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With the shadow of doubt still in his eyes, I pushed him towards the exit.

The flap fell back with a dull thud, leaving the place in crimson-stained darkness. I crouched beside Niersen. I could kill him, but did he deserve to find peace in death?

My thoughts drifted to Siras. Both men wronged me. Both caused pain and threatened the kingdom, but Siras wanted to save his land while Niersen craved power for power’s sake. Just like Ernesto Tivala, Niersen had selfish goals, and his actions were unforgivable.

In fact, they deserved each other.

‘I won’t kill you,’ I breathed, reaching for the augurec collar. It dropped from his neck with a sickening, wet thud.

I slammed my hand against Niersen’s chest and tendrils of my magic, now a deep, midnight emerald, spread over his glistening muscles.

First, I twisted the root of his magic. His glee at others’ fear became a hunger that could never be sated. It wasn’t enough. My power unfurled, eager and obedient when not restrained. A single thought was enough for it to transform everything it touched, hardening the muscles into a grotesque armour.

I swallowed hard, turning my fear into purpose. I could control it. I could create a weapon without losing myself to the power inside me, thrumming with potential.

Niersen’s fingers elongated; sharp talons grew where his manicured nails once were. His body contorted, bones snapping and reshaping until he resembled a canine even Veles would shy away from. The sharp canines were last, dripping with poisonous saliva.

‘That’s enough,’ I muttered through clenched teeth, drawing back the power as it reached for its next victim. ‘That’s enough!’

Slowly, it settled, and I looked down.

Niersen lay at my feet, a grotesque creature born of fear and pain.

His gaze held mine with unwavering attention, his rotten soul attuned to my power.

‘Go to Tivalaran, find Ernesto Tivala and torment him. He will not rest, not sleep. Watch him, follow him, drive him to madness, and wait for me. No one else is to be touched. Ernesto Tivala is your only target.’ I reinforced my order with a blast of power that made him whimper.

I grimaced and opened the flap of the tent.

‘Go.’

Then I sat and waited for Siras.

I didn’t have to wait long. Half an hour later, the heavy thunder of Tangrian horses announced the arrival of the Prefect and his men. I’d left the flap open, giving me a clear view of Siras shouting orders while he scrutinised the Light and Dark Fae corpses scattered like broken toys.

His fists clenched, and he stood completely still, eyes closed, face turned to the sky. Was he praying? The thought was so foreign, yet I couldn’t find any other explanation. When he opened his eyes, his face was as still as stone.

He turned towards the tent, and our gazes met.

His lips tightened, and he scanned the camp as if expecting a trap. I didn’t move. The shock on his face turned to confusion before he stormed in my direction, reaching for his dagger.

‘Roksana!’ he roared, pressing the tip of his dagger against my neck. ‘What the fuck happened here? Why are you sitting in a blood-soaked tent? Where’s Niersen?’

I stood up. The tip of the dagger slid over the skin covering my jugular as Siras’ hand trembled.

‘My friends came to visit. Blade killed the Herald, and I’m sitting here, waiting for you,’ I answered. ‘Do you have any more questions?’

‘Fuck!’ He swung the dagger, hammering it into the ground before taking in Irsha’s handiwork. ‘Are you injured?’

It was my turn to be surprised. Why did he care?

‘No.’

‘Then why didn’t you escape? It was the perfect opportunity while I chased those ghosts.’ He no longer sounded angry. His head dipped as he pinched his nose, his body sagging as if someone had cut the strings that kept him going. ‘Aren’t you afraid of death? I still have my men. I could kill you.’

‘You could, but you won’t. You need me, Siras, and I need you to take me to the Hierophant,’ I said.

Suspicion tightened his expression as he towered over me.