Page 58 of The Fated and the Damned
The next cultist leered at us both, then laughed manically. Deranged and clearly damaged. I stepped towards him, watching his jerky movements.
“I won’t talk,” he said between his laughing fit, smiling with stained yellow teeth. “So many pretty dolls with their heads cracked open and their stomachs split like sacks of grain. Whatever will the witches do now, me wonders, when dark magic comes to steal their souls?”
“Gods,” I muttered to András. “She’s really done a number on them, hasn’t she?”
“No gods,” the man continued. “Only one goddess. Where she walks only dead things dwell. She is coming for you, little girl. Coming to drink your blood and take back what you took.”
Now there was an interesting thought. I wanted to point out that I couldn’t well take anything I was born with, but that argument was hardly worth the effort. Still, I hadn’t thought of it like that—of Sylvie wanting to reclaim whatever magic remained in her bloodline.
Even though generations had passed since Sylvie was burnt at the stake, my mother had been running from the cult before I was born. I’d never stopped to question why she would suddenly flee her own people. Perhaps there was more to it than simply protecting me. If what this pitiful creature said was true, then maybe she’d been running to save her own life too, refusing to end up as a blood bag for those sadists once she realised what they were after.
There was no way to know for sure, but I had to think they knew, somehow, that the power in her hadn’t been enough to resurrect Sylvie. That her child would be the key to bringing her back.
In a way, this nightmare was my fault. It was my magic that resurrected her.
I could choose to wallow in that fact, but what was the point? It was a sticky web with more players involved. Fate had Death mark me years ago, if only to serve her purposes, but that fickle creature must have known Sylvie would always come back. Fate had probably been counting on it. And though things hadn’t quite turned in her favour, I couldn’t discount her entirely. Not to mention Death’s hand in this.
The chained man looked at me, laughing and laughing. András’s lips curled and he punched him in the face, shaking his fist afterwards as if to remove the stain of that touch.
This maniac was fast getting on my nerves and it took all my willpower not to stab him. I put a hand on my hip, glaring. “Who is the cult working with?” The man bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and started laughing again. “For fuck’s sake.” I punched him myself, satisfied with the crunch of bone where my fist met his nose.
“Answer her,” András hissed. “We can do this all night. Nothing would make me happier than to watch you bleed.”
“Snakes, snakes, flee their nest, up into the castle crest.” The man giggled, pleased with his rhymes. “Spread their venom, let them loose. To kill the blood girl and tie the noose.”
“What fine riddles you spin,” I said calmly, crouching before him, drawing my blade slowly. It glinted in the firelight of the sconces. “Tell me, snake, how well can you hiss without a forked tongue?”
He shuffled, shaking his wrists against the chains, before leaning forward and spitting on my face. He broke into more deranged laughter. András’s sword was drawn in an instant, but I put my hand out and smiled, wiping the goop from my face. “I don’t like it when pests get into my castle. Would you like to know what I do with them?” I smiled sweetly as I ran a finger down my blade, then let him see the anger flashing in my eyes. “I cut off their heads.”
His eyes bore into my skull as I stood and slashed my hand, my new power effortlessly dismembering his cackling head from his neck. The woman beside him shrieked and the others had the good sense to look frightened—truly frightened at my display of power.
I’d gauge they had seen blood magic before, judging by the terror that had entered their eyes when they’d first seen my red magic. It seemed Sylvie’s cultists weren’t just loyal to her. They were afraid of her, of all the things she could do with the blood magic in her veins.
I turned to the woman beside him. “Who is Sylvie working with? Tell me and I’ll spare you this fate.”
She shivered as I stepped closer, looming over her menacingly. I let her see the conviction in my eyes, for I would not hesitate to end her in an instant. The old Kitarni would never have been so ruthless, but Sylvie had made me into a savage thing. I would not bow, I would not bend, and I certainly wouldn’t allow her to break me.
“The Dark Queen has …” The woman swallowed, looking at András for help, as if he’d fucking save her. It was almost laughable. “The Dark Queen has spies among the witches. They set this up. It was all to take out the key players.”
Sure, now tell me something I didn’t know.I toyed with the end of my blade, picking beneath my blood-crusted nails while I waited. The silence stretched and I knew the cultists were growing more panicked with every passing second.
“I know what they planned,” I said after making the woman stew for a bit. “I know witches were involved. Give me a name or I’ll see to it Death himself arranges a special welcome when you arrive in his hell.”
“No,” she gasped, her brown eyes wide with terror. I knew that would get a reaction, even if it was a lie. “No, wait, I …” She banged her head back against the wall in frustration. “If I tell you, she’ll kill me.”
“If you don’t, you’ll meet your maker much sooner and, unlike your friend here, I won’t make it quick.”
She looked between András and me and, finally appearing to accept defeat, slumped against the wall. “It was the water coven. The High Witch Viktória planned everything. It was the perfect opportunity to cause discord from within.” She licked her lips. “The water witches were supposed to give us cover to escape, only …”
My eyes narrowed. “Only what?”
“After they doused the fire witches’ light, they turned on us instead, killing any they could. In the chaos from the crowd, they were unsuccessful in completing their task.”
“Gee, you think?” I scraped a hand through my hair, sighing. Betrayals within betrayals. What I didn’t understand was how that would benefit the water witch in the slightest. “So Viktória used the cult to assassinate the lord and lady in waiting of Mistvellen, as well as several of the realm’s key players. And then murder the murderers?”
A smart plan, if poorly executed. Removing the cultists from the equation—and the ability for their tongues to wag—meant no blame would fall on the witches, giving them a clean getaway. My only question was …
“Why?” András asked before I could. He cocked his blond head, his lips pursed. “Budapest is a stronghold for the water coven. They are well-equipped to deal with the threat of the cult. Assassinating you and Dante is a bold move, and highly risky. What reason do they have to turn on their kith?”
