Chapter 11

My soiled clothing clings to my rain-slicked skin. My hair, likely resembling a goldfinch's nest, drips down my face, and I don't bother shoving the wet strands from my eyes. What's the point? There is nothing to see. Nothing to feel.

I am nothing.

A whisper pulls at my ear, and I roll my head towards the sound. Two sky blue eyes lock on mine from within the tree line. Cosmina! She makes a circling motion with her hand, silently asking if anyone else is nearby. I shake my head. Remaining crouched, she creeps towards me, and not even the leaves dare to crunch under her feet. She breaks my binding with magic, and I slip my wrists out, rejoicing in the instant relief as the toxic metal falls from my hands. Cosmina hoists me to my feet and drapes my arm over her shoulder.

"Quickly now," she urges, steering me towards the thicker part of the woods. I plant my feet.

"Ileana," I mumble.

"What?"

"Ileana… my friend. We have to get her first." My words slur, the exhaustion from being near starved and bound in iron turning my brain to sludge. "She's that way." I lazily point in the direction of their makeshift shelter, not visible from where we stand, but is about a quarter mile from the tip of my finger. It is where the higher-ranking men sleep, and where Ileana is often forced to be their nighttime guest.

"There isn't time, Wren. We need to leave now before someone sees us."

"Ileana," I call louder, not thinking clearly, hunger making me delirious.

Cosmina clamps a hand down on my mouth and yanks us both forward, faster now. I know she is right. Going anywhere near that shelter is too risky— surely someone has the night watch and would hear us. If we are caught, none of us will leave here alive. Reluctantly, my feet give way and obey, and I let my sister steer me towards the darkened woods.

Goddess, help her. Protect my friend.

* * *

The sound of my own heart thrumming wildly in my ears is overshadowed by rapid tapping on my door, and I realize someone has been knocking.

"Yes?" I call from where I lie in a heap of sweat-drenched sheets.

"I'm coming in."

I blow out a breath at the sound of his voice. Of course. The energy in the room shifts as soon as Sin throws open the door and closes it behind him. It becomes heavier, thicker, like the molasses I sometimes used for marinating when Eldridge occasionally brought home a bottle of whiskey. I'd mix it with the liquor and use it to glaze our game, and after we indulged in the sweetened meat, we'd polish off the bottle together next to a spitting fire, spinning tales and laughing drunkenly, even if just to forget the horrors facing us for a few blissful hours. Eldridge was great like that. Despite all the shit we were forced to deal with, I could always count on him for a few moments of… something else. Comfort, maybe. Warmth. Security. If I ever leave the cabin, I'm not sure I'll find another place I'd be comfortable calling home, but if I did, it would feel a lot like Eldridge.

Sin's eyes widen slightly as he takes in the sight of me still tangled in the damp sheets. "You look terrible."

"Bad dream. What do you want?"

"I guess the lady doesn't look forward to my company—ouch." He feigns a wince. "You disappeared last night after you left with Bennett." He dips his head slightly, prodding me to continue.

"You told me to stay close to him."

"And was our little plan successful?"

"He is a slimy individual. I don't like him. Maybe even more than I don't like you." I kick off the sheets and climb out of the bed, pulling on the silky lilac robe I laid out last night.

"Don't go replacing me that easily. I rather like being the highest on your hit list." Sin crosses the room and leans against the wooden armoire, next to the propped-up mirror.

"He thinks Legion is a lost cause and that they'll burn themselves out soon enough. Oh, and let me not forget to mention, he feels the innocent men and women they are stealing, violating, and raping deserve it because they got caught in the first place. But I guess you don't care about that, either."

"You do understand I am working against them, little witch?"

I grab the brush from the bedside table and yank it through my knotted hair. "I do."

"Did you detect anything suspicious with your—?" He draws a circle around his head to reference my ability. "Anything that indicates the Langstons may be supplying the rebellion in secret?"

"No. Bennett isn't betraying you. In fact, if I thought you capable of any semblance of affection, I'd say his admiration runs deep enough to court you."

"Are you jealous he may like me more than you, love?" he asks, the gleam in his eyes downright sinful.

I pull open the armoire doors and run my hand across the dresses, an assortment of colors and patterns. Some are sewn from airy, pastel fabrics, and others look as though they were made from liquid metal, silvers and blacks shimmering on a satin backdrop. I don't doubt which side of the closet was stocked according to Sin's tastes, so I hover my hand over some rosy pink and yellow ones, internally cringing at their hideous design.

"What is on the agenda so I know how to dress? Are we fine dining or murdering kittens today, Your Grace?"

"What else did he say?"

"Nothing else relevant to your interests. Unless you care to know he finds me as scrumptious as the beef tarts at your ball, because my," I smack my hand to my chest, "did that compliment make a girl's knees buckle."

"I see the rumors of bloodwitches and their dramatics are true."

