Page 143 of The Reaping Rose

“I’m human.”

“Maybe you are… in part.” He glances at Callum. “But he is not. And neither is your female friend.”

“Stay away from her,” Callum threatens as the overlord inches closer to Perame.

“As I said, I do not wish to hurt anyone. So long as you cooperate, there will be no need. There are ways we can help each other willingly.”

“Why would you want our help?” Callum asks. “Your entire campaign is based on discrediting the queen because of her throne’s interest in the Fae.”

“It is not her interest that is a problem, but her cooperation. The queen doesn’t just wish to open the doorway to the Fae again; she wants to work with them, even after all they’ve done. She believes they can help. Maybe they will at first, but we all know how Fae operate. Selfish, immortal creatures who only look out for themselves. They cannot be trusted with the magic that flows in their veins. Especially not here.”

“But you can? The magic you’re wielding is stolen. You bend it to your will just like you accuse them of doing.” Callum’s teeth grit.

“Do not compare me to those beings.” His teeth clench. “I’ve seen what magic does. What madness it creates in those who are immortal—who believe that a long life leaves them above reproach. The things they did when they came here last… They lack control.”

“So you’ll fix that by controlling them. By controlling us,” I guess. “And you’ll use Esen to do it.”

Esen glances my way, and I seize the opportunity to speak to her directly. “Do you even know what your power is doing to your home? What he’s making you do? There is not enough magic in this realm. Each time you let the void slip out, it pacifies that small bit even more. The forests, the realm, they are dying because of what he’s forcing you to do for him. There is no rot. No plague. The realm might have been struggling from storms or something else before your birth, but what happens now is the void spreading, muting what little magic remains in the Mortal Realm.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.” I glance at the rotted roots at my feet. “Every place you visit is green when you arrive, yes? Dead when you leave? It’s not your fault. It’s his. If you continue using the void here, the realm cannot survive it.”

“Don’t listen to these lies.” The overlord steps forward, and Esen glances away.

“You know it’s true.”

“I also know that with more magic we could replenish what is lost,” he sneers. “We can regrow what has died and turn the people against the queen. We just need to show them we can heal what is damaged without the Fae wandering freely. With more magic⁠—”

I can’t help but laugh, cutting him off. “You want our magic because you think we can heal your realm with it? You have no idea how wrong you are.”

Gods, if only he saw our home.

Esen’s gaze drops to the ground, and I wonder if she’s considering what we told her at the parade about how our own realm suffers. How we cannot fix what has drained there with the state it is in.

“Right now, all I need is you.” Overlord Farseth circles the room, pausing at a cabinet on the far side of the room as Perame starts to wake.

“Perame, we’re here,” I call out to her when she wiggles her fingers.

Her purple eyes blink open. Her wrists and ankles rub against the restraints. A band of iron wraps her neck, waist, arms, and legs, pinning her body to the table.

“You can give your magic willingly, or I will take it from you. It’s stronger if you wield it, which will bode better for my cause, but your lack of willingness will not stop me from using it either way.” Overlord Farseth turns to Perame with a dagger in his hand.

Runes glint on the blade in the torchlight.

Magic has Perame’s eyes glowing, and the overlord frowns. Her magic is not offensive, but he doesn’t know that, so it stops him in place.

“Esen.” Her name is a sharp command, and the light in Perame’s eyes dims a moment later as the void sweeps the room with a crackle that has the vines retreating into the walls of the dungeon.

“What is that?” My voice is low as I shift toward Callum, eyeing the dagger.

The blade in the overlord’s hand glows with red marks I haven’t seen since the Staff of Sarrow.

“A bleeding blade.” Callum’s fingers clench the bars. “It carves magic from being. Centuries ago, there were rumors that humans used them against the Fae who came here to steal pieces of what they wielded. The queen at the time promised they were all destroyed in return for our help.”

“The queen lied, as they all do.” Overlord Farseth holds the blade up, and it shimmers. “I warned you this would be easier if you handed your magic over willingly. But even if you don’t, this tool will gather it either way. I hear stripping magic from one’s blood isn’t pleasant. We’ll see how cooperative you become as you watch your friend suffer.”

He’s going to carve Perame’s magic out of her if we don’t willingly help. But we can’t hand it over. We can’t give it to this madman.