Page 111 of Daughter of No Worlds

Nura had been standing perfectly still this entire time, hands clasped behind her back. But at this, her head turned to me.

Zeryth chuckled. “My, that’s sweet,” he crooned, but I was listening only to the sound of the pen against the paper.

I thought back to the conversation we had with Willa when I first arrived at Max’s home — the veiled threat of consequence, implying that he stood on thin ice.

“And,” I added, “he will be pardoned for anything he did in the past. A fresh record.”

“A fresh record,” Zeryth echoed, the smirk twisting his words. “Wouldn’t we all like one of those.”

Still, he wrote it down.

And then we were silent for several long seconds, the tick of the clock echoing through the enormous room.

I flicked my gaze to Zeryth, who had leaned back in his chair, looking at me with pleasant patience. “Is that all?”

The papers were spread out in front of him. Three inky pages detailing everything that I have ever wanted. Three pages that guaranteed the safety of my friends and a chance — at least achance— at a better life for thousands of people.

And three pages that sold me back into slavery.

“Those are my terms,” I replied.

Zeryth greeted my response with an easy smile, twirling the pen between his fingers. “Excellent. Ours are simple. You will take on the weapon immediately. And once you return from your initial training in Threll, you will remain in service to the Orders for the duration of the war. Once we no longer need it and you have fulfilled your own mission, the weapon will be removed from you, and you will be free.”

My brow furrowed. “Too vague. Wars can last forever.”

The one that tore my own people apart lasted for nearly one hundred years. I wasn’t about to sign myself into indefinite servitude.

“We have every intention of ending this one quickly. That’s why we’re doing this.”

“If only our intentions mattered.”

Zeryth laughed. “Fair. Fine.” He pondered for a moment, then offered, “Seven years.”

“Four.”

“After all this—” He gestured to the pages on the desk, “You surely understand that we have to be certain that we get what we need. We’re making a significant investment in you. Especially when you consider…” He tapped Max’s name in the contract. “You’re forcing us to give up our backup plan.”

I tried not to show the surge of anger that twisted in me at that. Fine. If that was how it was going to be. When I blinked, I heard Esmaris's voice so clearly:You are worth one thousand gold.

“I have one more to add,” I said, “and then I will give you an answer.”

Zeryth raised his eyebrows at me expectantly.

“My terms will be fulfilled even if I’m dead.”

I expected some kind of quip, some snarky response. But he only nodded and pressed the pen to the page.

“Five years,” I said, when he was done. “Fiveoruntil the end of the war, or until the Orders choose to release me. Whatever one is first.”

Nura turned to us. She and Zeryth looked at each other, as if having a silent conversation.

“Fine,” Zeryth said, at last. And his hands looped over the parchment in smooth, sweeping movements. Then he stacked the three pages neatly together and drew a Stratagram over the top sheet, striking an elegant circle of ink over our contract.

“I take it,” he said, “that you’ve never done this before.”

He reached for the dagger and extended his forearm over the desk. With one strike, he drew blade across his skin, opening a trail of red that spilled over the Stratagram.

“Your turn.” He flipped the dagger in his hands, extending the handle to me. The blade smeared blood all over his fingers. “We should only need a little—”

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