Chapter One

“I see you, songbird, even when no one else can.”

I stiffened, flitting my eyes around the dining hall of the Lazy Crane Inn, the only inn for a day’s travel in any direction. Invisible to all but me, The Course flowed smooth and even, its seering waters pale and sheer in the air. They ebbed and rose rhythmically, the various streams coiling together in unreadable possibilities.

I’d intentionally chosen a single-barrel table beneath the stairs leading up to the rented rooms for the view of the doors. From here, I watched several locals gathered around the bend in the bar, cheerfully conversing while smoking pipes and downing goblet after goblet of ale, and the handful of patrons dotting the tables in the hearth-warmed chamber, but no sign of lanky daemons in ashen cloaks.

Yet.

Frankly, I’d also chosen this seat for the shadowy cover distorting my face, as I couldn’t risk people taking notice of me here. The moment he discovered me missing, this inn would be at the top of his list to scout. The sooner I fled this in-between, the better my chances of making it out for good this time.

Damn that grain merchant.

Why couldn’t he have taken me further south? I gave him two gold crowns, and for what? One day’s travel, lodged between smelly sacks of barley and flax?

I lifted my chin and tried to quiet the nervous buzzing in my mind.

He’s not here. I’m free.

I might not have felt it yet, but I was free. Free from my Ex, free from that awful hovel, and free from my dull, lonely life in Brăno.

A barmaid tossed two more logs onto the hearth, causing the enchantment to flare and push a balmy breeze across the dining hall that lifted the loose ends of my lilac hair. The sweet smell of hay drifted from the floor, where it had been strewn to soak up the autumn tempest still pounding the shingled roof above.

Content in the nostalgic scent, I wiggled my toes in my heavy boots, wishing I could pull them off for the night. The spoon in my hand noisily scraped against wood. Absent-mindedly, I looked down to see that I’d eaten all but the dregs of my hot hen and dumplings.

Honestly, I can’t believe I used to swoon over such obvious drivel.

That bastard had never meant a word he courted me with. Even the sweet name he’d given me hadn’t been a sincere gesture. Songbirds were nothing more than prey to a daemon like him.

I tilted my bowl, gathering the last of the dried peppers floating in the now tepid cream broth for the last morsel. With a satisfied sigh, I decadently pulled the spoon through my sealed lips and licked it clean, then pushed the empty bowl to the edge of my table to be collected by one of the inn’s servers when they came around with their huge ale pitchers to refill goblets.

Not that I’d been able to afford an ale.

No, it had been risky enough to buy a hot meal, but after a full day of traveling in these dreadful storms, I’d needed the comfort.

I curled my fingers around the black tourmaline hanging from my neck. The crystal’s weight grounded me in the here and now, training my mind to the present—something I’d always struggled with, being a divination witch and all.

As a child, I’d often been found wandering days into the future, splashing in the invisible stream of The Course. I’d find any way to dodge chores and play in the possibilities; undefined jumbles of what tomorrow could hold.

How I ached for the days when the possibilities were filled with color and wonder and joy, before the waters had turned to mud.

Before I’d met Jirí and his sweet lies.

I cut off my bitter thoughts; they wouldn’t help me now. I needed to focus on more productive things, such as tallying what remained of my resources.

From my hidden savings, I’d managed passage to the Lazy Crane, a loaf of bread, and a knob of sheep’s milk cheese, though to call it pecoria would be an insult to the Caranian people of the north. The other contents of my sheepskin rucksack were just as modest: an extra overgown, two linen shifts, a handful of gem conduits, and my favorite hat.

Conduits amplified abilities, and some spells couldn’t be cast without specific ones.

Divination required far fewer gems—and sacred wood—than most witch designations, which meant my skills could bring in coin without relying on expensive, rare conduits. At least, they could when they functioned properly.

The sea will help, I reminded myself of why I’d chosen the port.

Damn Fate’s twisted sense of humor.

A witch like me should never have been born so far from the water. While there weren’t many books on diviners, from what I knew, being close to bodies of water helped our abilities, likely because Fate’s Course flowed from the waters of the Archípelago itself—the land of the Divine.

The more water around, the easier it was for me to see the flow of Fate’s design. If I were to stand near a stream or pond, the water would ease the drag on my aether, but not by much.

If all I’d been after was a large body of water, I could have gone to Lake Caranan. I knew my powers worked better in the City of Water, and it was nearly as large as Port Vulkhov. I could’ve easily disappeared within its complicated layout and swarms of travelers. My aunt certainly would’ve preferred I’d gone there, as it’s only a day’s ride north from her farm. Unfortunately for her, not only did the gambling city hold sour memories, but the sea to the west had always carried a siren’s tune for my heart.

A legendary sea powered by an ancient god, the Vulcănari was the only one of its kind in all of Ilyucaar. Every manner of adventure passed through its hundreds of ports, and Vulkhov was no exception.

Carried to my in-between by merchants and adventurers alike, the port’s tales of grand parties and exotic goods had enthralled me from a young age.

From the beginning, Jirí had noticed my love for lush textiles and fine wine. Claiming he’d originally hailed from Lake Caranan, he’d gifted me a sable cloak and elf-wine, murmuring sweet-nothings about moving me into a home in the City of Water, and I’d happily fallen into his clutch. All these years later and the only move we’d made had been to the north side of Brăno, into the hovel that often also housed a rotation of scummy gamblers down on their luck. He’d taken me away from my family with no prospects and no ring, and worse than that, I was still land-locked and growing poorer by the day.

I was so foolish.

The gifts and coin had dried up as quickly as his sweet words, but by then I was already trapped in the hovel and being put to work. Before I’d realized what was happening, I was defrauding bookies while concealing my powers from Drudoni casino runners.

Cheating in a mob-run casino never did sit right with me.

So, after five miserable years of surviving under Jirí’s control, I’d come up with a plan to escape—for good this time. I was going to vanish into the sprawling city of Port Vulkhov, and he’d never be able to drag me back again.

He’d never even have the chance.

Strom, my starling familiar, twittered agreeingly in my ear from within my fur-lined hood.

Wish I could afford a bed for the night.

Bam!

An autumn gust caught the door and dragged in the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. Umber waves flowed to his shoulders under a beaver fur hat, framing perfectly sculpted brows and cheekbones; finished deliciously with a trimmed beard and a stylishly curled, thick mustache. His hat matched the trim of his boots and that of a fine, dark cloak that stretched over his sturdy shoulders. The dark grey needlework along his hem was so fine, I nearly missed it in the dim lighting.

He looked like money, if you knew what to look for, anyway.

“Blazh! Good to see you up and about, good ser,” The man’s honey-smooth voice warmed the cozy tavern as the corner of his mouth turned up, a smirk beneath the honorific.

“Thought that was your carriage down the lane I spied, Lord Yavor. Aye, I’m happy to no longer be bed ridden. Kind of you to remember. How’s yer father? I haven’t seen the old man in close to five years no, come to think of it,” the old keep said cheerily, like he was more than happy it had been so.

“I try to make sure the stubborn man doesn’t travel so far from home anymore. He’s well, thank you for inquiring. Could’ve done with a bit more summer, I think, but doing well just the same. I’m headed back to Vulkhov in the morning. He’ll be pleased to hear you’re back on your feet.” The man tugged his hat off, his lush waves mussing before he raked a hand through them. “Have you a suite to rent?”

Vulkhov? The port?

“For you, of course. Can I get you a bowl of hot hen before you turn in?”

Strangely, the old keep handed the merchant a satchel of coin, rather than the other way around.

“Aye, thank you. One for my marshal as well.”

Just then, a man in a muddy traveling cloak trailed in, closing the door and sealing out the cold. He peeled heavy riding gloves from stiff fingers and hung them on the hearth before joining his lord at the table.

“Your ram needs his horns filed when we return, ser. The ewe’s are fine.”

“As you will, Dmitre.”

Yavor peeled off his full-length cloak with a deep groan and eased down onto a stool. The cashmere of his black tunic curved around the thick muscles of his arms as he unlaced the collar, exposing wisps of coarse hair.

Money and sex, I amended, my tongue swiping my dry lips at his straining tunic sleeves.

Ugh, has it really been so long that all it takes to set me off is a nice pair of arms?

I wracked my brain for the last time I’d had more than my own hands for relief.

Two signs? Gods upstream, no wonder I’m so worked up.

To make matters worse, it’d been years since I’d felt a real attraction to my ex, let alone actually been excited to sleep with him.

Not that he’d noticed.

Who cared if I orgasmed, right?

Though I could usually get myself off once we’d separated for the evening, it was never enough.

I’d always had a higher, stranger appetite than most, which is why I’d chased off any suitor I’d had until Jirí. None of the boys in Brăno seemed to have the same peculiar taste as me.

Who did I think I was kidding?

My desires weren’t peculiar, they were obscene. Twisted.

Dark.

Certainly not the sort of desires becoming of a respectable wife.

Expand description of The Course. This is the first time we see it and its blindingly distracting

Suddenly, The Course convulsed, a vibrant splash of garnet streaking the water and drawing my attention. Hearthglow glinted from Lord Yavor’s signet ring. The Course swirled around him in muted tones, tiny whirlpools silhouetting him.

Curious, I watched the lord’s hand as it curled around the goblet, engulfing the wide ceramic, only for my mind to immediately conjure an image of those long, thick fingers wrapped around my throat.

Gods, the damage he could do with those things.

The junction of my thighs pulsed, and I sighed, disappointed in the abrupt direction of my thoughts.

Who in their right mind found someone attractive and instinctively wanted pain?

The man laughed at something his marshal said, and The Course rippled around him in faint pastels.

Damn my rotten abilities.

The Course may have still appeared as whirlpools drifting in the air, slightly obscuring reality, but the dull pallet failed to live up to the vibrancy of what it used to be. Once, I would’ve been able to decode the patterns in the current surrounding Yavor, but for now, I had to guess.

Possible escape or horrific end?

The merchant-noble, I assumed from his high-end clothing, swallowed a bite of bread as his cheerful marshal toasted his health.

He’ll never even know I’m there. Besides, anything’s better than Jirí catching up. I tucked my rucksack into my dark blue cloak and left two coins on the wooden table, ducking out into the bitter wind.

The rain had quieted to a drizzle, but the fog was rolling in thick blankets by the time I found the merchant’s carriage; a six-wheeled monstrosity, parked off the main road behind the inn. Nearby, two stabled hauling Valonese softly snored in the pen.

Their bulky, muscular bodies tugged at my heartstrings. While their wool would be coarser than a shearing Valonese, they were still the same gentle creatures I’d grown up with. Comparing one’s smaller horns to the fullness of the other’s hefty, swirled horns, I noted that he traveled with a mating pair.

This ride would be far more comfortable than the last.

The grain seller I’d ridden with had used oxen for steeds. What they lacked in agility and hauling strength, oxen made up for by being cheaper to care for, despite being similar in size.

That meant that the merchant I was stealing fare from not only prioritized quality, but also had the coin to do so, which subsequently told me that if I got caught in his cargo, he’d easily be able to have me arrested.

“We have to be discreet in how we enter. I’d rather he not know we were here at all,” I muttered to Strom.

For lack of a proper scry, I held my tourmaline necklace and focused on The Course, seeking breaches in the rainbow flow.

Above the roof of the carriage, the current dipped sharply.

I huffed in frustration while heaving myself up the box-seat, then onto the roof. If not for my magick, I would have missed the seamless latch-door that led into the wooden structure.

How do I get it open?

Strom soared from my raised hood and into the alley between two shops before quickly returning with a bit of metal.

“The prong of a broken fork? How did you find this in the dark?”

Familiars all had talents we couldn’t explain, and Strom’s was immensely helpful—even if frowned on by the knight-guard.