I fix him with a heavy glare. "You're welcome. I've upheld my end of the deal, and I did it without arousing suspicion. He even asked me to meet him in the market tonight, so he obviously doesn't know it was a set up."

He purses his lips. "So you're going."

I move to the armoire and reach around him to snatch the ties for my braid from the inner shelf.

"Why would I go? He has no information for me. For us," I correct.

"Did you mistake that as a question?"

I move so I stand in front of him, close enough my chest almost brushes against his.

"What information do you have regarding my family? You said you knew something."

"Yes, information for me to know and you to work for." Sin runs a hand through his unbound hair, and I watch in the mirror as it falls down his back like spilled ink.

"I could have devastated this place when they brought me here. All of you. I chose to hand myself over, to ask for protection from the kingdom, risking my life rather than kill your people. But you are no better than them, no better than Cathal, trying to use me for your own gains. I am not your puppet," I spit the last word at him, jabbing a finger into his chest.

He grabs my arm and pins it between us, my chest rising and falling faster now. "I am your Black Art." The snarl in his voice is unmistakably a warning, but I've never been good at heeding the cautions of men.

"No leader of mine would condone the extinction of my kind or my family's. You are nothing to me."

Sin's downward eyes narrow even farther, reducing to feral slits, and he drops my arm, his hands balling into fists. I prepare to duck if he swings at me. "You forget yourself, Wren." His tone is low, restrained, like he is attempting to leash the fire I stoked. Sin backs away from me, hands still clenched, as if needing to put distance between us. "Put some clothes on. I'll send Aldred to escort you."

"Escort me where?"

"To breakfast. You'll be joining the council this morning."

"I assume it isn't optional."

"We need to discuss strategy for your meeting with Langston tonight." He backs up a few steps but doesn't divert his stare. "Don't fuck it up, Wren. It won't pain me to punish you."

I almost respond, but a flicker of self-preservation halts the words before they spew from my mouth. He turns and leaves, closing the door behind him a little too forcefully.

Grimacing at the closet, I yank out a bright yellow-orange dress, its color rivaling the sun for vibrancy, and slip it over my head now sporting its top-heavy braid. The Black Art's words repeat in my head, and I don't allow myself to consider what punishments he had in mind. His Grace has a reputation for being cruel, but I'm not sure just how far that cruelty extends. Would he have me locked in the dungeon again, or would he go as far as to maim or physically harm me? It won't pain me to punish you. Punish, not kill. I suppose there is comfort to be found in that.

Aldred arrives and escorts me from my room minutes later. We climb the baronial stone staircase to the story above us, and I follow Aldred down the corridor, the gentle flickering from the wall sconces the only light in the windowless hallway. Paintings of scenic landscapes, sprawling forests and bodies of water adorn the walls, fitted inside gold leaf frames. I eye the sweeping strokes of blues and greens, the terrain reminiscent of the woods I grew up in, and make a mental note to come back here alone to further appreciate the artwork.

The hallway veers into two wings, and Aldred leads us into the left one. My eyes drift to the shadowy vastness of the right wing, and I wonder what curiosities lie within that expanse. Perhaps tools to aid in the Black Art's punishments. My thoughts drift to a dark room with an obsidian spike ridden cabinet and a wall lined with sting delivering whips, but I dissolve the image. If Sin was intending on torturing me for information, he would have done so the day he dragged me back here, convinced I was a Legion spy. But he didn't… something made him hesitate.

"Where are we going?" I had assumed we would be served our breakfast in the dining hall.

"The war room. His Grace prefers all planning to happen there."

So secretive, Your Grace?Though, I suppose if I was conspiring against my closest allies, I would prioritize subtly as well.

We stop in front of a wooden door with a blackened horse head mounted on it, the circular knocker a ring through the steed's nose. I would think it forged from iron if not for the burn it would incite on the Black Art's hands and his council's, assuming His Grace keeps mages in his close circle. Crafted from a different metal then.

Aldred pounds the heavy accent against the door once and swings it open without waiting for a response. He motions for me to enter before him, and I step into the castle's war room. The space is small, mostly occupied by a long rectangular table in the center. The wall behind the table is filled with a series of matching wooden bookcases stretching all the way to the ceiling, the spines of countless leather-bound volumes facing outward.

Five sets of eyes glue onto mine. Sin sits at the head of the table, flanked by Ileana and his father on either side. Aldred moves to sit next to Dusaro, and the commander motions for me to take a seat in the high-backed chair next to himself. Across from Aldred is the robed woman I recognize from the small group Sin brought with him before coming after me. When I ran from him and he hunted me down like I was no more than a rabbit, existing only to fill the stomachs of wolves. His Grace may have bound me to him in more ways than one that night, but a magical tether does not mean he owns my will. A rabbit-hearted girl I am not, Your Grace.

