Page 135 of Fallacies

“You can…smell them?”

He pauses, head tilting in my direction. “You don’t know anything about me, do you?”

“I know you must think very highly of yourself if you expect me to get answers from ambiguous gestures.”

“Yes,” he exhales. “I can smell them.”

Brows rising at the finality in his statement, I rock back on my heels and gesture to the Baron. I have too many other pressing questions to dissect his reply. “Why can’t we just bury him?”

“Aside from the fact that this is much faster?” he answers my question with another question, and it’s starting to grate on my nerves.

That must be evident on my face because before I can prod further, he explains, “The Baron isn’t a source; his blood is. You won’t get rid of his effect on the Ward without getting rid of him completely.” The Hound surveys his body, the fabric of his suit bunching as he folds his arms across his chest. “And I suggest burning, unless you’d rather string him up like a pig and⁠—”

“No,” I refuse with a wince.

“Squeamish?”

“Merciful.”

He laughs at that, a low and dark chuckle. “You are better than I, Killer.”

His statement gives me pause. While I’m sure my morals are straighter than the Hound’s, I don’t believe I’m better than most. I believe I’m somewhere towards the bottom, actually. Beneath Callan and my friends…all of Pirn…I’m higher on the list than a full-rogue but closer to the Hound than I’d like to be. No one trembles in my presence, but people would surely question my innocence if they got a real glimpse at the demons I carry.

Or demon.

But after all this is over. After I save our people and bring them home. Maybe then, I could sit in the same league as all the people I look up to. Maybe then, I’d still be half-rogue— half something wicked—but I’ll have proved that corrupt blood does not mean a corrupt soul. Not always.

Merciful, I think, nodding to myself as Solian magic drips into my veins, and a spark of Rogue power swirls alongside it.

My skin heats, the air gets colder, and when I open my palms, fire dances there. Flickering and cracking but not consuming, not until I direct it towards the Baron and permit it to be free.

It bursts out of me, a bit harsher than I would have liked it to, and the Baron’s cloak catches fire, flames crawling up his body. Over his face. Burning straight through flesh and bone.

Dark red and deep orange hues light up the forest around us, smoke rising to the thick canopy overhead. I hadn’t realized just how cold the night was until the warmth reaches my skin, kissing my cheeks, melting through layers of fear and uncertainty.

Fire is home. It’s nourishment and fuel. It lifts my spirit and grounds my soul. It’s so boisterously alive that it’s contagious. It makes me want to dance with it.

Until I remember what’s burning.

My expression falls grim. We stand there in silence, neither of us taking our attention off the fire.

“Hotter.”

I do as he says. I don’t have enough body-burning experience to argue.

The flames burn white hot—so bright I’m forced to squint to make sure the fire is contained. I pull back when it burns too high, and funnel more magic in when the Hound calls for me, feeding the flames. Encouraging them to eat through the Baron’s body.

By the time I hit bone, there’s a substantial layer of sweat on my skin, soaking through my clothes. My head weighs a million pounds, but I don’t dare give away my exhaustion. I don’t know my accomplice well enough to show any weakness.

“Alright,” his voice startles me, a deep resonance in the settled silence, “that’s enough.”

On a steep exhale, I sever my connection and begin extinguishing the flames. Before I’ve even fully snuffed it, the Hound approaches the fire, kicking through the Baron’s bones as the last of the embers die out.

“Perfect,” he says, then abruptly freezes amidst the charred remains.

Dark eyes flick up to the woods beside us, gaze narrowing as if he’s trying to see something through the forestry.

“I’ll come back for these later,” he decides, quickly shoving the remains into a shallow dip in the dirt. He covers them with whatever leaves and sticks are around it, then promptly turns to leave. “We have to go,” he says over his shoulder.