I used the broken fork to pick the latch and dropped down inside, carefully covering my tracks behind me.

Once I was safely inside, I wished—not for the first time—that I’d been born a more normal sort of witch. One that might be able to conjure a bit of light in the pitch of this packed cargo hold, for example.

If I’d been a hedge witch, I could have been anything.

Hedge witches were the most abundant and diverse designation of aethereal humans, or witches. They could be anything from a conjurer to a healer. I hadn’t even been born a kitchen witch, another highly specialized designation, but one that could be used in a hundred different ways. They could be anything from potion brewers to private chefs.

All I could be was a fortune teller.

With a huff, I blindly glided a boot forward until it bumped into a trunk, then did the same with my other foot; proceeding until I located the corner nearest the rider. There, I shifted trunks until I could wedge my soft curves between them and sealed myself in for the two-day journey.

Comfortable, if a little squashed, I hauled off my heavy boots and sighed in relief as Strom settled into the gap of my head and shoulder. Nested in the strands of my opalescent hair, my little bird couldn’t be happier to be free of Jirí and his talons.

A falcon was nothing more than a predator, after all.

The clarity of sunglow had revealed that I still held the advantage in that Jirí had yet to discover my betrayal, once again failing to notice my disappearance. For now, I was still safe.

After an uneventful—and blessedly smooth—day on the road, the merchant lord and his marshal had slept on the bench my second night in the carriage. In the dead of night, I’d chanced stretching my legs. The rush of possibly getting caught had wiped out the last of my bravery, though I’d done nothing more than stand in place, stretching. Today, I’d hardly moved at all.

I was cramped and bored and ready to get out of this damn carriage.

In the solitude of my stolen ride, I’d managed a glimpse of The Course around my aunt and uncle. It hadn’t shifted in the three days I’d been gone.

Still, guilt prickled my spine.

Now that I was free, Jirí’s winning streak and livelihood would dry up. Sno-weasel races were notoriously difficult to call—without the help of a talented diviner, anyway.

Gods upstream, how could it have taken me so long to see the truth? That he’d never meant a word he said—not about wanting a wife and family in the city, not about having a plan for the future, and least of all, about loving me.

He’d only cared about what my power could give him.

Well, that and sex.

In the beginning, feeding my twisted needs had made me want to stay far too long, especially without a ring. Then, one day, he stopped attempting to satisfy me, only chasing his own ends.

Using me for my body as much as my magick.

Shame burned through me, re-igniting my rage and tempering my hope.

It was possible that Jirí would lash out at my family, but I’d had few options for a cover story. Unfortunately, insisting that I went home for Esper’s fiftieth birthmoon had been the only viable one I’d come up with.

I hadn’t been allowed to see my family in over a year, though my childhood home was little more than an hour’s walk from the hovel. He always claimed he “got bored” spending time with them, that it was more fun on “our” side of town, whatever the excuse of the day was. It had taken me truly pitching a fit to see the woman who raised me for her landmark birthmoon.

And then I promptly used the opportunity to flee for good. I suppose he was right to be nervous.

Aunt Esper and Uncle Dabrel had no idea I’d been “planning” to visit. My aunt was going to lose it when Jirí showed up. She’d only approved of his lifestyle because he kept me nearby. When she found out that I’d run to the city regardless, she’d be furious with me.

The success of her farm with her husband blinded her from all the shortcomings of Brăno. She’d always had everything she’d ever needed, and so refused to understand my yearning for a life in the city.

One of many in-between towns, my hometown had been comfortable but quaint—more farmland than people, and I’d never settled in. Living in Brăno had been like riding in a too-small-carriage, a slight itch at the back of your neck; the prickling sensation that everyone knows everything about you.

Nobody understood.

I wanted so much more than to only meet my needs. I wanted more than a roof and a bed. I wanted everything.

It was nearly dusk when I heard a rushing current outside like none I’d ever heard before.

That must be the Baso Rapids!

I’d never seen them before, but there was no mistaking the roar resounding outside the carriage.

I actually made it out.

I smugly pulled my boots on and waited for the carriage to stop.

Muffled voices filtered through the wooden walls; something about a bridge toll. Then, approaching footsteps.

“Just need to get a rough account, ser. Apologies for the inconvenience, my lord.”

Vale-below, they’re doing an inspection!

I shot up, startling Strom, who twittered angrily in my hood.

“Oh,” I said soothingly. “Sorry, dearheart, but I believe it’s time to make our daring escape.” He let out a soft coo, letting me know he’d forgiven me for waking him so rudely.

The bright sunglow made the trek to the front of the carriage far less harrowing than the night I’d sealed myself in. At the door, I pressed my ear to the wood, listening for the lock.

I had only one opportunity.

Click

I surged forward, careening into the gorgeous man who’d unwittingly smuggled me, knocking him to the ground before finding my footing. His imposing frame splashed in the ruddy mud, and our eyes locked, my breath catching in my throat.

I hadn’t realized he was so tall.

Strom burst from my hood, circling me with a shrill cry. The commotion drew the attention of all the men gathered around the carriage.

Freed from the man’s piercing gaze, I hiked my hem and sprinted hard down the cobbled bridge toward the gleaming lights of Port Vulkhov.

Gods upstream, we’ve already gone past the city.

The carriage had stalled at a toll at the entrance of a mile-long bridge over Baso Rapids.

Thank Fate we escaped when we did. Gods only knew where that carriage was bound for.

Chapter Two

“A part of me wished the fae had actually started trading with a new-comer. Then we could’ve easily tracked the bastard and ended him. Now, we’ll have to smoke out a thief,” I grumbled. “At least the rain’s stopped.”

I’d only traveled north to meet with our liaison in search of the source of the sudden influx of faeshrooms in the port. While I’d picked up a new load for our couriers, I’d gotten no genuine answers about our mysterious competitor.

Father wouldn’t be pleased.

Dmitre grunted beside me on the carriage bench, his leather gloves creaking on the reins as he steered us around a deep puddle.

He knew he’d be the one doing most of the legwork once we got back to town. My focus was on an altogether different task; claiming my legacy.

My trip to the mountains hadn’t been a complete waste. The dwarves had a fair-sized haul ready for me.

While there’d been nothing spectacular to claim for myself that wasn’t already in my vast collection of rare, unique crafts, I’d still make a small fortune off the dwarven enchantments in my carriage.

Truthfully, I had more treasures than I knew what to do with. One day, it’d be nice to share them with someone. Someone worthy of ruling Port Vulkhov—and the syndicate—by my side.

“Guild ahead, ser.”

Dmitre gestured at the mouth of the bridge.

Tollmen were stationed by the Merchant’s Guild at the exits of major trade cities in order to collect taxes, which the Guild then used to maintain the roads that connected the world, which in turn allowed the merchants of Ilyucaar to prosper.

“Aye, I see him.” I raised my palm in friendly greeting.

“Just need to get a rough account, ser. Apologies for the inconvenience, my lord,” the red-cloaked tollman called as we neared.

I resisted a sigh as I unlocked my hold for the tollmen to tally my goods. They knew as well as I, they’d count less than half my haul. That was the deal. The Guild benefited from my goods as much as my family did.

Click

The carriage door bounded open, and I was knocked flat onto my ass, red clay mud splattering up my face as I hit the cobblestones.

Gods upstream.

The woman tumbling from my carriage was beauty incarnate, with loose, opalescent curls winding around her impressive bosom and a face I wanted to bury my cock in, if only to fuck away the emotions twisting her gorgeous mouth.

Not to mention the way her ample ass moved as she ran toward the city.

What a witch.

She must be a witch—if that circling starling meant anything.

A single inky wing feather cascaded gently down, bobbing in the breeze. I snatched it from the air, pocketing it as I stood.

“Stowaway, ser?” Dmitre asked, handing me a flannel to wipe the mud from my face.

“So it would seem. Where were we?”

The tollman finished his inspection, and I paid double for the weight of my trunks, as I’d expected this time of year. The Guild would re-enforce the roads before Snowfall and likely replace the lighting and heating enchantments along busier routes.

Once I re-bolted the carriage—and triple checked the locks—I crossed the river, toward the Keep and my father.

Throughout the journey, the witch’s dark eyes haunted me. They’d been filled to the brim with emotion, but I didn’t have time to catch the mixture.

Fear. Anger, sure. But there was something more.

What sort of monster lurked behind those furious black eyes of hers?

Breaking an hour’s worth of comfortable silence, I said, “Dmitre. When we return, I want you to locate our stowaway.”

“Yes, my lord. Would you like her alive? Or is she taking a trip down the Baso?”

“I don’t think she’s warranted that quite yet. I need to see what she’s taken, though,” I lied. “Just because she didn’t carry a trunk doesn’t mean she didn’t snatch something. A handful of faeshrooms, perhaps.”

I needed to see her again, to see if I’d truly glimpsed something ferocious in her or if it had merely been a trick of the light.

However, Dmitre didn’t need to know my motivations. He might be a friend, but he was firstly an employee paid to look out for my well-being. He’d only ask questions I didn’t have answers to. Like, why bother with a woman I hadn’t met in a brothel?

Women were a distraction, nothing more.

Best to hire a professional when the need arose, rather than waste time pursuing one. According to my father, at least.

“Shall I find out before I deliver her?”

“Tell me where she goes. I want to keep an eye on her for now.”

“Aye, ser.”

I’d figure out what to do about the little witch later. If she’d taken something, she’d need to be punished. Being new in town didn’t free a person of consequences.

My lips twitched as musings of bending the pretty witch over my knee flitted through my mind.

How long had it been since I’d last taken a whore to my chambers?

Perhaps it was time to venture outside the brothel burrow to slake my needs for a night. It would certainly be a new experience.

How does one get a woman in their bed without simply offering to compensate them for their time?

“Look at all this rot on the path,” I said, jabbing a gloved hand at the road as we turned onto Keep grounds. The Keep had fallen like Father’s maddening mind; unkempt and rotted. “You’d think one of the staff would clean it. If nothing else, out of respect for Miloslav and Eidon.”

“Gregorii mentioned something about your father claiming the decaying leaves ward off evil. He’s forbidden them to clean it.”

“Ramshit, why does he even listen to Vreme at this point? His words aren’t even his own.”

My cousin, Asen, had seen to that, after swooping in on Father’s aging mind like a rat to filth.

I turned my attention toward the home I’d grown up in; a dozen buildings thatched onto and out-of the original wood manor, sprawling the estate further and further.

Not even my ambitious grandfather could have dreamed what Vreme would be able to turn the family business into. Decades of brutal, but effective, control over Barma Kingdom’s underbelly.

King Vasili could keep his damned taxes. The Konev Syndicate brought in double his income every year.

We owned Port Vulkhov, and everyone knew it—even if the nobility feigned ignorance. They could pretend we were beneath them all they wanted.

That all changes soon.

Behind the interlocked felled trees of our outer-most walls, an over-sized water wheel attached to the outdated mill; the rushing river would freeze soon enough, rendering it more useless than usual.

Father had forbidden us from running the mill after our mother had died—too cowardly to face her pet project without her. The poppy fields she’d maintained froze over long ago.

What a waste.

Our lack of opium had allowed the Drudoni syndicate of Lake Caranan to expand their operation. Now, their influence threatened to spill south of Mount Tainaron, deep into the in-betweens of the north.

No matter, once our designs came together, we’d have our own production running again.

Then we’d push back the damned Caranians.

Half a dozen cloaked men patrolled the bailey, guarding the main entrance to the Keep. They drew back the gate and bowed their heads as I passed.

“Stay here,” I told Dmitre. “This won’t take long.”

“If you say so, my lord.”

“If I’m in here longer than half-an-hour, come and get me, yes?”

Dmitre dipped his chin, wearing a smug grin that few others in his position would get away with. Benefits of consistent loyalty, I supposed.