The chair across from me belongs to a balding man I don't recognize, dressed in the same onyx robes the woman wears. He gives me a disapproving once over as I take my seat, and I shift my eyes to take turns meeting each set still adhered to mine. With her hood down, the woman's short auburn hair is visible, along with a silver amulet at her neck, an upside-down triangle etched into its surface. The points represent life, death, and rebirth—the insignia royal mages tend to gatekeep. They don't like sharing the symbol with those of mixed blood—hell, they won't even share the term mage. Since I was born to mundane parents, the kingdom will never refer to me as anything other than witch.

A large window overlooks the grounds at my left, and a stone fireplace crackles softly at my right. Two servants, each carrying a tray with covered platters, enter the room and place heaping dinner plates in front of us. My decorative plate is loaded with generous portions of eggs, ham, and bread with a deep reddish-purple jam that smells of figs cut with a hint of citrus. I force myself to eat slowly, to not let them see how much that time I spent locked in the cell has stoked my hunger. One of the servants begins filling the mugs at our place settings with a steaming amber tea. Sin takes a deep sip of his tea and clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth before addressing the council.

"This last stint of theirs has left them vulnerable. We have Cathal now, and without that prick handing out death sentences to his men like candies, I doubt they'll be as forward. Scouts found what remains of them held up in Spiritwood and Autumnhelm. They're splitting up and hanging low, but they won't be able to sustain much longer."

I swallow hard at the mention of Autumnhelm. The woods are vast, but the thought of Legion sniffing anywhere near our cabin turns my stomach to lead. My chest aches thinking of how many innocent lives will be lost—stolen by the rebellion who brings in more mouths than they can feed. I steal a glance at Ileana and wonder if it bothers her to hear Sin speak of them. Does it pain her to know the heart of the man who hurt her in so many ways continues to beat beneath her feet? I wonder if she has the nightmares too.

"They'll either die from their injuries, or better, be picked off by those things they're so hell-bent on defending," Dusaro snickers.

Ileana's eyes sweep over to mine as if Dusaro's remark reminded her of what I had shared with her of my adoptive transcendent family.

"Still, we can't be certain they're not having supplies smuggled to them. They've proven to be resilient bastards, but that's where my Wren may be able to benefit us. She caught the eye of Bennett Langston last evening, and he has graciously invited her to join him again tonight. We are all aware of Wren's… abilities… and I think we will find it in our favor if we use her to our advantage. I don't like to suspect the Langstons anymore than any of you, but the facts remain. They have coin and resources, and the reclusiveness to deliver it to Legion unnoticed. And while I generally find the Langstons to be tolerable, should I learn they've crossed me, I will deliver a brutal death to each of them myself."

I don't flinch from Sin's violent promise. Actually, I find the fact he referred to me as my Wren to be more disturbing than the bitter threat he made towards the Langstons.

"Forgive my ignorance, but how does your power work exactly, Wren?" Aldred asks.

I blink innocently. "Which one?"

"Your ability to interpret intentions."

"Mages are closely connected with their collectives, as you know. I can manipulate mine to sort of latch onto others and meld them into my own. It allows me to feel someone's most inner, truest feelings." I glance back to Sin to find him watching me intently as if he can't fully mask his curiosity about my magic. Or maybe he is remembering the times he caught me reading him before and is uncomfortable with my knowledge of the raging emotional storm wreaking havoc inside him.

"Fascinating," Aldred breathes.

Dusaro clears his throat. "More like an abomination."

"The only abomination in this room is your manners." I turn my attention to Dusaro but swear I see a smirk on Sin's face in my periphery.

"You forget who you're talking to, bloodwitch."

"And you forget I could explode your heart without breaking a sweat, my Lord."

"Enough." Sin silences both of us with a heavy glare.

Finished with my food, I fold my arms across my chest and remain quiet for the remainder of the meeting, only nodding and answering curtly when directly spoken to. I learn Aldred is the commander of the kingdom's armies, which explains the heavy armor he was wearing the last time I saw him. The robed woman and the balding man—Anika and Cassius—are, in fact, part of the royal mage council.

I shake my head when Sin asks if I have any questions about the role I am to play tonight. Like the good little lady I am, I will strengthen Bennett's affection for me and exploit that vulnerability as a catalyst to search deeper into his collective, looking for any signs of distrust I may have missed. Anything that may suggest the Langstons are responsible for the weapons and medicines Legion seems to continue getting their hands on.

On that note, Sin dismisses the council, prompting them to quickly stand and file from the room. I push my chair in and turn to leave, not bothering to bid farewell to Sin whose smoldering gaze still watches me intently.

He clears his throat. "I'll send River to dress you this afternoon."

"I am perfectly capable of getting myself ready, Your Grace. There is no need to bother her."

The grin that appears on his face is utterly indecent, and his eyes slowly trace down the lines of my neck and linger on the ties of my bodice for a second too long. "I want you done up like you were last night."

And with that statement, whatever rebuttal I was about to make gets stuck in my throat as the weight of his words sinks in. So instead, I feign a smile and dip my knees in an exaggerated curtsy. "As you command it, my Blackheart."