Page 2 of The Faceless Mage

“The truth,” the older voice replied coldly. “I can always ensure that everyone knows the truth.”

“And who suffers more from that? Me? Or you?”

The words paused.

Then the first voice spoke again, his tone soft and menacing. “Perhapsyoumay think the consequences worthwhile, but willshe? If you defy me, I will be forced to explain exactly who bears the blame for her suffering.”

Bitter laughter. “Yes, let us speak of blame. Let us hear how you plan to lay this abomination at my door.”

“How many times must I repeat myself? You know why this is necessary!”

“I know you’re obsessed.”

“Do as I command, or you will both suffer the consequences,” the older voice snarled. “Remember that her life and future is in your hands.”

He tried to turn. Tried to see who spoke. Tried to cry out.

He could not.

He could only wait for orders.

Could only follow his captor as they left the mysterious underground room and emerged into the light of a day without end.

That day and the next and the next. He could only wait, while horror and hatred gathered within him.

Wait, while his hands and his gifts were turned to the service of another. Wait, while life became an endless moment of threats and terror and blood, only some of it his own.

Wait, not for hope, but for vengeance.

In the end, that was the only thing left to him. His life, his breath, his reason for being. He would wait, and he would have his revenge.

Everyone made mistakes eventually.

Chapter 1

“Iwon’t do it.”

Leisa sank every bit of her considerable stubbornness into that refusal, but it made no difference.

The king didn’t even turn from the window, only shrugged beneath the concealing folds of his shabby, ill-fitting robe. “You will.”

It wasn’t the first time they’d disagreed, but it was the first time their argument had carried quite so much weight. At the conviction in his voice, Leisa’s grip on the dagger at her waist grew tighter, and the leather-bound hilt grew slick with sweat beneath her palm. Normally, she found the presence of her favorite weapon reassuring, but a dagger was useless in a battle like this one.

King Soren of Farhall had saved her life, so she couldn’t exactly stab him for making an absurd request. She just had to make him see that this was the worst idea he’d ever had.

“Your Majesty, you know I’m committed to protecting Her Highness, but what you’re asking isn’t a job for a bodyguard.”

He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow, so she rolled her eyes. As respectfully as possible.

“Yes, I know your daughter well, but I wasn’t born to this life. You need one of her ladies. Someone who understands politics and diplomacy. That person? It’snotme.”

The king turned away from the window to face her fully. “And yet, none of them can do what you can do.”

Leisa winced, both inside and out. By unspoken agreement, they never, ever mentioned her magic, even though it was probably the real reason she’d come to live in the palace in the first place.

No one knew where she was from. She had only vague memories of arriving in Farhall with her parents when she was about five. Not old enough to remember their journey, but old enough to recall the feelings of grief and terror and isolation when her parents disappeared one night, leaving her cold and alone with only a dagger for protection. More than old enough for the wound of their loss to become a scar—from eighteen years of wondering whether they’d left on purpose. Whether they’d chosen to abandon their daughter with strangers rather than raise her themselves.

Leisa was far from the only orphan in the capital city of Arandar, but in her case, King Soren had made the inexplicable decision to take her in. She’d grown up in the well-worn stone halls of the royal palace, as comfortable in the throne room as she was in the stables.

---