"Alright, you can do this," Venic whispered, his breath clouding in the frigid night air. "Just like she would. You can do this."

  The first kill had been easy. An accident.

  He hadn't planned it—just a stroke of luck. A soldier had wandered into the woods alone, and Venic, crouched in the brush, had done what needed to be done. A quick movement. A silent death. The men in the camp must have assumed it was the work of some passing bandit. For now.

  But that wouldn't last.

  Venic scanned the camp. A clearing by the road. A handful of men clustered around the fire, talking lazily, the warmth making them careless. A sentry was posted, but the flickering light left him half-blind to the darkness. They weren’t expecting a threat from within.

  He just had to work up the courage to—

  Wait.

  Maybe he didn’t have to sneak in at all.

  Venic’s fingers trembled as he unfastened his cloak, stripping down to his smallclothes.

  It was bloody cold.

  Suppressing a shiver, he forced himself forward, grumbling under his breath like a man stumbling from his tent to relieve himself.

  A pair of eyes flicked to him. Venic let out an exaggerated yawn, stretching as though half-asleep. Campfires blinded you to the dark. If they saw his silhouette, they’d assume he was one of their own.

  He stole a glance at Valerlanta.

  She lay curled in a tight ball, her body unnervingly still.

  A large part of him ached to run to her. A smaller part was glad she wasn’t awake to see him practicing deception while half-naked.

  Venic picked a spot beside one of the sleeping men and let himself drop down with a satisfied grunt.

  Then he waited.

  No one by the campfire stirred.

  A burst of laughter broke the silence, and only then did Venic let himself relax.

  'Now.'

  Rolling onto his side, he pulled out his knife, careful to keep his breath steady. One hand over the man’s mouth. The other sinking the blade in deep. The soldier had been so still, so unaware, that Venic had time to aim precisely. He died quick.

  Venic rolled onto his back, heart hammering.

  He forced himself to wait, counting the seconds. Then, with a muttered curse—just loud enough for the men at the fire to hear—he pushed himself up and stumbled toward the woods.

  Laughter followed him. Exactly what he needed.

  By the time he was clothed and shivering again, the watch had changed shifts. No one would notice if he returned or not.

  The body was found at dawn, and the camp was put on edge. Their eyes flickered to the tied-up thief, then to the forest... then finally to each other.

  Jerstain caught Valerlanta watching one of the bodies being dragged away. He sneered and Venic was just close enough to hear him say, "Do not look hopeful. It is too late. It won't be long now before we stand before the king."

  Valerlanta smiled. "Will there be any of you left by then?"

  The response came swiftly—boots slamming into her ribs, a flurry of kicks that left her curled in the dirt.

  Venic shook with rage, his fingers tightening around his blade.

  "Just wait," Jerstain spat. "I will watch you die."

  With her back to him, Venic couldn't see Valerlanta’s face, but he saw her fingers creeping toward a sharp sliver of shale.

  'There’s the girl I know.' A slow grin curled his lips.

  As night fell, the guards thickened around the camp. Four patrolled Valerlanta regularly. More stalked the perimeter.

  The men who were awake jeered at her, kicked dirt in her face, threw water, spat.

  Just keep sawing. Venic mentally urged her. You can do this.

  And while she worked, so did he.

  Dawn.

  Despite their precautions, another body was found.

  Venic’s stupid trick had worked a second time.

  "He is dead! Falan is dead!" a terrified voice shrieked. "Dead!"

  Panic rippled outward.

  "She did it!" someone shrieked. "It must have been—"

  "She was tied up all night!"

  "Then one of us—"

  "Kill the witch!"

  A single push became many.

  A shout became a roar.

  The camp exploded.

  Jerstain and his commanders fought to regain control, but it was too late.

  Liquor, fear, and exhaustion had proven to be the deadliest poisons.

  And madness? Madness was infectious. Their leader had long since drowned in it and infected them all. All Venic did was coax the flame.

  As the shouting turned to fists and steel, Jerstain only sneered. He shook his head, looked down his nose at the chaos—then turned his back on them.

