A healer had already arrived and was holding one hand over the assessor’s neck. He pushed her away.
“Without proper healing, it will scar,” she said.
“Silence,” the assessor hissed.
The room was quiet but for Ovida’s sobs as the assessor stood once more.
“Oh, how the corrupt have been allowed to flourish in this village,” the assessor said. “We must keep a closer eye on the peasants. Take the corrupt to the city,” he ordered. Ardaric struggled, but he was no match for the guard, who cuffed him about the head. He reached for his mother, arms wild, his mouth open in a silent scream.
“Please don’t take him. Please. Burn me instead. Please! My baby!”
The assessor ignored her, stalking toward the door. Ovida’s eyes met mine, and then she gazed past me to my mother.
“You’re a seer! How could you not see this?”
The guard swung his sword.
I cried out. My father’s hand clamped over my eyes. Ovida’s scream cut off with a thud.
I shuddered. A cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck, and the assessor’s face swam in front of my eyes. The High Priestess was still chanting, so I bowed my head in an attempt to pull myself together.
Had my mother allowed that family to die so I would be forever haunted by the knowledge of what would happen if I were caught? So I would stifle the flame of my magic until the day it burst free, too strong for me to control without training?
She couldn’t have done something so evil. Surely…
Yet this was the same woman who had stolen me from my real family. And never returned me. I had parents out there somewhere who had mourned me. Who had likely assumed I was dead.
I felt eyes on me and glanced over my shoulder. A woman with pale blond hair was staring at me, her gray eyes burning into mine. I turned around and leaned close to Auria.
“Who is that woman behind me? The one who looks like she wants to slit my throat.”
Auria turned. “Oh, that’s Wila,” she whispered. “Don’t worry about her. She hates everyone.”
The High Priestess flicked us a glance, and I bowed my head. When I was sure she was no longer looking, I watched the assessor.
The child-killer.
I mouthed the prayers and made my own vow.
Before I left this castle—whether it was out the front gates, through the tunnel in the dungeon, or through that same tunnel to the stake—the king’s assessor would be dead.
Finally, we were ready. Time and time again, spies had been sent into Sabium’s castle. And always, he had found them, killing them in new and inventive ways.
So now, it was my turn. Our new plan was bold—bordering on reckless. But Sabium had taken so much from us, our revenge was well overdue.
I pulled on my boots. We were in some no-name inn, and I’d had little sleep on the sagging mattress the night before. I would have preferred sleeping on the ground, but my men had once again demanded better food.
“You think he’ll issue the invite?” Rythos asked.
Sabium wouldn’t be able to help himself. “Oh yes. If I act suitably chastened and desperate for an alliance, he’ll invite me into the castle.”
“Hunting with him? How will you refrain from killing him?” Marth muttered.
“Simple. Lorian kills him, and we never get into that castle.” Galon glowered at Marth, then turned the same look on me. “This is risky, and you know it.”
“It’s the only option. I’ll meet him to hunt a few beasts, let him best me with his magicked arrows, and tell him I’ve rethought Gromalia’s insistence on staying out of his little issue with the fae.”
As far as the king was concerned, I’d taken the first step, tucking my tail between my legs and agreeing to meet in his kingdom. Sabium’s hunting cabin was close to the town where I had forced Prisca to use her magic.
Amber eyes flashed in front of my face, filled with accusation. I shoved the image away and reached for my bow.
The thought of butchering an animal without the need to eat it was distasteful.
But not as distasteful as the thought of a conversation with Sabium. Of standing that close to him and not ripping out his throat.
“You kill him, and we have no way to find—”
“I know. I won’t kill him. Have our friends arrived?”
“See for yourself.”
Pushing the curtain aside, I looked down into the courtyard, where several men waited, all dressed in dark green overcoats.
“Good.” I glanced at Marth, who was waiting by the door, dressed in the same color. He was the only one of us the king would not be looking for. He nodded to me, and I slung my bow over my shoulder, taking the quiver Galon handed me.