gala before relaxing my posture. A group of women to my right snicker amongst themselves, straining their necks to watch as Sin catches up with Ileana and they make their way through the crowd together.

"Do you think they are betrothed yet?" one asks.

"Gods, I hope not," another whines, pretending to fan herself.

"Ladies please, don't speak about my future husband that way," a third one giggles, causing all of them to erupt in maniacal laughter.

The thought hadn't crossed my mind before, but that could explain why Sin chose someone mundane as his emissary. I shake off the thought. Ileana is smart. She wouldn't escape a group of predators just to marry one in a different uniform. I swallow the worry, scan the room for Bennett, and find him sampling some kind of stewed meat encrusted in a flaky pastry shell.

He looks up at the clacking of my heeled shoes approaching him and smiles when he sees I am their wearer. "I guess my dancing didn't scare you too much."

"I thought you were a lovely dancer, actually," I say, pulling my right shoulder in front of my face and peering over it at him in an attempt at flirting. As soon as I do it, I regret the action, imagining how silly I must look, but Bennett's sudden grin tells me otherwise.

"Care to take a walk with me?" He extends a hand outward.

I'd rather light myself on fire. "That would be great."

I slip my hand into his, and we hurry from the castle's grand ballroom and head outside to the courtyard. A gust of wind whips through the keep, gooseflesh blooming along my arms. Bennett shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it across my shoulders. Normally, I'd refuse it, but the wind's unforgiving bite has me clutching his jacket closed around my body.

"Thank you. So how long have you known His Grace?" I ask.

"Since we were kids," he says, one side of his mouth raising as if remembering their boyish faces in his mind. "My father served Ephraim since before I was born. Sin and I used to entertain ourselves together while our fathers worked. Once we were old enough and expected to participate in the meetings, we still found ways to sneak around and goof off, but we got better at hiding it. Neither of our fathers were particularly fond of us playing when there were decisions to be made and wars to plan. But, once we were old enough that our opinions began carrying weight, there wasn't much time for play anymore."

"It's hard to imagine such fine men were once boys." I shoot a sidelong glance in his direction. "Sin says your family manages trade?"

"My father is the director of trade and overseas alliance. It's all quite boring, really."

We round the corner of the castle, heading down the east side which I hadn't seen before tonight. The dark contours of the Spiritwood trees stretch across the eastern perimeter, their shadows promising illusions of shelter and safety, though nothing within this keep is safe. Not since he learned what I am. Under different circumstances, I would love to venture beyond the tree line and explore what herbs and flowers bloom within. Not everything grows in Autumnhelm, but being a little farther north, some of the more reclusive plants may thrive here. Though even if I collected some, I doubt I'm making it back home to dry and pestle them into seasonings.

"I hope Legion hasn't been stirring up too much of a problem for you and your father." I watch his expression carefully, but if the mention of the rebellion fazes him at all, it doesn't show on his face.

"Legion is nothing more than a nuisance. Hardly a problem."

"I've heard reports of people going missing. Legion soldiers raiding homes and forcing them to fight against the kingdom. Promising horrid things if they refuse. Have you heard anything about that?" I latch my collective onto his and am almost surprised to find it entirely mundane.

"I've heard the rumors, yes. But honestly, if there are people with wills weak enough to be persuaded to fight for Legion, threat or no threat, they deserve what's waiting for them."

Fire licks at my heart, and I resist the urge to send him spiraling face first into the ground. "If they are out there threatening to kill these peoples' families if they refuse to fight with them, I can't exactly fault them for protecting their own. Legion soldiers are vicious. You don't think this should be a priority for the kingdom?"

"The kingdom is slowly cutting them down, battle by battle. They're hidden in the woods all around Aegidale, never settling in one place for long. It isn't efficient for Sin to send soldiers out to hunt them down when they're scattered everywhere, and risk leaving the castle with fewer numbers in the process. Not when they're dumb enough to keep showing up and throwing corpses at the front gates. They'll run out of supplies eventually. They can keep recruiting by force, but they can't intimidate the banks out of their coin."

I keep my face expressionless as I hold his collective with my own, scanning it as he speaks. No ounce of care for those lost to the rebellion, no flicker of deceit as he mentions Legion's inevitable downfall. Bennett Langston isn't manipulating the kingdom, but I certainly wouldn't deem him trustworthy.

I feign a yawn and shrug out of his jacket, handing it back to him. "I must have had one glass of wine too many—I've grown quite tired." I can't stand to look at your face one more second.

He punches his arms back into his jacket. "I'd love to see you again, Lady Wren."

"I'm not sure how much longer I'll be staying with His Grace."

Bennett clearly doesn't have information on the whereabouts of my family, and even if he did, I don't think it's possible for him to care any less about them. He's not the rat Sin's looking to trap, though I don't doubt Bennett is vermin, nonetheless.

"Please, I implore you. Meet me in the market tomorrow evening before sundown. I know these events are supposed to be free of political chatter, but it always seems to find its way inside them. Let's get to know each other on neutral ground, away from the whispers of war and alliances."

"I'm not sure…" I say, trailing off as I rack my brain for an excuse. If I'm being honest, I'd rather take the heel of my shoe to my eyeball than spend another minute with you.

"Please. Tomorrow evening. Market center. If you don't show, I'll take the hint. Just think about it." He raises his hands and steps back in an attempt to show he isn't trying to force me.

"I'll think on it, my Lord." Go to Hell. "I should be getting back inside." My knees dip in a quick curtsy, and I turn to leave.

"Wren," he calls after me. "I sure hope you come."

I brush my chin over my shoulder but don't stop walking. "Goodnight, Mr. Langston."