I curled my fist around the boar-faced knocker, banging the heavy iron on the door.

“What a surprise, Lord Yavor. Would you care for tea?” Gregorii offered, ushering me inside.

Odd. Vreme should have been expecting me

I frowned, refusing to walk further than the foyer.

“No thank you, just here to drop cargo. Dmitre is unloading with the men.”

“Very well, ser.”

Just as I’d begun to hope I’d avoided his ire, Vreme’s hulking frame appeared from the corner, shock carved into his weathered face, like the old knife-wound snarled around his bearded cheek.

If I had to see the man, I’d take the small blessing that Asen wasn’t in tow. I was far too tired to deal with him and his plague-addled words.

“Hark, Father.”

“Yavor,” he grunted before obligatorily pressing a kiss to my cheek. As equally reluctant, I returned the greeting on his. “Back already?”

“The pass is only four days away, don’t you recall?”

There was a flicker of recollection in his stoney eyes before he cleared his throat, embarrassed.

Good.

Father or not, weakness wasn’t permitted in this family, and I wasn’t above a jab at his failing memory. There was a time when he never would’ve forgiven me for not taking the opportunity to slight an enemy.

“I’ve confirmed that our fae contacts aren’t selling to anyone else. We remain the only human family they trade with.”

The fae kingdom east of Tainaron held one of Ilyucaar’s largest faeshroom fields—closely guarded by its deadly inhabitants. My grandfather struck a deal with them in his youth; having wandered into a circle and charming them with all the eloquence and conversation they adored. His cunning wit had won his family generations of wealth that we would cultivate into an empire within an empire.

But now some fraud was selling our most guarded resource.

“Damn it!” Vreme roared. “You were supposed to find this hedge-born fuck. I knew I should have sent Miloslav…”

I settled in for Father’s latest rant, and allowed my mind to wander to the woman from the bridge.

Hair like auroraglow on snow. Practically iridescent in how shimmery a shade of lilac it was. The memory of her hair had the witch’s wild eyes burning behind my lids.

“Disrespectful pup… If you’re too exhausted to stand and speak with your father, get. Go back to your feather bed in the city,” Vreme sneered, condescension dripping from his scarred mouth.

He’d gotten it in a scuffle with his brother when they were kids.

I missed Uncle Wilk sometimes—he’d been the only one who could knock Vreme down. He’d taken a blow to save my father’s life when I was a kid. Pity.

“I’ll see you once I’ve smoked him out, then.”

His hulking shoulder lifted, a fist forming at his side. As tall as me and as broad as Miloslav, despite being well into his sixties, Vreme’s body was built to deliver pain.

As I braced myself for a blow, my father suddenly paused, gazing at me intently, then stormed away and cast his rage into the stone wall.

I strolled down the path and mounted my ram for the short ride home, my lips stretched into a satisfied grin.

The bastard was getting soft.

Finally returned home, I handed off my personal steed to be penned in the burrow’s public pen. Of course, the definition of “public” depended on your ability to afford a home in the area.

In all things, I had the rarest and highest in value.

Vulcănari facing property was the most coveted in the city, so I had the corner-block of Sealine and Riverline. All who saw my balcony-wrapped tower envied the view from my bedchamber. I even had enough land for a garden that fed most of my staff through the summer.

And yet, my three-story manor was still a hollow excuse for a home. I’d had it fully staffed and lavishly furnished when I arrived a year ago. Now, despite the furnishings, the vast emptiness of my stone walls echoed every time I climbed the stairs to my tower.

What am I missing?

Before my mother had been taken from the family, the halls of the Keep had bellowed with laughter, every room filled with love. Maybe it was merely the glossy haze of youth, but even Vreme hadn’t been as bitter while Oliga had lived. A mean bastard who put too much on his young sons, but a reasonable man. He hadn’t hardened his heart toward women until her death had left him a useless heap.

Perhaps it was being away from home. Living in the manor for the last year, without my brothers, had been a difficult adjustment. Being the oldest of three had always meant hangers-on in my every move throughout the Keep, and now…

I’d mourned my mother decades ago—two, nearly exactly—and had thought myself healed, but the empty halls of my new home hearkened to a sense of loneliness I hadn’t felt since her passing.

I should get a dog, I decided as I climbed the stairs, eager for the silk sheets and thick furs of my four-poster bed.

Chapter Threee

I’d been sleeping where I could—on the muddy cobblestone behind some tavern or another. Anywhere I wouldn’t be spotted.

Despite the dreary weather, the red cobbled streets of Port Vulkhov were more beautiful than I’d imagined. Aether powered lights illuminated the city, casting a warm amber glow on the frigid nights. Brăno had only a handful of council conjurers, but, here, they had hundreds of witches maintaining thousands of enchantments.

Too bad I’m no enchanter.

Down to half a knob of mediocre cheese and with only my cloak to warm us, Strom and I were in real trouble once Snowfall arrived.

I’d scoured the message boards in front of the temples throughout the city. Every day, more of the same. Postings for hedge or sea witches, the occasional kitchen witch. None for a broken diviner.

I could always find a noble.

My skin crawled at the idea.

They’d use me more than Jirí had. Once a noble got their claws into a diviner, they never let them change employment. The diviner would, supposedly, be contractually bound to the noble until one of them died, under the guise of Divine integrity—whatever that meant. Conversely, it was said that diviners were well-compensated by nobles and that nobles often went above and beyond to satisfy them. That aspect of the rumor was why my aunt feared I’d wind up trapped in a lifelong contract.

However, that wasn’t a worry I shared.

If I could escape Jirí, I could certainly escape a noble.

As could any diviner, I surmised. My guess had always been that diviners with guilty consciences had crafted the contracts themselves.

No, the only objection to working for a noble I had was that aiding nobles most often meant aiding royalty, which meant politics—something I’d always been against influencing. There were so many factors that went into the needs of a kingdom, Fate couldn’t possibly show me the best Course for each person.

Maybe I should look for a mundane position?

A temple might take me in.

Ugh, I hope they don’t ask why I’m here.

The Course rippled in my peripheral, as if someone had thrown a stone in the pastel current.

Swiveling my head, I searched for the source. Across the road, a petite woman in green smiled kindly in my direction from beneath a thatched overhang before disappearing inside a shop.

I still hadn’t been brave enough to wear my wide-rimmed witch’s hat, though no one had given me a second glance. Without it, I lost an easy boost to my focus.

While I deliberated, The Course swirled in the air in front of me. Its coiling whirlpools glittered invitingly in the sunglow.

“Oh, fuck it,” I muttered under my breath and stomped across the muddy cobblestone.

I opened the door with an unnecessary heave and a delicate bell tinkled wildly above as I crossed the threshold.

Warm spice and fresh herbs wafted from the apothecary’s rafters, while enchanted lanterns glinted above hundreds of glass bottles, their rainbowglow dancing across the warm-beige clay walls.

“Tea?”

I almost didn’t hear the offer over the noisily bubbling cauldrons and distillers. Shelves jutted in every direction, yet a sense of order reigned over the shop.

The woman in green plumped a cushion for me from a charming sitting area behind a screen.

“Yes, please. Is there somewhere I could wash before I rest at your table?”

“A basin behind the partition,” she said, gesturing over her slender shoulder. “There should be a bowl for your familiar.”

The ceramic basin held cool, clean water that I washed my hands and face in while Strom splashed in his modified bath, puffing and shaking his feathers dry once he was clean. He quizzically tilted his head, and I shrugged.

Wish I knew who she was too, dearheart.

Strom couldn’t hear my thoughts, but our bond allowed for intentions to be shared, which had always been more than enough in our twelve-year partnership.

Recently, Jirí had taken to holding Strom, stroking his iridescent head while scolding me, claiming that using my connection to Strom was the best way to get through to me.

The connection between a witch and their familiar was personal, sacred. It wasn’t possible for Jirí to tap into and we all knew it.

What was I supposed to do? Ignore the warning? I’d started planning our escape the first time he threatened my familiar.

A desiccated bonsai had been placed on the low table for my starling to perch. The gesture touched my heart as I relaxed into the plush cushion, clean and comfortable for the first time in days.

The woman before me was a meadow—a thin green line decorated her angular eyelids, complementing her deep beige complexion and matching her fern-colored hair. She wore an impeccable winter gown stubbornly embroidered with spring blooms. Expertly polished green nails tickled the chin of her ash-grey familiar. The little mouse nuzzled, its whiskers twitching happily.

“The embroidery on your gown is incredible.”

“Thank you. This set has been in my family for a long time.” She leaned over the table and whispered conspiratorially, “it’s my favorite,” before returning to her graceful position. “My name is Anka Dalibor.” She wiggled her upright fingers in greeting.

“Evelina Priakhin, and this is Strom. Thank you for inviting us to tea. We truly appreciate the moment of respite from chill.” I returned the gesture with a genuine smile. I may not know why I’d been invited, but so far this stranger was a delight.

“Oh yes! Tea.” Anka tipped the teapot into charmingly mismatched mugs. “Would you and the starling like something to nibble on?”

“Yes, please.”

“Ilo, introduce yourself.”

Her familiar nuzzled Strom’s chest, his round ears excitedly twitching. Anka lifted a cover from a tray of snap-biscuits and placed a saucer of dried milworm for Strom, who twittered gleefully at his new friend and snacks.

A metallic ding sounded from a set of bronze weights in the kitchen.

I turned my head toward the pleasant note. The weights were suspended on a taut rope. A hunk of bronze inched itself from the crowded left toward the nearly empty right side of the scale.

“Ignore that, it can wait. Drink. You look cold.”

I sipped the honeyed black tea in my mug, noting that she’d added cardamom and cinnamon bark to the pot.

And something charmed, I thought sardonically as tendrils of magick warmed me from the inside out. Must be a hedge witch of some kind.

“Thank you. How can I repay your kindness? I’m afraid I have nothing to offer.”

“Hospitality isn’t only for the countryside. The gods demand it from us all, in our capacity. As for your coin purse, Vulcăn himself put you in my path today. I run Dalibor Apothecary and am in need of a new witch to employ—I also know of a roof to cover your head, should you desire it?”

“What sort of work is it?” The nicked edge of my nail skidded absentmindedly against my palm. I wished I could afford a manicure like hers.

“Mostly minding the till, divination witches tend to be shit at brewing. Always too busy reading signs in the ingredients to stir the cauldron properly.”

“You knew I was a diviner?”

“Not until you got lost in the dregs of that mug.”

I wanted to be offended, but knew she was right. I had, in fact, been inspecting the bottom of my cup, and even common cooking tasks distracted me. “Wouldn’t you want me to read signs for you? Predict trends?”

“Nay, I prefer to live in the moment. I don’t even do tarot.” Anka’s smile was sincere but distant—like she’d grown bored with the topic.

Oh? That’s unusual. People normally jump at my business predictions.

“I’ll take it, the job and the roof, please.”

“The roof happens to be shared by an old widow and her new lover.”

“I don’t mind company.” Ignoring an elderly couple being intimate in another room would be far easier than sleeping on the street again.

“You’ll hardly see her. She never goes into the servant quarters—don’t worry. No one lives there anymore. Not since she moved the steward into the main house. It’ll be just you down in the basement.”

“Will I be filling in for the servants…?”

“Not unless you’re into that. No, she owes me a favor. Just so happens, a witch in need is typically how I collect on my favors. Now, of course you’ll be expected to pay a reasonable rent, once you receive your first check. If she starts gouging you, let me know. She might have some house rules for you, be sure not to break any should that be the case. You are as much a guest of hers as a ward of mine.”

“You do this a lot, then? Find girls covered in mud and offer them help under the guise of a warm cup of tea?”

