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“Pain.” She announced her third signifier, tracing the metal ring that now hid it.
“So I saw.”
Her eyes dared to glance up just enough to see his hand hanging slack by his side. His fingers covered in the ink of all five signifiers. Even without the magic suppression on her, she would have no chance in a fight against him.
Guards dressed in black combat uniforms stood by the door.
“Sir.” The guard who walked in addressed Dawson with deference. “You are needed in the war room.”
When she looked up at him, she immediately wished she hadn’t. Wished she hadn’t seen him in his uniform of all black. Right below the stiff collar of his jacket, which covered his neck, was a silver pin of a scorpion with Rakkley’s initial. A fitting symbol for the poison master.
“Tell them to come to me if they so choose.”
“But, sir, they said it was urgent.”
He turned to the guard, who cowered instantly. “Last I checked, I am Rakkley’s general. Not you. What do you think is the most valuable thing in our possession? The best way to win this war before it even begins?” He pointed at her. “I will not leave her side until it is done and the master has Synth back.”
“Of course. Apologies.” The guard bowed his head and left, but two others remained.
A lot of security for a beginner Wielder who didn’t know how to use her powers properly and had them currently suppressed. But Dawson wouldn’t allow for any mistakes.
“I see you got a promotion,” she said blandly, feeling so numb she didn’t even possess the desire to scream at him. It seemed futile regardless. He had outplayed her and had achieved everything he had wanted. “Does Obryn know?” Her voice was still hoarse.
“No, he doesn’t. Which makes him an invaluable resource.”
At least he had played Obryn as well. That made her feel less stupid for not seeing the deceit.
She would be the reason Synth would return.
“Why am I not dead yet?” she asked, leaning her head against the cold stone wall. The chains of her shackles rattled with her every move.
“Turns out that whatever shield you have around you disturbed the extraction process. We are waiting for the effects to subside.”
Rylan had found a way to make the potion last three hours. Killing the Primemage seemed like a lifetime ago.
“How long was I out?”
He checked his watch. “Close to four hours.”
She felt too weak to even cry. Her wrists were still bruised from where Dawson had restrained her. But it wasn’t the physical injuries that bothered her.
“Was any of it real?” Her voice was a soft echo in the cellar.
His stare was so cold, it chilled her right to the bone. His silence was answer enough. Regardless of her feelings for him, she had always known that he was the perfect weapon. And she had let him off the leash.
The Shadowflame on his hand flared, tasting freedom.
Now his spirit signifier made more sense than ever before. Two lines, one solid and the other dashed, representing Sakaya—the spirit of repressing emotions. Combined with his other signifiers, it allowed him to kill without remorse or empathy.
There was no longer any shade of blue left in his eyes. They were piercing silver. No warmth. They reminded her of snow. Mesmerizing to look at but lifeless, swallowing all sound and color.
“I still don’t understand. If you knew I would destroy the amulet for you, then why enter a bargain with Rakkley? You just exchanged one master for another.”
She expected a flinch of contempt at the challenge, but he remained emotionless. “You’ve got it all wrong. I’m in charge, leading an army of Wielders and Feeders to destroy the shackles on the magic community. Soon, Dark Magic will reign supreme once more, and this time, I will be at the top.”
A knock sounded on the door, and another guard stood at its entrance.
“General Dawson, they’re ready for her.”
