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He can’t touch my memories of Linzi. He can’t destroy what she meant to me.
There’s a whole lot more he could destroy, though.
Lothar motions to Zaneta, and she compels me to pull on the gown. I can’t take any pleasure from the smoothness of the silk sliding over my skin. It only makes me think of the last time I wore dresses like this regularly—when I was pretending to be noble myself at the royal college.
When I had a countess-to-be’s ghost lodged in my head, guiding me through the treacherous noble world. When I had men with me who became allies and then friends and then so much more than I’d ever dared to hope for.
All of that is gone now, as lost as my sister’s ribbon. All thanks to Lothar and his sadistic schemes.
My head remains silent. Julita’s spirit leapt out of me last night to help defend me from her vicious brother.
She’ll have passed on into the embrace of her godlen now.
I have no idea whether the godlen who’s watched over me is paying any attention to my current predicament. It’d be awfully nice for Kosmel to get on with showing me an escape route if he has any mind to.
And my men… The four men who’ve become not just my lovers but a tightly knit family like I thought I’d never have again…
It’s been several hours since I last saw them. My last words to them, propelled from my throat by this scourge sorcerer’s magic, were mocking them for trusting me.
Gods only know what they believe happened. Whether they’ll see me as anything but an enemy even if they manage to find me.
Fresh tears prick behind my eyes. I will them back as I tighten the lacing on the dress.
Lothar would only laugh at my weeping. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, no matter how much anguish burns in my chest.
When my hands drop back to my sides, Lothar looks me over with one of his hard smirks. Revulsion crawls over my skin that has nothing to do with his uneven frame.
This man must be a psychopath above anything we’ve encountered before in our quest against scourge sorcerers. He’s built a country-wide conspiracy while pretending to serve the family he wants to see slaughtered.
A country-wide conspiracy that powers itself with the total mutilation of orphaned twelve-year-olds.
His “Order of the Wild” claims to be following the true desires of the gods. The people he’s egging on have insisted that their mad, violent practices will bring even the All-Giver back after centuries since the Great God abandoned our realms.
I’m not sure yet whether this man actually believes the stories he’s spread or whether it’s all a tactic for some other purpose.
The magic advisor motions to one of the soldiers who sorted through the dresses. The stranger steps closer to run a comb through my tangled hair. I can’t even wince, let alone recoil from his touch.
While I endure the primping, a slim man with a sallow face appears in the doorway. He can’t be more than a few years older than my twenty years, and his slight figure is nearly swallowed up by the layers of embroidered silk and velvet he’s dressed himself in. You’d think he was suited up for a ball.
He peers at me, his stance stiffening, and darts a glance toward Lothar. “I heard you brought one of the riven here.”
A mix of horror and revulsion colors his tone. The typical reaction of most people to my cursed magic, but it makes my stomach lurch all the same.
Lothar speaks with the same chilly authority as before. “You have nothing to worry about. She’s utterly under our control.”
There’s a gloating note to that last sentence. I’d grit my teeth if I could move them.
The foppish man shudders and flicks his hand down his front in a hasty gesture of the divinities, as if calling on the gods to protect him from me. “When you asked for the use of the estate, I didn’t realize?—”
Lothar’s tone hardens. “You committed yourself to our cause. Are you starting to doubt my judgment after all?”
Somehow the other man—the heir to this estate?—turns even paler. “No—no, of course not. All I can offer to the All-Giver and the Order of the Wild.”
He scurries off, maybe hoping that if I do end up exploding with evil magic, he’ll be far enough away to escape the onslaught.
Was he really master of this estate already? Or did he turn on his parents the way I’ve heard other noble heirs did with the Order’s backing?
When the man with the comb steps away from me, Lothar glances over at a second duo of sorcerer and shrouded accomplice waiting at the other side of the room. The sorcerer is leaning against the vanity, studying a gleaming metal object they retrieved from my pocket when they were checking me over for weapons.