“I help any witch in need,” she quipped with a wink. “You’ll see, we open mid-morning. Be here an hour prior.”

Early. I suppressed a frown.

“How did you know I needed help?”

“Call it intuition.”

I accepted a folded parchment, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. I was all too familiar with the concept.

After tea, I followed the directions scribbled on my scrap of parchment through the market and into a more affluent part of the city than I’d been hiding in. Gone were the log dugouts, replaced with multistory stone homes and manors.

With a sigh, I reflected on what Anka had said about her intuition.

I envied her.

I used to trust mine to a fault.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure when that had changed. Must have been sometime around when my powers dulled, maybe three years ago? My shaken confidence had destroyed most of my readings. No one wanted to trust a diviner that walked her words back-and-forth.

Well, I wasn’t in Brăno anymore and Jirí won’t be in my life, ever again. No more excuses. From now on, I would hold my magick accountable. If I couldn’t cast in Port Vulkhov, I wouldn’t be able to do it anywhere.

My chin lifted at the flutter of determination in my chest. Though I could always see The Course, if I didn’t focus on it the pastel whirlpools would fade into the scenery.

Feeling brave, I pulled on my hat and called on my aether, a tingling sensation rising from my navel.

Before my eyes, the swirling water slowly filled with color. Pastel greens and blues collided with a touch of pale red over a middle-aged woman headed my way.

The pattern was tight; the water shrinking inward and then pulsing wide over her head. With colors so dull, I couldn’t read more than the impending impact of The Course.

“Someone you love is breaking your heart,” I muttered as she passed me.

She shifted a bundle of roses in her arms and quirked an elegant brow at me. “Pardon?”

“Oh, um,” I said, my wide eyes latching onto hers. “Apologies, my lady. I meant nothing by it—I—I’m a diviner. Sometimes I speak out of turn. Please, forgive me.”

While I didn’t want strangers to know a new diviner was in town, I couldn’t simply drop that on her with no explanation. That would be rude.

“My husband… he’s the one breaking my heart,” she said with a sad smile. “Twenty-three years to the day since he left me alone in this miserable city.”

No, that wasn’t it.

Something was coming for her, not chasing. But she hadn’t asked for a reading, and I didn’t have the right to force one on her. It was bad enough I’d slipped up like that.

“May Denélōs protect you and guide your aching heart.”

It wasn’t much, but I offered the prayer to the Mother Goddess of Ilyucaar, who blessed marriages, praying this woman found someone to ease her pain. She was still young enough; she might find happiness again.

“Thank you, dear, but I don’t want another marriage. When you find a love like what I had with Wilk… There’s no replacing that. Here,” she pulled a flower from her bundle. “May Denélōs bless you with a husband who craves you in body and soul.”

An unusual blessing, but a welcome one.

With tears in her dark lashes, she kissed me on the cheek and tucked the stem behind my ear.

Awestruck by the tenderness, my jaw softened, tears blurring The Course into twinkling streaks.

What a love they must have shared.

“Oh no, now I’ve made you cry. Forgive me, I’m not usually so emotional.” She cleared her throat. “Now, I hope the next time I see you, your boots aren’t caked in mud. Your heart’s far too beautiful to allow filth to settle on you.”

Under her keen gaze, I felt my cheeks warm. “Yes, ser. Thank you.”

What I’d give for someone to love me as much as she loves her husband.

Her solemn figure slowly disappeared around the corner, and I released a breath, relieved of the urge to follow her, to offer comfort. I swallowed the lump in my throat and continued my trek toward my new home.

A nervous quiver had settled in my chest as I came upon the two-story townhome belonging to Lady Albena. I pinned on a smile and rapped the brass knocker against the plate.

“You must be the witch Anka told us about,” Kapka, the steward-turned-lover, answered.

How did she tell them so quickly?

“Follow me. The Lady of the house is entertaining.”

He ushered me out and around to the rear, to my personal entrance, off an alley and into the dugout portion of the two-story home. He said very little beyond that the gracious lady had donated a full larder to me, and to be sure to sweep the chimney once a month. Then, he went through the door connecting my space to the main house, a heavy bolt locking from the inside. I bolted the lock on my side as well.

At least I’ll be warm.

I evaluated the cramped space with mixed feelings.

The ash-filled hearth wasn’t terribly far from the bed, but still had its own defined space with a small seating area. A thin layer of soot and dust covered every surface.

How vile. I crinkled my nose.

Clearly, the steward hadn’t been maintaining this part of the house for several signs.

Hypocrite.

First things first.

In the small kitchen cupboard, I found a clay pitcher and filled it with water from the spout. It was a little big, but my white rose looked cute against the terracotta, placed in the center of the low hearthroom table.

Beneath the basin, I found a bucket and rags and got to work cleaning the apartment while gentle beats of rain came down on the thatched overhang outside my door.

The thrill of sleeping under a roof, let alone in a bed, buzzed in my veins.

A bath sounds Divine right now.

I started filling the metal tub near the hearth with pails of water. It’d take a while, but if I added a bucket or two at a time while cleaning, it wouldn’t be so bad. At least the tub drained out of the wall through a pipe, rather than having to be emptied by hand.

While I worked, my mind wandered to useless, dark places.

The last time I’d escaped, I hadn’t made it more than a day’s walk away. The moment I’d stopped to rest, Jirí had tracked me down in the next town—dragged me into his carriage and pecked me with fleeting kisses and promises to change.

Lies.

Each and every one of them.

But this time, things were different. I’d made it to Port Vulkhov and Jirí had no idea where I was. All I had to do was lay-low until he gave up.

“Fancy a song?” I asked Strom, mostly to distract myself.

Strom hummed a few bars of a dwarven tale, picked up from the casinos near Brăno. The starling’s mimicry allowed him to carry the tune of several ballads, in his own throaty way.

As my mind quieted, the melody soothed the aching loneliness that had settled in.

I sloshed a pail of water into the half-filled tub.

This was the first time I’d ever been on my own. Strom may be wonderful company, but he was still very much a bird.

No company is better than bad company.

I joined his song, humming the next tune—an old nursery rhyme—as I raked ashen clumps onto a cloth.

Strom was the only friend I had in the hovel, anyway. Jirí’s friends came and went as they pleased from the small home we’d shared. The men frequently tried to include me in their antics, but I’d always refused—they never wanted anything good. Most of them worked for Drudoni and I wanted no part of that.

With the tub finally filled, I wondered if anyone in Vulkhov had heard of the Drudonis.

My parents had worked for the mob family that ruled the north. They’d gotten caught up with them when I was a toddler and wound-up dead. Stabbed in the back by the very people they worked for. You know, standard in-between behavior. My mother’s sister, Esper, had taken me in. Never being able to have her own kids, she was fiercely protective of me.

And now she didn’t know where I was. I’d never hear the end of this.

As the sun’s dying glow faded, the storm grew more powerful, and by the time I sat, the rain was still pummeling the deep puddles outside.

Strom cheerfully sang from his perch above the mantle, where a cauldron of potato and leek stew bubbled away in the roaring hearth. Once my dinner was ready, I’d take the embers from the hearth and move them, along with a fresh log, into the chamber beneath the tub to heat my bathwater.

Truly at ease for the first time in forever, I sang along with Strom, mending my cloak with some thread I’d found tucked away.

For tonight, at least, we were safe.

Working at the apothecary had proven easy, if dull, work. Not nearly as taxing on my hands as spinning wool had been, but not as rewarding either. At least with spinning, I could see a complete product. Unlike standing behind a till, not even creating any of the magick that helped the customers.

I loved the view, though.

When I wasn’t cashing someone out, I could freely use the rainbowglow cast from the potions to monitor the possibilities. In the weeks since arriving, my aether had settled—a bit. I hadn’t had more readings for strangers, not since the brokenhearted widow, but I’d been able to observe Jirí.

My aunt’s birthmoon began today. Soon, he’d know that I wasn’t where I ought to be. Any day now, The Course would shift.

Will I have to run again?

The door’s chimes whacked against the glass. A young witch stumbled in like a new fawn, a tattered white cloak fluttering around her petite frame.

“Excuse me? Forgive my intrusion, but,” she said, lowering her wide-brimmed hood. Her primrose-pink bob clung to her sweaty, pale face. “I need a moment of respite.”

A black forest cat wound out from under the woman’s snowy cloak, drawing attention to the gaps in her slashed cloak, to where her legs were gashed open. Blood soaked the fine fabric of her black gown, slicking it to her wounds.

“Sit down,” Anka sprinted around the counter. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing. I tumbled downhill,” she croaked, gingerly placing herself on a cushion, her legs outstretched like she couldn’t bend them.

“You’re a shit liar. What’s your name?” Anka set a saucer on the screened-off table and waved a hand at me. I cast a glance around the work-kitchen.

Ah!

I yanked a pitcher of cream from the cooling-wardrobe and poured a healthy glug for the familiar. Anka plumped the cushion beside her, shoving a mug of tea toward the new witch. Unsure, I eased myself down, my sympathetic expression swaying in the surface of the tea I’d been poured.

“Tasia,” she introduced herself, then her familiar, her wide, round eyes filling with tears. “This is Dreid.” The cat mewed, the tone startlingly deep. “Thank you for the hospitality.”

When Anka finally got the mug into Tasia’s hand, the witch took a grateful draught. The healing magick would begin to take root any moment. The simple constitution potion in the tea wouldn’t be enough to mend the wounds, but it would stymie the bloodflow and restore some of her vitality.

“Anka Dalibor, this is Evelina. Lovely, now that we’ve done that part,” she said, her fingers flexing as she reached out. “Give me your legs.”

Tasia’s chest rapidly rose and fell, her uneven breathing coming hard through her nose. “I just fell, I swear.”

“I’m a green witch.” Anka lifted a jade conduit. “I don’t care what happened. I only want to help.”

They shifted until her injured legs were in Anka’s lap. Gingerly, Anka peeled away the cloak, a grotesque squelch making me cringe as the fabric clung to Tasia’s skin. Dozens of gashes littered the woman’s slender legs, some shallow, some deep—all the way to her tie-ons.

Averting my gaze, I hastily hurled a prayer to Archí Aether, asking this unfortunate woman be spared lasting injury from whatever befell her.

Her tears finally tipped over and she sobbed into the crook of her elbow. Somehow not marred with blotches or scrunched in emotion, her pale face flushed smoothly across the bridge of her nose, outlining her puffy eyes and enhancing their rosy color.

A pretty crier.

“How have you been walking like this?” Anka muttered, moving in and began an incantation, hovering the jade sphere over Tasia’s legs.

“I ran—it made it worse.”

The green witch’s radiant aether stitched the wounds, slowly mending the flesh as one would darn fabric.

Aethereal humans harnessed the aether through the Archí goddess of the same name, Aether. The creator deity allowed all aethereal beings—human or otherwise—to use the energy. Bhel, the other Archí creator, primarily handled sorcerers and the cosmic, so I didn’t bother with him as much. Instead, I regularly prayed to Aether, and the Fate Collective—or simply Fate, as they’re commonly called.

Anka was a wonder, beyond any witch I’d ever seen. While hedge witches were abundant enough, not all had the ability to heal. Those who did were desirable beyond measure. Some of the wealthiest witches in the world were green witches.

“Some were too deep, they’ll scar for a while,” Anka commented with a frown, packing away her jade. “Where are you from?”

“Woodline,” Tasia choked out, tears still pouring down her cheeks. “I can’t go back there.”

“No, no one will make you go back.” I placed my hand over hers, a sturdy pressure to hold her in the moment. No one wanted to relive trauma in public.

“I’ll find you a place to stay—I’m sure I have a favor or two to collect. Are you hungry?” Anka asked, and Tasia nodded. “Let’s get you cleaned up and fed.”

“I really picked the right shop,” she said with a smile. It was a touch sad, but a smile, nonetheless.

