Chapter 11 Underestimated
Warden Voss
I watched the portal seal itself shut, light collapsing inward until nothing remained. My lips curved—just barely—into a private smile.
I didn’t suffer from color sickness.
I never had.
I only needed him to believe I did—needed the lie to sit comfortably in his mind, dulling his instincts, smoothing away suspicion. Let him think me weak. Let him think me compromised.
That was the price of being underestimated.
With Magnus gone, I turned on the Mistress like a blade finally unsheathed.
She had dared to move around me—around Imperial law—and believed silk curtains and painted smiles would shield her.
They never did.
“You think I wouldn’t notice the red-haired women you send to Aetheria, Nyxara,” I murmured. “You are mistaken.”
“It is hardly my fault the Imperial Advisor came to me for help, Elara,” she scoffed. “You weren’t doing your job. Had you told him about your sight, Sera Bale and her brother would already be in his custody.”
My eyes narrowed, heat flaring behind them.
“Help?” I spat. “You sent him any red-haired woman you could get your claws on. It didn’t matter whether she had a brother or not—whether she was young or old, whether her parents were breathing or buried. If her hair was red, she was crated and shipped to Aetheria.”
Nyxara sneered, not an ounce of remorse in her expression. “Putting up another brothel is expensive.” She tilted her head, mock-sweet. “Why are you complaining, Elara? I gave you your fair share—in taxes. I even slipped your hounds a coin or two for their trouble. Ask Darrick."
A cold frown settled over me. Darrick had only spoken after I asked where his brother was hiding—and when he hesitated, I sent a bolt of lightning screaming through his body.
My Collectors had been briefed—every last one of them. "Report it," I’d said, "the moment the Mistress touches a redhead in any district."
And yet, like so many before them, they’d gone blind the moment coin kissed their palms.
Coin.
My gaze slid to the stacks scattered across her desk—copper, silver and gold earned in whispers and gasps, bought with bodies and secrets.
Every piece a confession. Every stack a debt waiting to be called in.
Nyxara followed my gaze and smiled, slow and knowing. In her world, coin was not just currency—it was control.
Control.
With a flick of my wrist, I summoned the chest.
Iron-bound. Heavy. Etched with Imperial runes that flared to life as it materialized in the air before me—then dropped to the floor with a satisfying thud.
Nyxara gasped.
Every coin on her desk shuddered, then slid toward it—gold scraping wood, silver chiming in protest, gemstones skipping helplessly across lacquered surfaces as the chest devoured them all.
Including the pouch Magnus had given her.
She lunged forward. “You can’t—those are mine. I have no debts. My dues are paid.”
“And today,” I said coldly, “you pay everyone’s dues in the Dust District.” My gaze sharpened. “And by my count, this is barely enough to cover them. Which means you are in debt.”
"How dare you," she hissed. "The Imperial Advisor will hear of this!"
"If he does, I will know." I lifted my hand, letting the silence stretch. “There are consequences,” I continued evenly, “for going behind my back.”
Her mouth opened again.
I closed my fingers around the air itself. She choked instantly.
Hands flew to her throat, nails tearing into soft flesh as her eyes bulged, panic flashing bright and ugly. No sound came—only the silent horror of lungs that would not draw breath. She staggered, struck a chair, and crumpled to the floor, lips blue, knees cracking against stone.
I watched without blinking.
“This,” I said calmly, tightening my grip, “is the cost of treachery.”
I leaned down just enough for her to see me. “You will find Sera Bale. You will use every whisper, every debt, every body in the districts if you must.”
Her eyes pleaded.
“Only then,” I said softly, “will you return to my good graces.”
She nodded frantically, choking on each stolen breath, tears spilling as panic hollowed her gaze.
“You think you’re clever, Nyxara,” I murmured, watching her struggle. “But I have always been two steps ahead of you. That is why I rose—and you followed.”
I released the air.
She collapsed forward, coughing violently, dragging breath into her lungs like a drowning woman hauled from the sea. I stepped back, already finished with her.
There was nothing more to say.
I vanished from the brothel in a ripple of controlled magic and reappeared in my tower, stone and silence closing around me like a familiar cloak. The chest followed, appearing neatly beside my desk.
At once, I issued my orders—scouts on the Mistress, guards posted at the Bale hut, eyes never leaving the boy.
Leverage must be protected. Never wasted.
Because Sera Bale was valuable. Magnus’s presence proved that much.
And he believed himself untouchable—protected by secrets, arrogance, and coin.
Perhaps.
But positions at court were never permanent.
I allowed myself a small, private smile.
I pressed the gold insignia pinned to my coat, and Darrick appeared at the doorway.
“I want you to search for the girl in the outer districts,” I said, already scribbling a note onto parchment. When I finished, I pressed my seal into the wax and handed it to him. “Show this to the heads of each district. Tell them a fugitive may be hiding in their midst.”
Darrick accepted the parchment, his expression smoothing into something obedient and cold. He inclined his head, just enough to be respectful.
“As you command, Warden,” he said, already turning away.
“Alive, Darrick—and unspoiled,” I called after him, letting each word linger. “Follow my orders without question, and when I claim my seat as Imperial Advisor in the Emperor’s court, you will become Warden of Dust. Fail me… and you will wish you had never drawn breath.”
I thought of the boy—small, pale, suspended between breath and absence. Magnus was a powerful healer. I could challenge his spell, unravel it thread by thread, but the cost would be steep. I would have to draw in the black smoke myself, let it coil through my veins, rot my magic from the inside out. It would weaken me. Eventually, it would kill me.
Which meant there was no choice at all.
Sera had to be found.
Because if she wasn’t, the boy would die.
As I settled into my chair, the image returned to me—the violet light when Sera placed her hands on the great ranking orb, just before it faded to red.
I needed to know who her parents were.