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As Torstem motions his followers closer to the bonfire again with an air of total assurance, bitterness courses through me. I don’t know what else I could do that would set this bunch scrambling.
I’m not sure how much time I even have. With every minute I delay, I risk ruining the entire plan.
How ridiculous is it that this man has built his secret cabal of traitors by riling up anger against our rulers, while holding a gift meant to do the opposite?
The second that thought runs through my mind, my breath halts in my throat.
Hehascontrolled his followers by stoking their anger—with his words and his actions, not his magic. He was doing it just now, encouraging them to take out their frustrations about unfair rule on the nearby count’s home.
But he also has the power to diffuse all that anger, more effectively than any word or action could.
No one could be better at draining the conspiracy of its might than the man who started it.
The orange light of the flames dances off the illusion covering Torstem’s face, like it did off the straw figure of the king he had us throw in the fire weeks ago. After he ordered us to stab a man who was conjured out of clay to look like King Konram too.
The spark of inspiration sends a giddy rush through my veins. That’s it.
When it comes down to his life or his schemes, he’ll have to choose the former. What will any scheme mean if he’s dead?
“If the wheels are too damaged, we’ll simply crowd into the smaller wagons,” Torstem is saying, his even voice dismissing the last of his lackeys’ fears. “No doubt what we just saw was some defensive magic from the count’s estate, meant to stop us from dealing out the justice that’s due.”
Oh, he wants to see justice done, does he?
I ease a couple of steps back, not wanting to be near him when I set my new plan in motion. For a few beats of my heart, I cast my gaze skyward, in case that’s where Kosmel is watching from right now.
Please, I need your help again. I don’t know what the exact consequences of what I mean to do would be. When I change him, whatever else changes to balance it out, let it do no harm to our cause or to anyone who deserves protection.
This time I get no response at all. But I remember the sense of a hand on my shoulder, the voice that resonated through my bones.
The godlen who’s claimed me is here, working through me.
No, workingwithme. Kosmel has made it clear that I’m supposed to be calling the shots.
A strange warmth blooms in my chest. It frightened me when he first blazed his mark onto my skin… but I’m glad he’s watching over me.
For the first time in my life, I’m embracing the divine attention I’ve earned. Kosmel has claimed me, and that means I have a place in this world, no matter how many cracks run through my soul.
I train my own attention on Ster. Torstem’s form. I picture King Konram’s face—the deep-set eyes, the imposing nose and jutting chin, the thin lips, the dark brown hair that tops it.
Then I nudge my magic toward the law professor to morph the illusion projected by his mask.
The same hawk-like visage Torstem wore during my initiation wavers and transforms into a replica of the king’s appearance. With a quiver of energy from my soul, a gleaming gold crown materializes on his head.
Torstem, of course, hasn’t got a clue what I’ve done to him, since he can’t see himself. But the few followers who were looking at him freeze with expressions of shock.
I don’t wait for the rest to notice on their own. With another backward step, I point at the leader of the scourge sorcerers. “Great God help us—he looks like the king!”
Gazes all around the bonfire jerk toward Torstem. In their drug-addled state, the Order of the Wild members launch into a flurry of murmurs as agitated as they are confused.
Torstem’s hands leap to his face. “What? It can’t be.”
“He does!” someone else shouts. “That’s exactly what King Konram looks like—I just saw him up close at the Sabrellia festival a few weeks ago.”
A girl near me reels on her feet behind her cat-like mask. “How could this happen?”
I drift behind a few of the other revelers so I’m partly hidden among them. “The gods must be sending us a message. Our leader has no more right to rule than he says the royal family does! He’s been leading us astray, and they’re warning us.”
An off-kilter laugh carries from farther away. “Or maybe that is the king himself! Maybe the gods have brought him to us so we can do what needs to be done immediately.”
