Along with the winter cold, many problems and worries faded away. People spoke of Victoria’s death less and less, leave alone Gerard’s passing. Only occasionally would the guardsmen drink to honor his memory, but there was nothing left to discuss. The castle grew quiet, as if it sensed a storm coming. There was something peaceful in this, as if everything around had suddenly lost significance.

  Reed led his usual life. At some point, it even seemed to him that everything that had happened was nothing more than a dream. However, Arne and his intrigues were all too real, and that reality caught up with Reed every time he crossed paths with the prince. Over time, Rene calmed down, and everything returned back to routine. It was almost strange. Could she really not feel the sinister fate hanging over her? Reed felt an odd sensation looking at her, as if she were already dead.

  Meredith would not leave Reed’s heart or his soul in peace. He thought of her every day, and soon the meager memory of that night when she had belonged only to him was no longer enough. His imagination painted new pictures, driving him to the brink of madness. He wanted to cast it all away but failed every single time.

  Despite Reed took sincere pleasure in his games sometimes, they quickly lost their charm, becoming a burden. Then, he would begin to miss his former life again. Perhaps the problem was that he had too much time to dwell on himself. Or perhaps this simply wasn't his life, not the one he would have wanted. And therein lay the crux of the problem: Reed himself didn't really know what kind of life he wanted. When he’d eventually returned to his nomadic ways, he would eventually grow bored again. It was a cycle that was impossible to break.

  The first hunt was set for the beginning of the seventh spring Moon, and Reed was ready. He'd laid out his plans to Arne, received a surprised look in return, and went on. All that remained was to wait. The prince had promised his assistance, but Reed wasn't counting on it. First, the guardsmen, trackers, and stable hands were sent to the edge of the royal forest. No one could hunt there except for the King and the castle's residents. Reed carefully examined the terrain and, returning to the castle at dusk, began to fill in the final details.

  Not much was required from the prince, only to distract the right people at the right time. Adrian rode beside him. Since Reed had learned of the man's true role, they had barely spoken. It was perfectly clear that any information would soon reach Arne, and that was dangerous. In public, they acted like comrades, but when left alone, Reed remained silent, only occasionally exchanging a few meaningless phrases. This time was no different. Cutting the conversation short, he went over the plan again and again.

  On the day of the hunt, everyone was in a state of joyful anticipation. A hunt is always a delightful affair for the idle nobility, but for people like Reed and the common laborers, it was a massive undertaking. The servants had to prepare the hall for the feast afterward, the cooks had been busy since before dawn, and the guardsmen were stationed throughout the castle to maintain order. By noon, the hunting party had already left, chatting animatedly.

  Reed was saddling his horse, casting gloomy looks at everyone around him. There was Merit, flapping his tongue with the King. Aside, the court ladies were laughing so loudly it made Reed’s ears ring. They all were so loud that the Mother herself could hear them, sitting in the depths of the earth. Arne was nowhere to be seen, while near the stables, some unfamiliar kreyghars were discussing something heatedly. Servants and squires were bickering, but Reed remained calm, though a faint flicker of anxiety stirred in his soul. It was always like this when he set out on an important task. The key was to keep the anxiety from turning into panic. If you don't feel nervous before a job, you're already insane, Reed thought. Only gods and madmen feel no fear, and Reed belonged to neither group.

  He'd calculated everything, thought it all through, and was ready. All that remained was to set out, and even the wait was nearly over. Many were already mounted, and the men were checking their weapons. Reed affectionately stroked his bow, trying to find his inner peace. Suddenly, someone called him. An unfamiliar servant girl gave a slight bow and blurted out, "Master Salvat has ordered you to come to him."

  "Where is he?" Reed asked, trying to maintain his composure, though the tremor in his hands betrayed him. He glanced around.

  "In the stables," she said, pointing toward the wooden structure.

  Reed rolled his eyes and headed that way. Salvat stood by his horse, checking the harness. Patting the animal's back, he looked up. A flash of annoyance and irritation crossed his face, as if Reed had come of his own accord to ask for something absurd, while he was rushing off to his own so very important business.

