Falion’s smile is a knife edge as he puts one foot on the step that leads to the bier.
But he doesn’t extinguish the last torch.
No, he’s counting on my fear to force me to make a preemptive strike—one he’s ready for.
This time, it’s my turn to smile back. “When your kind walked the world,” I whisper, “my kind learned not to fear the darkness.”
And then I Summon the last torch into my hand, close my eyes in preparation, and extinguish the flame with a single breath.
We’re plunged into utter darkness.
I hear his sharp inhale before I throw the torch behind him and move.
I had a moment to prepare for this. I don’t know if his head turns to track the sudden clatter the torch makes as it lands, but I’m crouching low, moving like liquid night in the sudden darkness.
I don’t have to move far. I just have to wait.
I slow my breath, my heartbeat. I let my body sink into stillness as I listen.
He’s good. He’s frozen in place too, waiting for me to make my move. I don’t know if he can Sift in this moment. Zemira needs some hint of a shadow to do it, but Falion’s already proven he’s well beyond her capabilities.
Mistmark stirs again, his breath loud in the silence of the tomb.
And I get an idea.
I reach out for his boot, trying to imagine it. I need to lock on to it first, before I can Summon it, and it’s ridiculously hard to do when I can’t see it.
But then I sense it quiver, and it tugs free of his foot, rattling across the floor toward me. Noisy enough to draw his attention.
Falion makes his move. But it’s not the one I imagined.
Instead, his skin suddenly lights up, illuminated from within just as I lunge toward him.
“Clever,” he mocks as the boot thumps into his back.
Because he’s already turning to counter my strike, the light from his skin searing my vision.
It’s over in an instant.
I can’t see him—he seems a blur of light—and I miscalculate the blow. Then there’s a hand locking around my wrist, spinning me off balance as a strong arm curls around my throat from behind and draws me back into a fatal embrace.
“But not clever enough,” he whispers as his knife rises to strike—
“Don’t. Kill. Her.”
Both of us freeze as Mistmark sits up on the bier, sucking in a sharp gasp of breath.
Falion has me against his chest, his arm around my throat and the tip of his knife resting against my carotid. A tremor runs through him. He wants to finish this. He wants to end me. But to do so means going against what his lord and master has commanded.
The breath bursts out of me, and I see stars.
He’s gripping me so tight, but it’s relief that nearly sends me to my knees.
Two minutes ago, I never wanted to see Mistmark again. Right now, he’s my hope and salvation in one.
I nearly died.
Mistmark snaps his fingers, and suddenly all the torches burst alight. He sags back on one hand as if the poison still has its hold on him, and his lips are shockingly blue. “Don’t kill her.”
Falion releases a breath. “She’s going to ruin you. Let me end this foolishness before she makes a mockery of you again—”
“If you kill her,” Mistmark says, “then you’ll kill me.”
“What?” The word bursts out of me. Suddenly, the knife at my throat is the least of my worries.
“What?” Falion sounds just as surprised.
Mistmark slowly pushes to his feet, his gaze sliding over me. The flickering light from the torch gilds his olive skin, but it’s the look in his eyes that incinerates me. “I should have known who you were the second you walked down that aisle. Nobody else has that particular swagger.”
“I’m touched that you would remember it.” Somehow the words sound cockier than I feel. My heart’s still skipping beats, strangely out of rhythm. “Now let’s go back to that interesting little statement. If you die, I die? What in the cauldron’s name do you mean by that?”
And Mistmark smiles at me, holding up his wrist where the bloodred ribbon is still tied in a neat little bow. “It’s a little something I insisted be added to the vows. Let’s just say that I didn’t trust Belladonna.”
“But I’m not your bride,” I blurt.
“You pledged your troth to the goddess, as did I.” There’s a dangerous, predatory look in his eyes. “You bound yourself by the sun and the moon and the stars. It doesn’t matter if you weren’t who you said you were. Your blood still lingered with mine. You gave your word. The goddess heard it all. Did you not think about what would happen if you mixed your blood with mine and gave me your oath?”
Right now, my blood is draining out of all my extremities. No. No. I did not. “That scheming little bitch.” I know exactly who has to pay for this. Who trapped me. She knew. Zemira knew.
Maybe you’ll thank me some day….
I am going to wring her bloody neck.
“Like it or not, Soraya, you are now my wife. It doesn’t matter what name you used, or what face you wore. Your blood. Your pledge. Your oath. And now you’re mine.” Mistmark’s smile holds a thousand dangerous edges. “But the funniest thing about this entire situation is that you can’t kill me. You don’t dare let me die. ’Til we meet the endless night, my love… you are bound to me, body and soul.” His gaze lifts to a point over my shoulder. “Now let her go.”
“Fuck,” Falion grates out as he shoves me forward.
I don’t think we’ve ever agreed on anything before. “Fuck.”
But then his face tightens. “Hang on a minute…. If you’re here… then where in the blighted lands is your sister?”
Ooops.
23
Zemira
There’s one thing the best thieves have in common: Patience.
Pulling off a heist like this
