Page 183 of Fallacies

I’m running on pure adrenaline, but it will do the job.

I slam the door shut behind me, propping myself up against it as I drag in a deep breath.

The Countess’s rooms are perhaps the grandest thing I’ve ever seen. Tall windows, a massive four-poster bed, furniture that looks like it cost a fortune.

If I had to guess, this would have been Sable’s room, and the thought squeezes something in my chest, but the sentimental feeling is rudely interrupted by the sound of vomit hitting the floor.

“That won’t work,” I hear Salem sigh, having just folded Vance’s body into the fireplace. He wipes his hands on his pants before crouching in front of the Countess, who is still…alive?!?

“What the fuck?” I surge forward.

Her wrists and ankles are bound, and she looks as close to death as she can be, but she’s still trying to hurl up the poison. Eyes drooping lower by the second, she still attempts to look up at me.

“It’s fine,” Salem assures me, double-checking her restraints, and then he pauses to give me a once-over. There’s amusement in his gaze as he gets to his feet, turning to face me fully. “What kind of side quest did you go on?”

I glare at him, gesturing a wide arm to the door behind me. “You didn’t hear me fighting for my life out there?”

“No,” he says plainly, waving his hand around the room, “it must have blended in with the sound of explosions and⁠—.”

“You’re a hunter,” I spit back at him. “So, you have supernatural scent but shitty hearing?”

The Hound smirks, and it only serves to piss me off more. “I can’t be great at everything, Lucina. It wouldn’t be fair.”

The Countess dry heaves over the ground, pulling both of our attentions.

“Why isn’t she dead?” I ask, crossing the room to get started on the fire.

“Beats me,” Salem says.

Another explosion sounds outside, rattling the Estate walls, and though my body protests the idea of more fire, I don’t have a choice.

“Well, figure it out,” I hiss through gritted teeth, pushing past the discomfort and dredging up enough Sol magic to produce the white-hot flames needed for such a task.

Fire bursts from my open palms, surging into the hearth, catching Vance’s clothes before consuming his entire body.

I brace myself for the stench, knowing no amount of preparation will prepare me for it, but this is the last bit of gruesome in our plan—if it all works out as it should.

Right now it’s more than just dropping a ward. It’s avenging an entire people.

A mother, a daughter, a sun-drenched city now barren and tarnished. The orphans that grew up parentless in Pirn, the Captures, the bodies hanging from the gates. The fire outside and how eerily familiar I bet it is to my coven.

To Callan.

He’s probably already made it outside the Estate walls and is waiting for the ward to drop. He’s probably looking up at a sky painted red and remembering the last time it looked that way.

“Any last words, Gwendolyn?” Salem’s toying with her now. A lion playing with his food, and honestly, I’m not surprised.

A few moments pass, eerily silent save for the roar of flames before me and the crack of explosions outside. I’m about to tell him to just get it over with when the Countess croaks out, “You’ll get…your…day.”

“Awh,” Salem mocks. “Did you hear that, Killer?”

I roll my eyes at the stupid name, increasing the temperature of the fire until the white flames tint blue.

When I don’t reply, I hear him respond on my behalf, voice so low it’s hardly more than a rumble, “I am the Keeper of Hell, Gwen, and I can promise you her day will look a lot different than yours.”

My face falls, and despite the heat churning within me, there’s an icy chill in the wake of his response.

“Please,” his accent has never been so thick, “send Pyra my love.”