Page 57 of The Fated and the Damned
The thought of that was too much to bear; if I focused on that now, I would crumble. András walked by my side in silence, covered in blood and still a little shaken, but otherwise in good health. He would be my rock in the coming days, while Margit and Eszter watched over Dante. I knew they would both guard and protect him with their lives, which wasn’t so comforting a thought, really. It seemed that no matter what we did, someone always got hurt.
My limits had been stretched. I was done with cultists. Done playing nice. Something in me had changed after connecting with Dante’s power this time. The beast inside me had swelled, like it had feasted so well its presence had increased, giving me more power.
Only the gods knew if that was good or bad. If it helped me destroy those sadist pricks, I was all for it.
Lord Sándor popped into view as we stormed into the hall. Dark bags swelled under his eyes and his light brown skin was flushed, his eyes murderous. I strode directly towards him, stepping over the bodies of the fallen, cocking my head. “The cultists?”
“All dead, bar a few. The others await questioning.” He shook his head. “Dante warned me this would happen. Even with Margit’s foresight, I had not imagined a bloodbath like this. My spies reported no movement from Sylvie’s ranks. I suspect they were discovered and killed. Which means—”
“There are traitors in our midst,” I finished, looking around at the witches and táltosok scattered around the room.
“Any one of them could have leaked information about the ball.” Farkas’s eyes narrowed. “I should have cancelled it when I had the chance.”
I placed a hand on his arm. “To hide behind our walls would reveal only weakness to our allies. Why should they entrust their soldiers unto us if we cannot prove our strength? We must prove how mighty Mistvellen can be. The covens and clans respect power, so show it to them. Use what happened tonight to your advantage.”
The lord of the keep looked at me with intrigue. “You mean to incense our allies.”
I shrugged. “You can paint a pretty picture with words like justice or honour, but there is nothing so motivating as the need for revenge. Witches and táltosok were murdered tonight. András was almost killed. Dante—”
At the mention of his son, Farkas tensed, his brows drawing together. “What happened to him?” He looked around the room and roared, “Where is my son?!”
Internally, I grimaced, wanting to flinch back from his wrath, but I held fast. “He’s gone where the living cannot tread. His body holds to Margit’s will, but his mind is beyond our reach. Our fate lies in your son now. All we can do is pray.”
“No.” Farkas’s eyes narrowed, the scar puckering on his cheek. “We can fight. We can prepare for our final stand. To enter these halls and shed blood in my castle is to suffer my wrath. I am tired of waiting for the pin to drop. It’s time we show Sylvie what we can do. When next we fight, it will be upon the fields she desecrated. It’s time to end this war.”
We piled the dead in a heap outside the city walls. There was no distinction between witch or táltos, nothing to identify coven or clan except for the regalia or colour of dress they wore. My hands closed to fists as the fire witches set the bodies ablaze, the sickly-sweet stench of human flesh soon rising on the breeze to where I looked down from the balcony’s edge.
The city gates were shut—had been shut since the last guest had entered before sundown, which meant the traitor, or group of traitors as was more likely, were still in the city. Possibly even in the castle, watching the chaos unfold and hiding secret smiles.
I looked to the skies, but even the moon and stars failed to shed light on the situation, hidden behind a veil of whisper-soft clouds. If only they whispered to me. Sighing, I turned on my heel, returning to the den of vipers and the captured cultists besides.
András, having taken it upon himself to be my bodyguard since the attack, shadowed my steps, silent and wraithlike. His anger radiated from him in waves. A smiling assassin, waiting for his mark. He was hungry for retribution—as was I, but András’s anger went deeper. A soldier who’d been bested by cheap parlour tricks like a hidden blade in a sleeve and a smile from a serpent’s mouth.
We walked past the nobles gathered in the hall, some shouting angrily at guards to be allowed out, others cowering in corners. Then there were those with the promise of death in their eyes. It was the latter that drew my gaze, for I recognised the look on their face. I’d seen it in my own reflection after Sylvie had played one of her cards.
The question was, which of these guests was responsible? Whoever they were, a sheep among wolves was a dangerous place to be. I almost laughed at the mockery of those sheep masks. If the cultists who’d attacked had been wearing them upon entry, we would have known straight away. Of course, it was never that simple, though I did have a lead on who to question first. Only witch magic could have gutted the flames lighting the great hall tonight, and I distinctly recalled the moment they all went out, quickly paving the way to senseless death.
I took a breath, forcing my anger to simmer down as we descended stair after stair, until András and I were deep in the bowels of the castle. It wouldn’t do to lose my head with the prisoners, but right now I wanted them to fucking burn for what they’d done.
András lay a hand on my arm. “Easy, princess. Ask questions and then deal with them as you will.” His lips tightened. “Don’t hold back.”
We stepped into the dungeons, finding four cultists lined up against the far wall, their hands bound by iron above them, their feet shackled to the stone floor. Their eyes seemed clear, unmuddied by the bloodmorphia that had likely left their veins by now. One of them had their lips sewn shut, and I had to wonder why the guards hadn’t checked beneath their masks before allowing them entry.
Sloppy. I would have Lukasz deal with them later. I stormed up to a woman, her lips twisting, causing the cracked and oozing wounds beneath the stitches to bleed. It never ceased to surprise me, how much hatred one could convey with just a look. It only made me madder.
My blood magic rose inside me, pooling at my palms and circling my arms—only this time, black writhed amongst it, fighting for space, surging forward eagerly. My eyes widened as I marvelled at the changed power. Reforged into something new. Whether that was from taking more from Dante or another unexpected development of using too much blood magic, I didn’t know, but I locked that thought away to analyse later.
The room darkened as I revelled in my power. The cultist flinched back and I smiled darkly, letting it flare brighter as it snaked towards her.
I closed my eyes, soaking in the feeling of pleasure as this newfound strength coursed through me. She should be afraid. I could be terrifying if I wanted. I could be everything that hid in the shadows in the darkest part of night.
“Kitarni.” András’s voice snapped me back to reality and I sucked in a breath, remembering where I was. His hand brushed mine hesitantly. “Kitarni,” he said once more, his voice low. “Your eyes. They’re black.”
I blinked, realising how my magic had stretched around the woman’s throat, forming a noose of sorts out of wispy black and red tendrils. With a jerk of my head, it dropped away. She seemed to choke, unable to gasp for air, her head drooping as far as the chains would allow.
The magic didn’t scare me, but the momentary lapses of time and judgement did. Dante’s magic was precious, but combined with the beast inside me, I was beginning to wonder what exactly was at work. Would the extra power eat away at me from the inside, stripping away who I was even faster? Perhaps the beast was enjoying the freedom to roam a little too much.
András’s brows creased, but I shook my head slightly. Now wasn’t the time to havethatdiscussion. “Let’s get this over with.”
