Page 159 of Season Warriors & Wolves

Kil remained still. “Yes. Empaths.”

“What about what Elias said, the whistle?” Penelope asked. “An Empath would not need to whistle, they would simply just,” she frantically moved her hands around, “do that.”

Mal looked at Kil, sighed and said, “There was an old trick once used by Lyran grandmothers to dispel spirits from a child’s room when they used to have continuous nightmares or dreams. Some used rocks, sticks, chants or songs, but also whistles. The call stops them from lingering close by. It makes sense.” He pointed his chin to the men. “When they turn, their souls essentially go into a sedentary state in the Mid-world, still tied to their bodies. The whistle could be a summoning call for whatever Melanthe has put in them, and then once she has their attention, an Empath ties emotional strings to them to control their desire, anger. Lure them to a particular target. Feed hate into a particular direction.”

“Then it is easy,” Cai said, and everyone looked at him. “We’ve got plenty of Empaths who can do what Silas’s Empaths are doing.”

“The strings are unique, my muffin,” Mal explained. “You can make it so that their spirits are warded off or come to attention or attack, but only to a specific order designed by the ones who have attached those strings. Our best chance is finding these Empaths and killing them.”

“He could have hundreds.”

Kil shook his head. “A dozen at best. We keep a strict record for the safety of our people. Every parent is required to hand their child's name once the blessing surfaces. The punishment for failing to do so is worse than death. Mal, have the priests draw up the names of every Empath in Adriata and then pay them all a visit. See who and how many are missing.”

“I’ll come with you,” Cai said. “This is creeping me out.”

The Princeling smirked and smacked my friend’s behind. “If you want some alone time with me, you could have asked, sweet bun.”

My friend backed away. “On a second thought—”

Mal grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him out of the room.

“It just doesn’t make sense. How could she have thought of all of this? And what beacon?” Crouching down along Pen, I reached a finger to the khamir mark only to be stopped by Kilian’s hand wrapped around my wrist.

“Melanthe could have easily predicted that we’d do something like this. Might have even wanted us to do this.” He kissed my fingertips. “The khamir mark is more than just a mark. It is a powerful seal. Until we find out what it could be sealing, let’s keep our hands to ourselves.”

“Would I have lost a finger?”

“No, you could have lost your soul.”

“Can’t be worse than losing a finger.” Unimpressed by my statement, he bit my hand, and I jumped upright. “Ah.”

Leaning forward, he murmured only for me to hear, “I’d like to see all five of your fingers wrap around my cock, so try and keep them all for me, love.” As if he’d not left me gawking, he looked over my shoulder at Visha who was blankly staring at the two bodies, blissfully unaware. “Oryn could look at this better, he knows both sides of magic. Call him.”

She snapped to attention and nodded. “I will.”

“Penelope,” he called, and the little carrot stood so fast she got dizzy. “Could you run to Adriata and get Atlas too.”

“Why Atlas?”

“He is an Empath.”

“He is?” the both of us asked at once.

“A non-practising one, he gave up the rights when he wore the robes, but he has one of the best understandings of the magic. Mal trained him since he was a small kid to keep it under control.”

“What if we can’t find the Empaths?”

“Then we will have to kill my cousin. The proper Crafter way,” Visha said nonchalantly, messing around with a few vials and returning beside us with a bowl of water and a small bottle of an oily sort of substance. “Simple as that. This all is tied, bound and connected to her magic. The potion, the strings. If there is no grand master, there are no puppets.”

“You’d think it would be as easy as that?” Nia asked, strutting along with Eren. They both kneeled as we had. “She will probably be hiding during the battle. Puppeting the war she orchestrated from afar.”

Visha calmly replied, “Until I solidify my conclusions, my best proposal remains as that.”

I shrugged. “Mine, too.”

“I bet,” Nia muttered, taking a seat.

Visha wet her hands in the water and then spilled some of the orange tinted oil on her fingertips, rubbing them together before she circled them on top of the khamir mark. The black lines melted into each other under her touch, spinning until they formed a circle the size of a fist. Her red brows creased. “Presence of a soul. This doesn’t make sense.”