“Fate favors you,” I offered with a wink, standing. “I can mend your cloak, if you’d like?”

Holding out a hand to the new witch, I hauled her up and directed her to the basin before returning to the till.

“Oh, I’d appreciate that—I’m terrible at mending. But! I make scrumptious pies, secret’s in the filling,” she sniffed, her emotions back under control. “I’ll trade you.”

If I didn’t know better, I would have said her accent lilted regally. Of course, I couldn’t know better, could I? She could be anyone, just like me, just like everyone else at the apothecary—no backstories, only kindness.

“Kitchen witch, then?” Anka guessed, returning to the work-kitchen.

Tasia nodded, emerging from the screen clean-faced and cloak-less. Her simple, but luxurious, ebony overgown had been slashed but at least the blood was difficult to see, now that her skin wasn’t flayed.

“Are you all open?” An elderly woman called from the cracked doorway.

“Yes, ser. Please, come in!” I answered cheerfully.

The woman’s brocade holly red and gold cloak swished against the narrow walkways between potion shelves. A little early in the season for holly, but I did like the white gems sparkling in the embroidery along her hem.

“Lady Albena, how lovely of you to join us,” Anka deadpanned, darting back into the front . “I trust you and Evelina have been getting along well.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m here. Which of you is the witch in my dugout?”

I hoped I hadn’t done something wrong already.

I raised my hand, elbow tucked at my waist, and quietly replied, “me.”

“So lovely to meet you, Evelina. Anka’s told me all about your situation, and I feel just awful for being unable to welcome you. I beg your forgiveness, dear.” Her exaggerated apology fell flat in the quiet shop.

I hadn’t been offended by the lack of introduction, but I had noticed it.

To smooth the awkward moment, I said, “Pleasure to meet you, ser. Please, don’t fret over me—I’m alright on my own. Thank you, truly, for allowing me to stay with you.”

“She has to. That’s the deal. Right, Albena?” Anka didn’t wait for a response before barreling on. “You’re squared away with me, my lady, but you may want to check in with the gods. Intentions, and all that?”

She referenced a law of the Divine—actions without intentions end in tragedy.

“Yes, Anka. Thank you for the reminder,” she clipped, fear staining her confidence, and turned on her heel. Her fine cloak caught the door latch on her way out, the bejeweled hem shredding on the hinge as she forced her way through. Just before the door closed, she swooped low and snatched them free, then marched away as if she hadn’t made a fool of herself.

“Unfortunately, I have to do favors for the un-pious—they always have the best spare rooms.” Anka winked, the elegant lines of her make-up emphasizing the motion.

Most aethereal beings had no trouble following the laws of the Divine. Be hospitable, be humble, respect nature. More-or-less, those were the rules. While some deities gave their patronage additional guidelines, generally they weren’t necessary to live a good, simple life.

Why it was so difficult for some mundanes to have a basic level of respect for how the Archí wanted their world, I’d never understand.

Getting ready to start the day, I hauled a trunk of fresh potions to the shelves.

Anka had crafted most of them, though a small reserve of specialties brewed by different employees were held behind the glass counter. Early in the morning, I was typically the only one on schedule. Annoyingly, the brewers and enchanters got to come in late.

“For the record, I didn’t tell her shit about you. All the witches here are given the same story; recently orphaned and in need of a decent home. The only word she received from me was a swarm of mice spelling your name on her floor.”

“Wow, is that Ilo’s gift?” I asked.

“Aye, he’s handy in a pinch. Tasia, how skilled are you with brewing? I haven’t had a good kitchen-hand in ages.”

“I’ve been practicing poultices since I was a child. Brewing is second nature to me,” she replied, her voice tight again. “What are you working on? Smells like poison.”

“Good nose, it’s rat trap bait—or it will be, once customers lace it into the food. With Snowfall coming, grain protectors are the biggest sellers. That, and any source of heat you can make. And yes. I see the irony.”

“Business is business,” I replied with dry honestly, and Anka nodded in approval.

“I can make a brandied fruit that will warm you for hours with one bite,” Tasia offered, wandering into the kitchen.

“Well, let’s see it, then.”

A kitchen witch dealt exclusively in consumables, whether or not they be deadly. Anyone could add ingredients to a pot and stir, but a trained kitchen witch? Their work could make it so a family could stretch their grain through Snowfall, make two people fall in love, or take out a small town via the water supply.

Mashing my lips, I resisted the urge to sigh. My gifts simply weren’t helpful here.

I might as well be mundane.

A diviner had few legitimate talents to profit from that didn’t involve working for the nobility. I still had no interest in that sort of work. Instead, I’d prefer to make a living from readings, but that would take money and time to get started.

Not to mention a location. I couldn’t very well run a divination shop out of Albena’s basement.

After counting down my till, I scanned The Course for a stealthy path home.

Fate led me out the shop’s rarely used side-entry, out into an alley that I had to shimmy side-ways down. Taking a path not meant for travel, I flattened my chest the best I could using my hands. Even still, my hips and thighs barely squeezed into the next alley, but thankfully the path opened up by the next crossroad.

Clapping dust from my gown, I paused at the same fork in the hidden route I had every day. Sometimes I’d be directed to the right and have to snake around the back of The Sage and Sea, a luxury inn that I still wanted to stay in.

The Course pulsed, coiling invitingly to the left.

Once again, I found myself feeling grateful for the sea-breeze. It truly helped me focus—finding an unseen path home hadn’t been difficult in the city, not even once.

Ungh, My feet are throbbing.

I’d spent most of the day standing at the till, counting money.

Strom twittered in my ear, as if to comfort me.

After unlocking my door, I trudged inside and re-bolted us in. I lit the candle on the entry table and used it as a guide to my hearth. Several flint strikes later, the fire crackled to life. Warm light filled the small room, throwing deep shadows into the corners.

I didn’t bother lighting the sconces. I was far too exhausted to stay up much longer.

Wish I could afford home enchantments—and new furnishings. I yearned to fill my home with sturdy wood and fine materials. The modest apartment suited my needs, but not my desires. One day, I’d find a way.

Chapter Four

Splash!

I doused my mastiff puppy—again—to soothe her poor bitten flesh. I’d just taken a bath myself, an attempt to quell the lust rankling me at the lingering memory of the witch’s gorgeous body crashing into mine.

I’d dreamed about her last night. Again.

If I hadn’t known what I wanted her for at the time, I did now. The woman hadn’t allowed me a restful night since the bridge. Images of her trussed up and wanting had consumed every one of my dreams.

Would she let me cuff her to my bed? That might be a gentle way to ease her into the dark, twisted desires of a ruthless man.

Kona whined at my feet, digging her over-sized paws into her thick coat.

Those damned fleas are eating her alive.

I should have known better than to get a dog from that shady breeder in Riverline. But…

She grinned up at me, purple tongue dangling out. Her dense coat had tufts of gold covering her enormous paws, the tip of her curled tail, and encircling her head like a lion’s mane, against the traditional all black; an incredibly rare coat pattern. She practically sparkled in the morning sunglow.

How could I have left you there? I scratched her fuzzy head, her sopping tail vibrating.

“We may need to employ a witch about this, Kona. Can’t have you infesting my bedchamber, nor can I handle your wailing from the larder.”

She whined in her flannel wrap.

“Don’t look at me like that—I cannot take you into the shops with fleas leaping from you. We’ll go into town together once you’re sorted, alright?” I cooed down.

So what if I was soft with her? She’s a puppy, and while she didn’t fill my halls, they weren’t so vast with her around.

After dropping Kona with Marzanna, I donned my preferred cloak and hat—the beaver fur—and left to run my errands for the day. It had taken weeks, but Dmitre had finally located the witch. She’d taken employment at an apothecary, and, as luck would have it, I was in need of a potion.

But first, the duke.

Duke Arimir lived half a dozen houses from me and always welcomed a visit. The walk was pleasant, despite the fog and dropping temperature.

“Good morning, ser. Right this way, the duke is in his study.”

The door attendant escorted me inside. After pocketing my gloves, I rapped a knuckle against the wooden frame of the door, watching Arimir pace behind his expansive desk where sliding heaps of parchments and piles of coin obscured the dark surface.

A chaos my own desk would never mirror.

“Ah! If it isn’t my favorite smuggler. Come in, come in. Can I offer you a brandy?” Arimir stopped his pacing, coming around the desk to embrace me.

“I would, if I weren’t on the first of several errands today, thank you. I’ve come to discuss Vreme, if you’ve the mind for it.”

“What of your father?” He gestured for me to have a seat.

Duke Arimir had been involved with my family, in some way or another, since I was ten. Being just a teen when the late duke passed, he’d taken over for his father at a young age. He may have only been six years older than me, but he’d wielded power in the city for decades. A reputation of patience and cunning paired with his delightful disposition kept the other nobles perpetually fawning over him.

If the Duke of Port Vulkhov publicly believed the Konevs were good enough, the rest would fall in line.

“As I’m sure you and the other nobility have noticed, his mind’s failing.”

When my brothers and I truly take over, we’ll need every noble in the city on our side. With the Drudonis on the rise in the north, a smooth transition of power was necessary. If they sniffed an opportunity, they wouldn’t hesitate to snatch up parts of my territory.

“He’s become paranoid about all the wrong things and is letting transgressions slip that need correcting. Should he no longer be with us, my brothers and I are prepared to step into his role. Unfortunately, the old man’s refused to draft a will,” I said, twisting the gold ring bearing the Konev seal.

My father’s seal.

“Hmm.” Arimir smoothed his beard for a beat. “I understand your plight. We have noticed his mind is slipping and, frankly, we’re ready to work with you and your brothers, when the time comes,” he replied, a knowing lilt to his voice. “As for the holdings, say, if his first-born son happened to have the original deeds in hand… Why then, I doubt any judge in the city would deny ownership. Without the deeds or a proper will, however, there are those who could challenge you.”

“My cousin.” I leaned back into the leather armchair, the relief of the nobility being on my side, washing away with a new concern. Asen’s nipping had been noticed.

“Precisely. He’s been circling your father.”

“Your eyes in the Keep are keen indeed.”

“Holding the Konevs in check is my duty—somebody needs to ensure your father doesn’t blockade the river again.”

My mouth twitched as I fought a smile. That had actually been one of Miloslav’s childhood schemes—damming the river for months on end, taxing each vessel that wished to sail from the capital to the sea. By the time the knight-guard broke the operation up, we’d amassed more than enough to commission Eidon’s ship.

“Have you tried convincing the man that he’s aging? That he needs a will?”

I was too concerned Asen’s mind games had taken root and Vreme would sign over his legacy to allow the man to write one now. No, this needed to end before my father had time to ruin everything.

“It’ll take more than my silver tongue to persuade him.”

“Ah, well, if yours hasn’t worked, mine surely won’t sway the stubborn brute. Tell me, how is Eidon’s shipping going?” Arimir’s tone implied he was through speaking of Vreme.

“He’s amassed a route of nearly a dozen isles in the sea. Soon, he’ll need to hire another ship and captain.”

A servant crept in, silently dropping off a tray of snap-biscuits, and I bid farewell to the next hour. There was no escaping the small talk now. Sometimes, being the face of the Konev syndicate was exhausting.

My first attempt to locate the stowaway witch had gone abysmally, leaving me to wonder why I still bothered carrying the accursed feather. Evidently, one cannot put a tracer spell on a familiar, so bringing the starling’s feather to Mistress Tyesca had been an utter waste of time.

In the weeks that followed, Dmitre and his favored couriers searched everywhere for her, but the witch from the bridge appeared nowhere. She didn’t go to taverns, didn’t linger at market stalls. My men couldn’t even find where she lived.

A new witch in my city and it had taken nearly two signs to track her down to Dalibor Apothecary.

