Chapter 7 Say Goodbye
Serafina
I wanted to run—but the thought of losing Lio rooted my feet to the floor.
I can do this, I told myself, again and again, like a prayer worn thin by use. I am doing this for my brother.
Virtue meant nothing if he was dead. It was a luxury for those who could afford it—and I could not.
I had seen the women in the brothels; their painted smiles, the practiced sounds of pleasure rising and falling like a performance meant to convince as much as to survive. They never screamed. They never fled. Maybe it didn’t hurt. Maybe it was something the body learned to endure. Maybe—if I let myself believe hard enough—it was even something to be enjoyed.
I clung to the lie because it was all I had.
I thought the Mistress would be gone longer, but she returned sooner than expected. Her eyes swept over me, cool and assessing, weighing flesh, posture and compliance. Finally, she nodded—once.
“You’re presentable now. Let’s go,” she said, already turning away. “Say goodbye to him.”
I stumbled back to Lio, my heart pounding, stomach twisting, with the Mistress following my every step. He was still asleep, chest rising and falling evenly, warm and alive. Relief hit me so hard I nearly collapsed, but guilt twisted immediately after. I had a moment with him, yes—but soon, I would have to leave him. Soon, I would have to fulfill the bargain that haunted me already.
I knelt by his bed and pressed a hand to his small, smooth cheek. “Lio… I’ll be back. I promise.”
The words felt hollow, yet somehow necessary. I pressed my lips to his forehead, the warmth of him a fleeting comfort before the storm waiting outside the door.
The Mistress’s voice drifted from the doorway. “It’s time, Sera. Remember your price—and remember, the world keeps score. If you double-cross me, your brother will die. And you will be placed at the mercy of the Warden.”
She paused, letting the silence bite.
“And we both know she has none.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and stood. Relief for Lio battled with fear for myself. Hope had returned, fleeting but real. But now, the cost of that hope loomed before me, darker and heavier than ever.
I watched over him a moment longer, memorizing his face, storing it in my mind. The path ahead was impossible—but for Lio, I would walk it. Even if it meant stepping into a fire I could never return from.
And in the shadows, the world waited.
For the choice I would make.
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Mistress
“I’ve searched the districts for far too long. Siblings—a girl and a boy, both red-haired. I doubt the boy survived.”
He paused, letting the assumption settle.
“But I'm certain the girl did. She was old enough to fend for herself when her parents died.”
His gaze hardened as he tossed a pouch of coins on my desk.
“Send me every red-haired, green-eyed girl who crosses your path, Nyxara. And I mean all."
He rose, pinching the orb between two fingers as he prepared to leave.
“I am certain you will bring me the right one. You will not fail me as Elara already has."
I took the girl by the arm and wrenched her away from her brother.
At last. I had found the one the Imperial Advisor had been searching for.
She had been under my nose all along—hauling water to my brothels, bonnet on, head bowed, eyes downcast, quiet, obedient. If not for her brother’s sickness, I might never have known.
In my youth, I had been an apprentice to the Imperial Advisor. I worked tirelessly for his favor, clawing my way upward—only to be forever eclipsed by Elara.
Elara Voss.
Tenacious. Ruthless. Brilliant.
The kind of woman men called exceptional and meant as a compliment only when spoken behind closed doors.
Beside her, I was useful. Reliable. Replaceable.
When the time came, Elara was sent to Dust to shadow Warden Julian Everhart—a post of influence, of subtle authority. I was sent to Spark, to kneel before Prefect Arclight.
Exile dressed as opportunity.
Arclight despised healers. Despised women even more. He delighted in breaking both. Many of us bore his marks, whipped bloody in a brothel at the edge of the district, just to remind us of our place.
It was the first brothel I ever took over—after the owner collapsed mid-laugh and died without warning.
Heart failure, they said.
I knew better.
A healer can mend flesh and coax life back from the brink. But a great healer can also usher death in with the same steady hands.
I once dreamed of killing Arclight for every pain he carved into me. Instead, after I claimed the brothel, I learned an older truth: power does not crave revenge. It only requires leverage.
So Arclight and I became allies.
While Sera dressed, I sent word to Darrick to wake his brother and to a stablehand to ready my carriage with the necessary provisions. I could not send Darrick to bring the girl to Aetheria. The Warden would notice if he vanished. His brother, newly inducted into the Collectors, would not. By the time the Warden sensed his absence, Jarek would be back in Dust, as though nothing had happened at all.
And I—
I would be back in the Imperial Advisor’s favor.
Where Elara once stood alone.
At the gates, I pressed a few coins into the guards’ hands, purchasing their silence, then helped Sera onto the carriage. Darrick emerged from the shadows, dragging his brother behind him.
“Jarek,” I said, “the carriage is stocked with provisions for four days. You will deliver the girl to Elian, steward to the Imperial Advisor of the Emp—”
“Yes, yes. I know,” Jarek cut in. “I’ve done this before.” His gaze slid to the girl. “Another redhead... And younger this time." He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “You’re certain Warden Voss won’t notice another girl gone from the district? Because the first one I delivered never made it back to Dust.”
“I will handle the Warden,” I said, my voice smooth as ice. “Just deliver the girl at the gates of Aetheria." I met his eyes. "When that is done, I will see to it that you and your brother are paid handsomely.”
Darrick hesitated, eyeing the black coat and its sigil. “Jarek, maybe change. That uniform draws attention.”
“No,” Jarek replied. “It gets me through Spark without trouble. Any other instructions?”
“None,” I said. “Go. Dawn approaches. The Warden is an early riser.” I turned my gaze to Darrick. “You as well. Drink some tea. You reek of ale."
I watched as the carriage rolled away into the dark. Then I raised my arm and cawed softly.
My raven descended at once, talons curling around my sleeve. I drew a thin roll of parchment from my bosom and slipped it into the small canister bound to its leg.
“Take this to Magnus,” I whispered. “Tell him the girl he’s been searching for is coming.”
The raven took flight.
And in her immaculate tower at the center of Dust, Elara Voss remained blind—for now.