Page 67 of The Faceless Mage

You are a fool.

Leisa gasped as his voice echoed in her mind. How could she hear him without the gem?

He said nothing more for a moment, tilting his head slightly as though searching her features. It was the first time, she realized, he’d seen her face unhooded.

She wondered what he thought of it. Then wondered why it mattered. Was this face really more hers than Evaraine’s had been? Than any other face she had worn?

I warned you that this day would come.

“I would change nothing,” she said, and marveled at how calm she sounded.

And yet you changed everything.

What did he mean? Leisa reached out for the link between them and felt the dark surge of his emotions. Not hatred, but something so deep and complex she couldn’t begin to give it a name. And yet, why should she care when she was about to die?

“Look, can you just stop being cryptic and get it over with?” she snapped, her fear erupting into anger. “Or are you always this chatty before you murder people?”

I am not here to kill you.

What? His words left her speechless and confused. Then why was he here at all?

I was commanded to return you to my master. He will deal with you himself. Or you will be executed later. Either way, my concern is only to deliver you to him.

No. Her heart raced and every muscle locked in place. Somehow, she knew this was worse than immediate execution. She could not go back there. She could never let Melger get his hands on her or her magic. For whatever reason, the thought of facing the king of Garimore was far more terrifying than facing death on the edge of the Raven’s blade.

“But”—she scrambled desperately for a way out—“now you know I’m not the princess. I was never the princess.”

That does not change my orders.

It was little consolation that she thought he felt the tiniest bit of regret.

On other occasions, my orders have been less than specific. But this time, the king was most careful. I cannot return without you. His compulsion will not allow it.

His hand was still wrapped around her neck, but his grip never tightened. Never threatened.

“Hang the compulsion!” she burst out. “Tell me whatyouwant! Tell me what you would do if you were free to choose! Would you serve him? Would you return me to face Melger’s idea of justice? Or is there some part of you—any part—that cares about what happens to me?”

His hand fell.

I told you many times what I am. That I can be no one’s ally. I am bound too tightly, and even if I were not, my only desire is to be avenged on those who enslaved me.

“Then why did you help me? Why did you make me feel safe? If you don’t care, why didn’t you betray me days ago?”

Those dark emotions surged towards her. Enveloped her mind and buffeted her with their power.

I must not care. I must never care. A thousand times, I have bled for this lesson and have excised all other hope or feeling from my life for the sake of what little is left of my soul. Why should I risk such pain for you?

If she had merely heard his words, she would have cringed away from the anger and the pain in them, but she felt the turmoil in his mind and knew that it was not that simple.

His very soul was broken and torn, unwilling to feel because all feelings could be used against him. And yet, his heart still beat somewhere under all the armor and compulsion and the foul magic that enslaved him. Perhaps he did feel something akin to pity, but could not afford to pity one he might be forced to kill.

She did not blame him. Could never blame him for this horror that was none of his making. But whatever he felt—or didn’t feel—wasn’t enough. For all practical purposes, she was nothing to him. Nothing to anyone. She had accomplished nothing meaningful in her life, and the one good thing she had thought to attempt was now in ruins.

Unless…

Unless she could escape him somehow.

Escape the implacable, unflinching assassin who had probably killed more mages than she had ever met. He outweighed her. Could outrun her, outfight her, and probably outwit her.

---