  "My Lord," Reed said, placing a hand to his chest and bowing.

  "Find Rene," Salvat snapped without prelude. He didn't even deign to look at Reed again, as if he were speaking to a house slave. "There is work to be done. While the castle is empty, we can work in peace. His Majesty is displeased; progress is slow. Tell her exactly that! Tell her this is the last time I've granted her an indulgence. She'll understand."

  "But... what about the hunt?" Reed asked, stunned. No, no, no! working with Rene was absolutely not in his plans. Not at all. This was not how he had envisioned it.

  "We shall all survive your absence. Besides, don't you think you contradict me far too often?" Salvat’s eyebrow arched, and Reed pressed his lips together.

  "You are right, my Lord. My apologies."

  "If only your apologies were of any use," Salvat grumbled. "I'm going to get my bow now, and when I return, I want you gone from here."

  Salvat cast a dissatisfied glance at Reed and shouted, "Annika!"

  Almost immediately, the girl ran in, the same one who'd delivered the advisor's order to Reed. She bowed hastily, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor.

  "Where is Wilmod? I need my bow, and he was supposed to have cleaned my blade. Must I check everything myself?" Salvat snapped.

  "He's already waiting for you," the girl stammered, making Reed feel sick. If he ever allowed himself to look like that before such a slug, even for a moment, he would cut himself at the first opportunity.

  "Are you still here?" Salvat asked, turning to Reed.

  "I'm leaving now. Good hunting, my Lord."

  Salvat grunted something and walked out, but Reed didn’t move. He watched the advisor leave, thinking about how poorly circumstances had aligned. The stable was empty though. Everyone had already chosen and checked their horses and were gathering their weapons, yet Reed still couldn't figure out what to do. If everything fell apart now, there was no telling how long he'd have to wait for another opportunity. And how many more mages would perish while he waited? How many more Moons would he have to live merely dreaming of Meredith, unable to touch her? And how much longer would he have to carry the weight of the promise he made to Maró?

  Reed couldn't afford that. A simple yet devious idea struck him so sharply that he could no longer conceive of anything else. He drew a short knife, approached the advisor’s horse, and examined the saddle. A wicked smile slid across his face. It took only two quick movements that could well provide Salvat with a three-day rest in the Gray Chambers, if luck favored Reed. He cut one strap on the saddle completely and sliced the second only halfway. It was enough to ensure this hunt would be something to remember. The horse snorted softly as Reed patted it and stepped back.

  He turned, intending to slip out unnoticed through the servants' door. An unexpected witness felt like a blow to the gut. Reed frowned as he noticed a young guy working in the stable. Reed’s lip twitched nervously.

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  "What were you doing there?" the guy asked, eyeing Reed. His gaze flicked to the knife and then to the saddle on Salvat’s horse. He understood. It was obvious, after all.

  "What does it look like?" Reed snarled. His mind went blank. He thought only of how this cursed kreyghar was about to ruin everything. If the stableman screamed or raised the alarm, Reed would not only fail the contract but end up hanged. And that was definitely not part of his plan.

  Keeping that same cold smile on his face, Reed moved toward the man.

  "Stay back!" the stableman cried out, retreating.

  "I just want to talk," came the quiet reply. He saw only the kreyghar before him and the only possible solution to the problem.

  When a few steps separated them, Reed lunged at the guy, intending to knock him off his feet. A punch to the jaw landed, but it wasn't strong enough. Reed had been hit much harder and was used to it. The punch felt more like a child’s slap.

  If anyone had asked exactly how it happened, Reed couldn't have remembered. He remembered only the fury he felt when he clamped his fingers around the stableman's neck. Reed straddled him, pinning the wheezing kreyghar down. Reed’s breathing faltered, his heart pounded, and his lips twisted. He must have looked like a madman at that moment. At least, that was how Reed felt. His fingers dug into the kreyghar’s skin, leaving bruises.