Of course, she’d been found by Dalibor. If you’ve aether and a crisis, a Dalibor will aid you.

Nearing the apothecary, I felt my palms clam up in my gloves. I’d been reluctant to approach my witch at work, where she was under the protection of her employer.

Anka Dalibor wasn’t a witch to trifle with. If she thought me a threat to one of her wards, I was as good as dead.

My first instinct had been to simply determine which widow my witch had been housed with. I’d gone so far as to commission a list of every widow in the port.

And then what had I been planning to do? Badger every elderly woman in the port, demanding to know if an opal-haired witch had boarded with them recently?

I shook my head, rueful at how desperate this woman made me, just to see her again. I laid my hand over the breast of my cloak, where the inner pocket held the starling’s feather. My heart hammered, my pulse thrumming so hard in my ears that it drowned out the clamor of the market square, leaving me in a void of my swirling thoughts.

Unlike every other woman I’d bedded, the witch’s time couldn’t be bought. Firstly, I’d have to convince her that she’d be safe to be alone with me.

Not an easy task with a name like mine.

The apothecary door chimed and a potent, but pleasant, blend of herbs assaulted my senses.

“Can I help you, ser?” inquired a witch with a pink bob and no sense of personal space.

“I’m in need of flea potion for my mastiff pup.” Weekend shoppers crowded the well-stocked shop, and I had no interest in browsing in a swarm of people. “She’s three months old.”

“Right this way.” She led me around the maze of shelves, winding to the back. “This should work for her. Two drops behind each ear, once a day, until the bottle’s gone.”

“Will it affect her coat?”

“No more than a typical shampoo. Once you’ve finished, you may need a conditioner, but it’s best not to mix them.”

“Thank you. Do you have—”

At the till, a blue witch’s hat caught my eye.

Fuck, she’s even more beautiful than I remembered.

Her onyx eyes were painted an ethereally smokey grey, and her dark lashes lined with a thin streak of plum that ended in a pointed swirl at the outer edge of her round eyes, lending an air of mystery to the little witch.

Potion in hand, I drifted toward her, leaving the helpful witch rambling after me.

Without her heavy traveling cloak, the witch’s hour-glass figure more than filled out her gown. The dark blue wool swelled around her luscious hips, the round neck scooping low on her cleavage where a black crystal crested her full breasts, highlighted in the rainbowglow emitted from the dozens of potions lining the windows. I tracked the dancing light up to her face, which was now flaring in alarmed recognition.

Good. Seems I left an impression on her as well.

I glowered at her, more for the sake of my reputation than in genuine anger.

“Good day, ser. How may I help you?” she asked, the words harried and strained. Her white teeth tugged at her puffy lip, her eyes widening just enough.

She’s cute when she worries.

“Aye, I’m looking for a stowaway witch. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about one, would you?” I teased while leaning my elbows onto the high counter, edging into her space and lowering my voice, “She owes me fare.”

“Um,” she muttered, squirming under my steady gaze. “Apologies for that, ser. I can reimburse you? For passage from the Lazy Crane.”

While she was obviously uncomfortable, it seemed more like she was embarrassed I’d caught her than afraid of the consequences, and that intrigued me. Whatever the reason she squirmed, it had my cock twitching.

“That’s when you broke into my carriage?” I asked, aghast. Two nights she’d been with me, and I’d had no clue.

Not a thief, then. She could have cleaned me out if she’d had the mind for it.

“I’d hardly consider it breaking in. The latch practically fell open,” she quipped, snapping the wide brim of her hat up sharply with a white-hot flare burning in the midnight of her eyes.

Smart mouthed little…

She truly didn’t fear me.

Surprising.

My palm itched in delight. I’d been right about the monster in those eyes. The defiance in them lit a fire under my skin, igniting something deep within my soul.

Few things in life were as satisfying as a good puzzle.

What sets you off? Hm? What would draw more of that flame from you?

“You’ll have to show me which,” I said deliberately, the pitch of my tone hinting at a double-meaning, should she have the inclination to hear it, “so that I might have the latch repaired. As for the matter of payment, I doubt you’ve enough to cover my fare.”

I had no interest in her money. The only thing I wanted from her was a night’s worth of company.

She bent over the till, her heavy breasts scraping the brass keys as her pretty mouth neared my ear, her devastatingly feminine scent eradicating whatever clever thing I’d thought I was going to say.

“How high do you value your future, ser?”

Gods upstream, this woman. Her breathy voice in my ear was silk on bare skin—decadent and subtle, all at once—and suddenly all I could think of was what she’d sound like bouncing on my cock.

Would she let out tiny gasps like she had when I’d leaned in? Or would she cry out for me?

“Fairly high, I’d say,” I rasped back, the shop narrowing, drowning out the surrounding chaos.

What sort of question was that, anyway? I’d barely registered it as her deeply humble “ser” played over and over in my mind.

Such a simple honorific usually did nothing for me, insisting my staff refer to me as my status; lord, while hired women referred to me as master. This witch had done little more than acknowledge her own lower station and it buzzed straight to my dick, swelling it uncomfortably in my fitted trousers.

Thank fuck I’m wearing a cloak. What’s wrong with me? She’s got me reacting like a boy who can’t control his own cock.

“Enough to cover two days’ worth of travel?”

I huffed in amusement, my breath ruffling the soft strands of her hair. “If this is some sort of threat, I’m afraid you aren’t very intimidating, little witch.”

She was practically as short as a dwarf, hardly over five foot, if I were to wager a guess.

Surely, she could see how easily I’d overpower her, despite whatever magick she possessed. If I wanted to, I’d have her against the wall, with a hand around her throat and my eager cock grinding into her hip before she could make it two steps from me.

“What if I offered you an insight from Fate in exchange for the fare?”

Withdrawing to her side of the counter, she smiled, and the delicate beauty of it stole away my breath.

Wait…

“You’re a diviner,” I whispered, awe doubling my interest. A rare gift, even in a city with as many witches as Port Vulkhov. “Aye, that should cover my losses.”

Not my original intent, but perhaps the witch could lead me to whoever was selling my faeshrooms. Either way, we’d be alone.

Unable to stop myself, I dragged my eyes down to where the swell of her hips vanished behind the counter, then back up to her blushing face.

At her glowing cheeks and curious expression, the curled edge of my mustache lifted, my grin growing smug. I’d put good coin on her being interested.

Her gorgeous eyes flicked over my shoulder to the customers piled up behind me.

With a flourish, she snatched up a quill and scribbled on a scrap of parchment. “I’ll be here in three hours. Come find me,” she hissed.

“I’ll be there, little witch,” I drawled, shameless flirtation darkening my tone.

“Will that be all, ser?”

She twisted the honorific, probably to retort the pet name, and my jaw clenched. That fucking mouth. So pretty, but so snarky. How did she go from the very definition of humility one moment to a spoiled priss the next?

“Just the flea potion, for now.”

As she counted back my change, I noted the sapphire lacquer on her nails. Naturally long, but professionally done all the same.

If she was trading services for fare, she couldn’t have much money. So, why was she spending it on frivolous things like manicures?

See you soon, prissy little witch.

I left without another word, leaving her to stew in her own anxieties.

Forlorn and agitated, I stared unseeingly at the candle in my hand. Some kind of pastry-scented ramshit.

After finishing the remainder of my errands, I’d come into the shop merely to loiter until the witch was ready for me, berating myself for not getting her name earlier.

I’d been too distracted by her tits.

She must have no idea who I am.

No sane woman would give a man like me directions to her home.

Chapter Five

“Who was that man? Not someone from Brăno, I hope,” Tasia mumbled, nerves skirting her words.

Yavor’s looming presence still lingered in the air, though he left nearly two hours ago. Once the rush had ended, Tasia had asked me to help her portion her latest brew.

I tilted the pitcher over a funnel that had been placed inside the raised lip of a vial. The pale blue liquid shimmered as it drained into the glass, though the shine faded once the potion stilled. It was either a sleeping potion or a strength tonic—I could never tell them apart. Fortunately, it wasn’t my responsibility to label them.

“No, no. Nothing like that. He gave me a lift into the city a couple of signs back. My Ex went north to find me last week. It’ll be a while before he changes course, I think. And no one else is looking for me.”

It was difficult to be sure, even when I had perfect control over my aether. The Course fluctuated in response to actions taken, sometimes miles away from the person affected.

“Oh, that’s wonderful news.”

She released a concerned breath, curled in on herself in that way she did when anxious.

Which was often. Not that I judged—gods upstream, did I not have room to judge—just an observation. Though I’d been fairly open about my plight, Tasia had said very little of where she came from, only that her father had remarried recently. She preferred a bright smile and a song to discussing whatever brought her to the apothecary.

“That explains why you were flirting, not screaming.”

“I wasn’t flirting with him,” I huffed. “I was offering to pay an overdue fare.”

Alright, I may have been flirting a little. So what? He was handsome.

“He was certainly flirting with you.”

A smile tugged at my mouth, flattered at the idea of the handsome merchant being interested in me. Not that I was looking for another man, yet. I should probably wait until I at least knew if I was safe in the city. No point in getting attached if I had to leave again.

“You’d better hope he wasn’t. If you’d told me Yavor Konev was the man who brought you, I would’ve called you a liar. I forget you’re both so new to the area.” Anka sighed, braiding her thick, fern-colored hair over a shoulder. “As powerful as royalty and wealthier than the merchants, that’s likely the most dangerous man either of you has met.”

Tasia scoffed.

“No, I mean it. Vreme Konev, his father, is the unofficial king of the underbelly of Barma, while Yavor’s known as the Viscount of Crime. The head of an old smuggling syndicate, their family’s held control over practically every black-market niche for generations. Some say the Konevs are worth more than the crown. If you’ve ever seen a faeshroom, it’s because of them.”

“I’ve always wanted to try one,” Tasia said, returning to her cauldron.

“Aye, good fun if handled correctly. Regardless, the Konev family is one of the deadliest in the kingdom. Well-connected and insanely wealthy, anyone who gets in their way vanishes from the Port—without so much as a peep from the knight-guard. I’m shocked the eldest son gave a freeloading witch a ride.”

My hands turned clammy as I felt the blood drain from my face.

Garnets in the water.

I’d known The Course surrounding him was volatile, hadn’t I?

And now I’d given a crime lord street-by-street directions to my front door.

Fucking vale-below. What, in the name of the Holy Collective, have I gotten myself into?

I winced before reluctantly admitting, “He didn’t, exactly, know I was a passenger until after we’d arrived and I barreled him over, fleeing to the city.”

Anka gave a low whistle. “Oh dear. What did he want?”

“Flea potion for his puppy. He seemed like a merchant, harmless.” Unfairly tall, but harmless.

“Don’t they always,” Tasia deadpanned knowingly before wandering deeper into the kitchen.

“Is he that bad? Or is it mostly his father?”

“Oh no, Yavor is the eldest son. His hands are as bloody as his father’s. Though I hear he’s kinder to the whores he hires. So, that’s something.”

The atmosphere of our conversation had been intense, heated even. I’d thought it little more than my nerves combined with his gorgeous face—a dangerous combo for me already—but now I feared far worse.

Had it been The Course warning me off?

Is that why I feel so irritable?

Curse this broken power of mine. What good is a witch that can’t properly wield her aether?

“But he’s definitely killed people?” It didn’t surprise or offend me to hear he hired women. Brothels were highly respected places for wealthy men to ease their frustrations, so long as they weren’t married. “Is he worse than the Drudonis?”

“Ah, you’re familiar with their rivals in the north. Aye, he’s a ruthless murderer and, without a doubt, he’s worse than them. Be careful with that silver-tongued stud. Pretty bottles hold deadly poison.”