  Venic’s stomach lurched.

  Jerstain strode toward Valerlanta, seized her ropes, and yanked her up with a sharp pull.

  Venic was moving before he could think.

  The commander leaned in close, saying something Venic couldn’t hear over the fight—the roar of voices, the snap of branches beneath his own feet.

  Then—the ropes fell.

  Then—the rock flashed upward.

  A sharp arc across Jerstain’s face.

  He screamed. She ran.

  Venic cursed. 'Wrong direction.'

  A soldier dove for her—but she slipped in the mud.

  The man flew over her, landing hard. Valerlanta kept running.

  She was just breaking into the treeline when a heavy weight slammed into her from behind, driving her to the forest floor.

  Jerstain.

  He wrenched her arms back—hard.

  Magic flared at her fingertips. A small burst of sparks bit into his clothes.

  Jerstain reeled back, shrieking.

  Venic was there. Fingers tangled in Jerstain’s hair, holding him in place as the blade drove deep.

  Jerstain choked, shuddered.

  “You deserve so much worse,” Venic hissed, ripping the sword free. He kicked the commander off Valerlanta.

  The bastard looked up at them—eyes wild, unfocused.

  Valerlanta pounced.

  Her fingers found the knife at his belt, and before he could react, she drove it down.

  Then again.

  And again.

  “Valerlanta.”

  She didn’t stop. Her face was wild, desperate—as if slashing at him was the only way to cut through the terror still clinging to her.

  Gently, Venic touched her arm.

  “Val.”

  The knife fell from her hands.

  She sucked in sharp, shaking breaths. When Valerlanta finally looked at him, her skin was smeared with blood—fresh and dried—mud streaking her face, one eye nearly swollen shut. But her gaze honed in on him, sharp and assessing.

  Venic braced himself for whatever cutting remark she’d throw his way.

  Instead—

  “That’s my cloak.”

  Venic let out a half-breath, half-laugh.

  “Someone had to return it to you,” he murmured, keeping his tone light, though the weight of guilt sat heavier than any sword.

  She opened her mouth to reply—but the sound of voices cut her off. Their pursuers were closing in.

  Venic didn’t hesitate. “We have to go. You can yell at me—or kill me—later.”

  Before she could argue, he hauled her up, throwing her arm over his shoulder. She winced, but he didn’t slow, half-dragging her through the underbrush.

  Branches clawed at them as they crashed through the forest. Venic tried to shield her, but her breaths were coming fast and ragged. Every step was a battle.

  They broke free of the trees, stumbling into an open field. A weathered watermill loomed ahead, its wooden frame leaning with age. Beyond it, patchwork farms stretched across the hills.

  Venic glanced back.

  Dark shapes spilled from the forest. Their pursuers.

  Valerlanta saw them too. “What’s the plan?” she asked, eyeing the open space warily.

  “You think I came here without one?” he shot back.

  They sprinted into the mill, a creaking relic of wood and rusted iron. Venic barricaded the door with a stack of crates.

  Valerlanta lifted a brow, voice faint with exhaustion. “Ah. I see. The plan is to trap us inside?”

  Venic ignored her.

  Instead, he slashed open a sack of flour.

  A white cloud billowed out, swirling thick in the air.

  Venic ripped open another. And another.

  The air grew heavy—stifling with dust. He coughed, eyes watering.

  “Where I come from,” he said, “mills like this sometimes explode if the flour’s thick enough in the air, and there’s a spark.”

  Her eyes went wide. “You’re going to blow up the mill. The mill we are currently inside?”

  The pounding at the door grew louder.

  Venic grabbed her arm and yanked her toward the narrow gap in the floor, where water rushed below.

  “No, you are.”

  She blinked at him. Then at the dust choking the air.

  The door splintered.

  Venic tackled her.

  Above them—

  A flicker of flame.

  They plunged into the water.

  The explosion ignited behind them, a roaring inferno. Fire and air rushed down, the heat searing their backs as the current dragged them away.