  He saw only the stableman's eyes and how life faded out in those eyes so rapidly. The kreyghar struggled, clawing against Reed's armor. The guy tried to fight back but his resistance grew weaker with every passing second, until it turned into useless, spasmodic twitches. Soon the stableman jerked one last time and his bluish face went still and slack. Reed snapped his neck, twisting it at a grotesque angle. Just to be sure.

  He exhaled quietly, still straddling the cooling corpse, and then quickly looked around. A small hay closet was the only solution. No one would be feeding the horses now anyway. Reed tossed the body into the closet, hiding it in the hay, and stepped out. Reed vanished seconds before Salvat had returned.

  Leaning his back against the wall, Reed took a breath. He covered his face with his hand, his heart still racing. His gaze was empty and his expression stony. Not that such things were unfamiliar. It was just that the stableman wasn't meant to die. Whose fault was it that the idiot decided to walk in at the exact moment Reed was cutting the straps on Salvat’s saddle?

  Reed composed himself and broke into a run, heading straight for Arne’s office.

  ***

  "You... did what?" Arne looked at Reed as if he'd just confessed to starting the Rebellion of the Elements. The prince turned pale, his whole body tensed.

  "You heard me," Reed brushed him off with a wave of his hand.

  "You think he won't notice? Salvat rides a horse all his life."

  "Which is why it's very convenient that a stableman has gone missing. I hid the body in the hay. It needs to be dealt with before the hunting party returns."

  "And I'm supposed to clean up after you?" Arne flared up.

  "Isn't that the point of being allies?" Reed snapped back. It infuriated him that Arne thought everyone owed him favors while he was far too important to owe anything. "I found out what killed Victoria. Thanks to me you know who’s to blame. I did your dirty work today so it's time you got your hands dirty too. I gotta go, Rene is waiting. She'd better think I had a damn good reason for being late."

  "Fine. Let’s go," Arne stood up and grabbed his cloak.

  "Where?"

  "To Rene. I’ll tell her I occupied your time myself... for a while."

  The prince stepped through the door, walked quickly toward the Hall of Repose. Rene met them near the passageway.

  "Where have you been? Oh, I beg your pardon..." Her anger evaporated the moment she noticed Arne standing behind Reed.

  "I apologize, I detained him myself. There was an urgent matter," the prince smiled. If Reed hadn't known Arne wanted her dead, he would have thought the prince actually liked her. Arne was the epitome of friendliness and humility, and that was dangerous. People who could hide their true feelings so deftly were perhaps more dangerous than all the rest.

  "It’s fine, but Master Salvat will be angry. We have much work, and I..."

  "I understand. If Salvat is angry, tell him it was my fault."

  Arne bowed and left without another look at Rene.

  "What was this 'urgent matter' he had with you?" Rene asked suddenly as they walked down the corridor toward the cellars.

  "And what’s this 'work' of yours behind that door?" Reed countered. He took pleasure in watching Rene’s face contort with irritation.

  "I was just asking," she grumbled.

  "So was I," a nearly hysterical chuckle escaped his lips. "You're greedy for other people's secrets, yet you won't share your own. I don’t owe you shit. Do your job, and I’ll do mine."

  "Look at you! What an important worker we have here," Rene flared. "The great indispensable man! You ought to be working in the stable, you'd be more useful there."

  "Look who's talking. If I gave my ass for the right person, perhaps we’d be equals, eh&"

  Rene suddenly turned and slapped Reed across the face. His head jerked to the side, but he kept his footing. Fury flared in his eyes. He stepped toward her, though he didn't quite know what he might do.

  "My Lady, do you need help?" Ethan was on patrol and had caught the tail end of their exchange. Convenient. Advantageous. Reed barely hid a smile as he wiped blood from his split lip.

  "No, we... had a bit of an argument."

  Ethan glanced from the fuming Rene to Reed, who was smearing blood across his mouth.

  "What, were you cheating at cards with her too?" he asked with a grin.

  "That privilege remains yours alone," Reed replied, and Ethan laughed.