I hung my head and nodded regretfully—I knew better than to have handed out my address like that.

What had possessed me to give it to him, of all people?

A copper kettle gleamed on the hearth floor, where I’d set it to warm before Yavor arrived. Over the fire hung an iron simmer pot filled with blessed water, dried orange peels, cinnamon bark, and sprigs of rosemary that I’d bought from the shop.

Strom carried on with some chipper tune, as if he couldn’t feel my nerves.

I should have given him a fake address—or simply stayed at work until Anka closed up.

I definitely should have told her he was coming over.

I’d told Tasia. We were closer in age, my twenty-four to her twenty-two, and talking to her was nice. Almost like having a friend. Now, I just had to not overdo it and scare her off like I had everyone else.

The Course surged unnaturally around me, evoking a bitter-sweet shiver that left me unsure of its meaning.

The foreboding was obvious, but what was the warning for? And why did it leave behind a swelling of impossible hope?

I’d thought myself cured—or healing—of whatever had rotted my abilities. Since escaping Brăno, my readings had gradually become more accurate and more specific.

That is, until this afternoon. Anytime I’d contemplated a way out of encountering Yavor again, The Course blurred around me with its shadows and highlights ominously stretching and refracting into swirling nonsense in the shimmering overlay.

Not that any of the dozens of people streaming in and out could have seen it.

A witch’s medium depended on their upbringing, and I’d built my craft in the forests of my home, finding Fate’s tale spun into the sunbeams piercing dense canopies, and the glinting bubbles of the brook. To the non-diviner, the jeweled light of sunglow through potions was beautiful but stagnant; lent nothing to the greater picture. But to me, the colors danced in the kaleidoscoping whirlpools, revealing messages for me to decipher.

Really, the apothecary should have been an ideal environment for me to cast in.

And yet.

I placed my granule-sized gems in an old spice jar and tucked it away. Hidden in plain sight on my mantle.

With an anxious buzz in my spine, I re-arranged my kitchen chairs again. And then again.

Perhaps we should have tea by the hearth—Yavor’s broad frame might splinter the twiggy legs of these chairs.

Yes, I decided the high-backed wicker armchairs would be more suitable. Still cheap, but comfier.

Quickly, I loaded a tray with clay mugs and a variety of teas and placed it on the low hearthroom table, then fussed over the placement of spoons and saucers.

tata-tap

I jerked ramrod straight, eyes wide.

He’s here.

With a quick glance in the mirror, I wrangled my long hair into a bun using a wooden pin and took a deep breath.

“Fair evening!” I chipped as I threw open the door, wearing a smile braver than I felt.

“Fair evening. You’re far more frightened than when we met last,” Yavor commented as he strolled into my small apartment, hanging his cloak and hat on a hook. If he reached up, he’d touch the ceiling without having to fully extend his elbow.

Must be difficult to find a bed when you’re that tall.

The black fabric of his tunic clung tightly to his muscular frame, its short laces taut over his broad chest. With a sharp inhale, I realized I was staring, and my betraying eyes automatically snapped to his, watching me with amusement.

You aren’t meant to find him attractive. He’s a murdering smuggler. Worse than the mob. My traitorous, fluttering heart obviously needed a reminder that he was dangerous.

“What makes you say I’m frightened?”

“You’re trembling.” His dark eyes bored into mine, steeling me in place.

Damn, that obvious? I didn’t know if I shook from fear or excitement. Yavor’s overwhelming presence in my cozy home picked at my worst urges.

Give him his reading and get him out.

“My boss enlightened me on some local figures after you left,” I rasped—scrambling for an excuse as my chest rapidly rose and fell. Embarrassment licked hotly at my face.

Damn it.

I couldn’t keep it together for five minutes.

“Ah.” He loomed toward me, crowding me into the closed door, until leather boots grazed bare, polished toes, and peered down at my craning face, decadent honey dripping into my ear, rich and inviting. “Be honest with me, beautiful. Would you like me to leave?”

My stomach tightened, my breath hitching in the warmth corralling me. Beautiful? Where did that come from?

I noticed flecks of red glittering in his topaz eyes.

Gods upstream, he’s close.

He’d tempted my ignored libido in the tavern and now he had my heart racing over a single word and an unwavering gaze.

Perhaps it had been too long since last I’d been satisfied with more than my own hands.

His hands are huge. I nearly whimpered at the long, thick fingers thrumming beside my ear, the steady rhythm vibrating in my ribs and down to my pussy. I bet he wouldn’t even need a paddle.

“No. I owe you fare, remember?” I said, casually side-stepping him, my voice blessedly even.

“I recall,” he drawled, openly tracking my swaying hips—hips that I most certainly did not exaggerate.

His golden signet ring glinted as he pulled off his gloves, burying them into the pocket of his hanging cloak. Using a fresh towel, I hefted the kettle onto the fire.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Ignoring the heat building between us, I gestured at the chairs beside the hearth, and Yavor eased himself into one. “Black or green?”

“Am I allowed honey?”

He reclined in the armchair, briefly curling his fists around the knobbed arms. Relief settled my fidgeting hands as his long legs languidly stretched toward the fire.

I’d made the right choice in seating.

Tilting my head, I bit my lip and smiled apologetically. “Not in this cup, sorry.”

“Pity. Green, then.”

To add the leaves to the pot, I used my carved moonstone teaspoon—a gift from Aunt Esper that I’ve coveted for years—then, just before the water boiled, I unhooked the kettle and poured it over our terracotta mugs.

“Now what?”

“We drink, and you think on whatever it is you wish to learn.” I set the kettle back on the hearth—just in case.

“Firstly, I should like to know your name.”

“Oh,” I said sheepishly. “It’s Evelina. I apologize for my manners, ser, the day we first met wasn’t my best.”

“Evelina.” He rolled his mouth around my name, drawing out the ‘Ee,’ and stressing the ‘vah,’ in a way that went right between my legs. “Apology accepted. What’s brought you to Port Vulkhov? Why stowaway in my cargo? Surely, there were safer ways to travel here.”

“Careful, if I’m all you dwell on, you’re reading will be entirely about me.”

“If you will not answer, so be it,” he unblinkingly replied, then pointedly sipped from his mug.

The eye-contact with this man…

“I couldn’t afford the fare,” I clipped.

Yavor smirked into his cup, but didn’t press.

“Do you know the woman who owns this townhome? A distant relative, perhaps? Or has Dalibor housed you?”

“Anka helped me when I arrived in Port Vulkhov. I knew no one and had nothing but a will to be here.”

“Ah, I see. A brave woman, stealing away in a strange merchant’s goods to start a new life in the big city,” he guessed, reclining in his chair with confidence that bordered on arrogance.

“Is that bravery? I wonder.” I raised my cup pointedly.

“Daring, if nothing else. I wonder, what else could you be daring about?” he asked, the dark rasp of lust edging his question, sending my heart into a spastic mess.

Oh no.

How was I supposed to keep my urges in check if he fed into them?

“You’re meant to be focusing on your query, ser.”

“I am.” He dragged his eyes down my body, lingering on my neckline and the outline of my lap. “I can keep my mind on the task at hand, even when drinking in a gorgeous woman.” Yavor’s throat bobbed with a languid swallow.

Oh my, he’s direct. I made a non-committal sound and stared into my cup as I drank, desperate to evade the intensity of Yavor. The attention wasn’t unwelcome, but it was alarming. Anka had explicitly warned me and yet, here I was, my pussy already drenched at the very idea of him being interested in me.

I shouldn’t lose control with someone so dangerous. I really, really shouldn’t.

Those arms, though.

As if he’d heard my thoughts, he brought his tea to his lips, flexing the dense muscles of his arms, which caused his ebony tunic to strain.

Could he lift me?

No man had ever bothered to try.

I turned my face and bit my lip to clamp down an obscene whine.

Gods, I’m so embarrassing.

As a teen, I’d scared off any boy who’d gotten close with me. No matter how sweet and gentle they began, I’d inevitably get too needy, too hungry. We’d go from chaste kisses straight to twisting tongues—and then my teeth would come out as the urge to nip and be nipped took over.

No one ever stayed after that needy mess—not until my Ex.

I lifted my attention from the dregs of my own mug and found Yavor still watching me, curiosity lifting the edges of his mouth.

The silence that had fallen while we drank was unusually comfortable. I’d have expected a syndicate leader to have a more intimidating presence. Instead, my small home, nor myself, had never felt so content and secure.

I tried not to think about it.

As we neared the last drops, I told Yavor to swirl his mug—sunwise—three times and tip it, draining it into a bowl on the tray.

Then I inspected what remained.

“Hmm.”

Tea leaves had always been the most reliable short-form reading for me, even when The Course was muddy. Tarot was fine, I simply preferred the flow of leaves.

“You’ve got an inevitable change coming. Quicker than you’re prepared for.” I frowned. “And a rat. Watch out for your rat, Yavor—it’s after the source of your power. Look, see it eating the sun?”

I gestured with the tip of my manicured pinky nail. My first paycheck had gone to rent and food; the second, to a manicurist. So what, I had a weakness for getting my nails done?

“I can make out the rat, but that’s about it.” His eyes were distant, lost in thought.

While he quietly contemplated his reading, I poured Yavor a fresh cup—this time black with a glob of honey.

As I squinted into the cup over the low table, my neck throbbed. I leaned back, kneading the crook of my neck with a contented sigh.

I missed doing these for people.

There’s no reason I can’t start doing them again!

Something cold and slithering dropped into the pit of my stomach.

I can’t.

Jirí knows that’s exactly what I’d do. He was the one that forced me to stop in the first place, years ago. Accused me of drawing attention to us—as if all of Brăno hadn’t known I was born a diviner.

Frustrated, I yanked my hair-pin out and my opal locks cascaded down my back. Closing my eyes, I dug my fingers into my scalp, rubbing out the tension from memories best forgotten. A small sigh crossed my lips as I massaged down to the base of my neck.

Then came a prickling on my face that had me blinking my eyes open.

“Don’t stop on my account, little witch.” Yavor’s hungry stare ravaged me behind his freshened mug as he took a swig. He reclined, spreading his knees. The motion highlighted the obvious arousal in his trousers.

Fuck, that looks huge.

In a trance, I weighed my options. This gorgeous man clearly wanted to lay with me, but I still couldn’t tell what those ripples in The Course surrounding him had meant.

On the other hand, the last man to touch me like that had been Jirí, and I would adore if that changed.

Screw it, I decided. I’ve never had sense when it came to men, why start now? Why not fuck the most dangerous man I’ve ever met?

I chewed on my bottom lip, contemplating, while casting my gaze around the apartment. In the kitchen, I spied my herb twine and an idea flitted across my mind. It was a game I’d played dozens of times, one of the few I’d had any control over—but I hadn’t done it in years now.

Coyly, I flicked my eyes from his cock to his face, my breath catching at the soft, almost unsure smile on his face.

“Would you like to play a game, Yavor?” My measured tone and careful expression contradicted the wild pounding in my chest.

“Would I ever,” he rasped and clinked down his mug.

“Hold still.”

On quivering legs, I retrieved the twine and cut off two lengths. I knelt beside his armchair and loosely wrapped and knotted down each of Yavor’s solid forearms, mindful of the coarse hair dusting them.

“You’re even more daring than I’d imagined. Tell me, are the binds tight enough, little witch? I’d hate for all your hard work to unravel,” he crooned, easily rotating his arms within the rope.

With an undignified pout, I tried again, this time leaving him no gaps to wiggle in.

“Is that alright?” I asked, still kneeling at his side.

“Aye.”

“When you ask, I’ll untie you, alright?”

“Alright,” he replied thickly, his arousal jerking against his fitted trousers as I dragged my hand on his inner thigh, pretending to help myself up.

Resisting the urge to feel the size of him, I returned to my chair and began where I’d started; my scalp, then let my hands feel their way down. I stopped to caress the shell of an ear, to thumb its lobe, chills puckering my skin.

Heat spiked in my core, spurred on by his rapt attention. His chest expanded when my hand dropped to my throat and my thumb hooked my neck. Curious, I pressed the tips of my fingers in, softly squeezing.

“Yes, tighten your grip, little witch. Show me what breathless looks like on you.”

My lids fluttered shut at his gravelly command and my fingers clamped down, slowly cutting off my air.

As my lungs emptied, I forced an inhale. The breath didn’t make it far, instead catching wickedly at my grip.

Is he like me?

Ordering me to choke myself was exactly the sort of thing I craved in a partner.

I peeked out between my lashes and found Yavor’s jaw circling, his expression somewhere between wrath and starvation. Gradually, my lips began to tingle from the lack of air, my face hot and numbing at the sides.

With a loud gasp, I dropped my hand, skimming it along the edge of my cleavage.

“Good,” he growled, flicking back the hair that had fallen over his brow. His hips shifted, his fingers flexing in creaking binds. “I can’t wait until I can wrap my hand around your neck. I’ll squeeze every ounce of breath out of you, if only to watch you gasp like that again.”

Oh fuck.

I whimpered, ashamed of the neediness in the sound.

Using my other hand, I undid the lacing on the back of my overgown, the fabric pooling around my plump breasts, my nipples going taut in the cool air. Taking them in hand, I squeezed, pulsing my fingers around the sensitive flesh spilling between them, softly keening. His mouth moved, parting, then pursing as his tongue poked out, swiping his lips.

Suddenly, I wanted to be as brave as he’d thought me.

Wool and linen slipped further down as I stood, guiding them over the swell of my hips, then I bent at the waist to carefully gather the garments. Yavor watched my heavy breasts sway inches from him, nostrils flaring when I shimmied.

I slowly righted myself, being sure to keep my lashes lowered, before turning on my heel and sauntering to the clothing rack in the corner. Painstakingly, I hung one gown, then the next, smoothing them until Yavor grunted, annoyed. I languidly coiled the tie at the side of my cotton panties around my little finger, then eased the knot down.

Hooking my other pinky along my right hip, I slid the waistband down, bending in half as I did. Behind me, Yavor sucked in a sharp breath. I carefully balanced on one foot, then the other, pulling them from my ankles. They landed softly in the woven basket I kept near my gown rack.

With a sly smile, I turned, meandering back to my chair while fiddling with the ends of my hair.

“Where was I?”

“Woman,” Yavor’s jaw snapped as he snarled a warning.

A promise.

The junction of my thighs throbbed and slickened, rushing to respond to him. I smoothed a curved hand around my heavy breast and twisted my pebbled nipple, moaning.

“Hmm?” My other hand snaked tantalizingly down my inner thigh, kneading the soft flesh there.

“I’d like to be untied.”

My legs fell open with a mildly disappointed sigh—he’d given up so easily. I dragged my fingertips upward from the inside of my knee, offering him a glimpse. “Yes, ser.” The cool night air brushed my drenched folds, sending a shiver up my body.

Yavor growled and curled his fists upward, the twine useless around the chair’s splintering arms. He was on me before I blinked. With his big hands wrapped around the dip in my waist, he ripped me from the chair, and crashed his mouth onto mine with urgent need.

I smiled into the kiss as my dangling toes ghosted the floor.

Maybe he is a freak like me.

If he lifted me without me even asking, there was a chance he might be able to satisfy my dark needs, as I’d imagined when first I saw him.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered into my mouth, licking at the seam.

With an agreeing hum, I welcomed him, sliding my tongue against his as it plunged into me, sucking at the heady mixture of honey and excess. My feet planted firmly on the ground again as he leaned into me. I dragged my palms up his sturdy chest to untie his tunic collar.

He groaned and fisted my hair, gripping at the root and easing me back.

“Eager thing, aren’t you?” Curiosity sparked in his eyes as they darted around my face.

I should slow down; I’m being too much already. But—

“Says the man who wrecked my furniture to get to me.” Rolling my eyes, I moved my head away from his fist, pulling my hair harder and baring my throat.

“And greedy.”

“You’ve no idea.”

His teeth dragged down the exposed column, scraping but not biting, which drew a satisfied hiss from me.

“Do you like how that burns, Evelina?” he asked, tightening his grip on my roots until my vision welled.

“Yes,” I moaned, my damp lashes fluttering closed.

Who was this man?

How did he know what I wanted?

My mind swam as I fought the impending fog of submission. It’d been far too long since I’d slipped into a trance like the one I felt coming, but I didn’t want to lose control.

“The things I’ve thought of doing to you…” he trailed off, teeth pulling wickedly at me again. The edge of danger in his tone should have warned me, should have terrified me. “… to think you…”

“More,” I breathed out, too nervous to ask what his mind had dreamed up but desperate to know.

He sunk his bite into my collarbone, and I melted, needy whines cresting my lips. My hands flitted over the expanse of his chest, kneading at the muscles, tangling in the thick hair.

He groaned, “gods, woman. I’m going to pin you down, drag my whole cock in and out of you—just to hear more of that sound.”

I couldn’t have stopped the sounds, even if I tried. He rewarded my answering cry with another nip.

“You’re such a good girl,” he grunted and tugged off his tunic with a wicked gleam. “Lucky me.”

Coarse dark hair shadowed his broad chest, trailing temptingly down to his waistband. I reached my hand out to feel it, only to be shoved away. Digging his fingers in until they bruised my hips, he moved us until my back collided with the wall.

Yavor backed away, and I shivered in the unexpected rush of chill prickling my skin. I reeled, racing to catch up with the scene before me.

He was a little ridiculous laying on my quilted bed, with his knees bent and heavy boots planted on the bare wood floor. Nevertheless, he looked good reclined onto my pillows with a hand smoothing his styled facial hair.

He opened his arms and motioned at his head. “Sit.”

Really? I crawled my way up his body, the tips of my fingers drifting along hard abs on his dense torso.

Everything about this man screamed power. His opulent clothes, his hardened, muscular frame, his deadly reputation. The notion only made me wetter.

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, please.” His gentle command came with hands that roamed over my body, burning a trail that had me humming. He kneaded my hips and ass appreciatively.

“You’re absolutely gorgeous, little witch. More beautiful than any woman in Barma.”

As he couldn’t see my face, I rolled my eyes. I’d heard enough pretty words to know he didn’t mean that.

“Thank you, ser.” I said as I lined my knees up on either side of his head, hovering inches above him.

He gripped and yanked me down, his hot tongue singeing up my center. I yelped, hips hitching, but he only held me tighter.

“Oh gods,” I moaned—no, gurgled was a more apt word for the lost, desperate sounds falling out of my mouth.

I’d never been consumed like this; the sinful rasp of his coarse beard on my soft thighs, the tender way he cradled me to his head, his wicked mouth working me open, ravenous for me.

I hated how I adored it.

Hated how much safer I felt in this stranger’s arms than I had in five years. Hated how I knew I’d crave this feeling in the dull glow of morning.

“Mm… such a sweet clit.” He licked into me, lapping greedily at my juices.

Yavor laved his tongue against my entrance, edging in until he speared me with it. With a cry, I rolled against him, grinding down on his lips, chin, nose, whatever I could get friction on. His hand meandered up my torso, groping at my belly and sides before cupping my breast. Then, the smooth crescent of his thumbnail sank into my nipple with needling heat.

Shocked, I hissed. When he made to stop, I covered his hand with mine and squeezed encouragingly. He rolled the nub between his thumb and forefinger with ever-increasing pressure.

The reprieve lasted only a moment before the nail was back, pushing me to the edge of pain and back again until I threw my head back.

“Unnh,” I groaned, blissed out and mindlessly riding. “Yes, that—that’s what I need. Thank you, ser.”

Yavor hummed and slipped a finger inside me, then two, and pumped alongside his flicking tongue. My hands curled into his thick hair, digging my nails into his scalp.

If I wasn’t careful, I’d slip into the fog any moment now.

I felt him chasing my clit with his mouth but couldn’t stop myself from bucking out of it. Finally, he latched on, sucking hard, and groaned into me. The vibration flared up my torso and I cried out, grinding hard onto his persistent mouth. Teeth pulled at my folds and my eyes glazed over, need driving my hips harder as the haze took over my mind.

“Fucking Vale below. You’re spasming around my fingers,” he groaned out, his words muffled under me.

“Sorry, ser.”

I’m about to come.

“You may.” Yavor hooked his fingers inside me. “Come for me, little witch.” He suctioned his lips around my clit, his tongue rolling over it again and again.

Tipping over the edge onto his lips, I came with a loud keen, gripping his hair as his muscular arms coiled around me.

Breathless, I tried to roll off him, but his iron-grip tightened, his incessant mouth still lapping at my over-sensitive bud. I panted above him, quaking and frantic to escape, but unable to wrench myself from his hold. Then one of his arms slipped off, dipping below his waistband.

What is he…?

Over my shoulder, I watched his hand jerk his impressive, regretfully clothed, erection.

“Ser?” The word broke on my tongue.

His wild, deep groan vibrated against my aching core as he thrust up, coming into his hand.

A brief twinge of disappointment washed over me—I’d been looking forward to the main event.

Finally, he released me, and I collapsed with a satisfied sigh, my sex warm and abused in the best of ways. I could be asleep in ten minutes, if I wanted to be.

“I’ve an unused boudoir suite,” Yavor said, his words punctuated by short, quick pants. He cleared his throat a few times, clearly trying to cover his windedness.

Out of breath from devouring me? Too cute.

“And?” I quirked a brow with a challenge ringing in my tone.

At least he’s not married, I guess. I hadn’t thought to ask, or even look for a ring. Not good. A man his age should have been married with a baby in the nursery by now.

“It’s yours, should you want it.” Yavor stood, redressing with a frown. “I’ve not nearly had my fill of you. But, alas, your bed is fragile. When I fuck you, it’s going to be a rough affair.”

Yavor gave me a long, even look, topaz cutting through onyx and into my soul. He looked at me and I felt raw, bared.

Seen.

Absolutely not.

“While I appreciate your honesty, I’m afraid I must decline. A little soon to move in, don’t you agree?”

Besides, I’d promised myself no more men, not for a long time. I reluctantly rose from my sex-warmed bed and slipped on a knit robe. Even if he was a monster like me, it wasn’t worth it.

“My honesty?”

“Aye. It’s refreshing that someone would be so upfront about moving me in for sex. But again, we’ll have to arrange something else.”

“Hmm. Honesty is an excellent virtue,” he replied in a distant tone, like his mind was elsewhere already.

He brushed his lips across my left knuckles and made for the door, then slid the fur rim of his hat over his ears and slung on his cloak.

“Going so soon?”

I never even got to see how big he was.

“If I stay any longer, I’ll turn your sad excuse for a bed to dust, claiming you. I’ll see you soon,” he affirmed.

Claiming me? That does sound rough. Ugh, it really would have been fun. A pout ghosted my bottom lip, but I fought it back. I didn’t want him to think I wanted him that badly.

“Denélōs guide you home,” I bid him farewell, not committing one way or the other, then bolted the door behind him, my heart thundering in my ears.

My twisted needs didn’t even faze him. I’d ridden Yavor’s face pretty hard.

Oh dear. I hope I didn’t hurt him.

The lingering buzz of afterglow rekindled flashes of me stripping in front of a stranger. I gripped the sides of my grinning face.

What was that? Who was I back there?

That was the most reckless thing I’d done since I’d gone free-sledding down Greenhorn Hill as a child.

It was fun, though, even if he was too dangerous to see again—for so many reasons.

Come spend the weekend at Konev Manor

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