  "Is everything alright?"

  "Yes. Forgive us, we're in a hurry." Rene grabbed Reed by the arm and pulled him toward the cellars.

  Once Ethan was out of earshot, Reed broke free roughly. His palms slammed onto her shoulders, and then he shoved Rene, pinning her against the wall.

  "If you ever cross that line again, I'll fucking gut you. I swear by all the gods of Emeron, I'll kill you. Do you understand?" Reed shook her. She lowered her gaze and nodded. He let go of Rene, giving her a final shove away from him.

  Rene cast a wolfish look at him and hurried toward the cellars without a word.

  ***

  They finished by evening. Rene didn't utter another word, hurrying away before Reed could even collect himself. Once alone in the dungeons, he let out a long breath. The final step was the hardest. Reaching into a hidden pocket on his thigh, he pulled out two small vials. One was his own and the other was an exact replica of Rene's. He stood there, staring blankly at the glass, unable to force his hand. It seemed so easy, yet Reed had never done anything quite like this. It was one thing to rely on chance and take a calculated risk, knowing that luck was fickle but not entirely out of reach. Quite another deal was to voluntarily throw that luck away.

  His survival had always depended on cold calculation, and Reed had never doubted himself this much. The entire scheme was purely theoretical as he'd never had a reason to use an antidote before. He'd saved it for himself, for a special occasion he hoped would never arrive. Had he known things would turn out this way... he would have done exactly the same. Fortune favors the bold.

  Reed popped the first vial open with his teeth, spitting the cork into a corner. The liquid was bitter and astringent. He choked back a gag reflex, casting a furtive glance around the cellar. Once his breathing steadied, he moved toward the stairs, dropped the empty vial, and crushed it under his boot. The glass shattered, scattering across the dusty stone. Reed ground the shards down as best he could. Unless you knew exactly where to look, you'd never notice them, especially in the dark. Besides, who would bother investigating broken glass in the cellar of a sealed wing?

  The second round was harder to stomach, even if it tasted better. Karida was sweet and thick as honey, but he would have gladly downed another dose of that suffocating, nauseating antidote over the smooth, pleasant poison. Reed knew all too well what that sweetness meant. He'd brewed this batch back in Maró’s lair, concentrating it so there would be no waiting around, as it was with Victoria. This tiny dose could drop a grown man in a matter of hours. This vial, however, Reed didn't crush. He tucked it safely into a pouch on his belt.

  His head spun harder with every step, and by the time Reed reached the corridor, the nausea had morphed into a suffocating weight. His stomach cramped, and a thick, metallic taste filled his mouth. He stopped, trying to catch his breath, knowing full well it was useless. He had to speed up, even though his body refused to obey. Reed forced himself forward, funneling every ounce of his strength into reaching a place where he would be found quicker. He clawed at the walls for support but met only empty air. The cursed marble seemed to warp and pull away from him every time.

  He stumbled several times, and getting back up became agonizingly difficult with each fall. The next time he went down, his cheek scraped hard against the wall. He barely managed to throw his hand forward to keep from breaking his nose. Blood dribbled over his lips, and a ragged intake of air triggered a violent coughing fit.

  He vomited near the Hall of Repose. A puddle of crimson spread across the pale stone, and dark spots danced before his eyes as everything doubled and blurred. His hands trembled violently, his heart hammered wildly one moment, only to stagger into a sluggish crawl the next. His legs buckled, and every step became a battle of sheer will against failing flesh. He spat out a thick, bloody clot and suddenly gasped for air, feeling the warm liquid flood his throat again. The coppery stench made him retch once more, and Reed fell to his knees, knowing he wouldn't rise again. He saw and heard nothing but the wet, heavy thud of his face hitting the blood-stained marble.

  Before his body betrayed him completely, he thought of Meredith. What would she think if she knew what he was truly capable of? He had strength only for that single thought before the world faded, and Reed plummeted into a sticky, suffocating Darkness that smelled of blood and weakness.