Chapter 162 Shadows and Deceptions Part 2
The plan was as threadbare as their boots. Cornelius insisted it would work. Daisy sits visible, wrists bare, at the lowest bend of the ravine, letting the chain in her blood strobe like a beacon. The chain magic was never meant for calling. It lived in her veins like black lightning—a living curse passed down, linking her to the others. When she focused, she could feel the pulse of their hunger, the ache at every root. Oliver and Cornelius would take either side: one hidden in the notch of a shattered wagon, the other up on the embankment with a dead branch for cover. The whole thing reeked of last resort. Daisy was too tired to argue. Maybe it didn’t matter anymore.
She perched on the cold stone. Knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, she waited. The veins had reached her collarbones; the black lines were visible even in the predawn fog. She did what Cornelius said: nothing. She just sat there and let the sick magic pulse from her in ragged waves.
They came fast—a four-man Ironclaw team, two with netcasters, one with a bow, and the last in command by the way he shouted and never checked the ground for tripwires. The officer slowed when he saw Daisy. He took one look at her arms, did the math, and signaled the bowman forward.
Daisy made her face blank, but her eyes tracked every movement. She waited, waited, and when the bowman took his stance, she whispered into the chain.
It responded, but not the way she wanted. Her arm jerked—pain sparking up to her ear. The chain lashed out uncontrolled, striking not the target but the moss at her feet. A splatter of black hissed like acid when it landed. The patrol flinched, but advanced.
Cornelius darted out from the left, crouched low with his blade. He slashed the first soldier at the knee, making him fall, then swiftly cut his throat. The netcaster beside him spun to respond, but Oliver rushed from behind the ruined wagon and slammed a rock into the back of his skull. The second net sailed wide, snagging in the brambles. Meanwhile, the officer—the third man—lifted his hand and spoke a command word, sending blue fire arcing across the ravine directly at Oliver.
Daisy lurched upright and forced the chain through her arm. The veins bulged, the daisies bloomed in sick, slick fractals, and the fire spluttered and guttered, blue turning black in the air. The officer froze, and Daisy felt the magic curl around his legs like a swarm of snakes. She pointed, and he dropped, twitching, unable to move.
The effort cost her. Daisy doubled over and vomited. Black blood spattered her boots, burning tiny holes in the leather. Her eyes watered, but she didn’t let go of the chain. She could hear Oliver grunting as he struggled with the netcaster—now half-strangled in the web of his own device. Cornelius methodically finished off the bowman.
A moment later, it was over. Four bodies sprawled in the ravine, the ground already absorbing the blood. Silence pressed in, heavy with the cost. For an instant, violence echoed in the stones, making the aftermath as present as the fight.
Oliver staggered to Daisy’s side. There was a slash in his coat, deep, and the blood underneath was real, not magic. “You okay?” he asked, voice thin.
Daisy wiped her mouth. “Better than you.”
He tried to grin, then winced and sat hard. “I’ll live.”
Cornelius dragged the officer upright, propping him against the rock. He leaned in, blade tip pressed just above the eye. “Talk.”
The officer looked at Daisy, terror plain in his face. “What are you?” he rasped.
“Not your problem,” Cornelius said. “Who’s running Brightwater now?”
The officer’s teeth chattered, but the words came. “The Emperor. He’s come himself. Cleared the old keep, set up the dais. Everyone reports to him directly.”
Daisy felt her blood run colder than the air.
Cornelius pressed the blade in, just enough to draw a bead of blood. “What does he want?”
The officer’s eyes never left Daisy. “He said he needs the root. The last one. He said it’s the final piece. The chain isn’t a chain if it doesn’t end.”
For a heartbeat, Daisy's mind snagged on the word. The root—her mother's warning, half-remembered—if the chain is ever cut at its source, the curse unravels. Was she the origin or the last anchor? She felt the raw place under her ribs where the magic settled. Like roots tangled in her bones, holding everything together and threatening to pull it all apart.
Daisy thought of the duplicate, the way it had looked at her through the scrying pool. “Is he—” She faltered. “Is he like me?”
The officer blinked, once, slowly. “Worse,” he whispered. “The veins are everywhere. He doesn’t sleep. Sometimes he just… stands there, and you can see them crawling under his skin. The sorcerers say he’s more root than man now.”
Oliver cursed, the blood on his side soaking through the coat. “How many with him?”
The officer’s laugh was a rattle. “Everyone. Half the city’s chained to him now. The rest are hiding or dead. He said to let you come if you tried. He wants to see what happens when you meet.”
Cornelius jerked his chin at Daisy. “Your move.”
Daisy hesitated. “Why do you follow him? If he scares you this much.”
The officer looked away. “If you saw what he does to traitors, you’d understand.”
Daisy nodded, then looked to Cornelius.
He didn’t waste time. The knife slipped in, neat and clean, just under the jaw. The officer thrashed once, then sagged.
They left the bodies where they lay.
They sheltered under the collapsed roof of a ruined watermill. Oliver sat and peeled off his shirt to reveal a wound—a deep, clean gash along his side. Daisy pulled out bandages from the kit, but her hands shook so much she handed them to Cornelius, who wrapped the cloth around Oliver’s side while Daisy pressed down to slow the bleeding. The blood felt hot and dark against her skin.
He hissed, then grinned at her. “Not your best work, Pest.”
She tried to laugh, but it stuck in her throat. “Don’t get killed. That’s my only request.”
He leaned his head on her shoulder. “Deal.”
Cornelius scanned the horizon. “We’ll have to move at dusk. The city’s crawling, but if we time it, we can get to the old sewer access. No patrols after dark, too many ghosts.”
Oliver closed his eyes, face pinched with pain. “You think ghosts are our biggest worry now?”
Cornelius didn’t answer.
Daisy stared at the blood on her fingers, the way it already looked black under the bruised light. She remembered what the officer said—final piece, chain isn’t a chain if it doesn’t end. The words forced her to confront a growing fear within herself. Was she meant to allow her destruction? Was she to break herself to end something ancient? She was exhausted, worn down by endless running, fighting, and the expectations others placed upon her. Still, the curse drew tighter with each passing day. Part of her wanted relief from this responsibility, to let go of the chain and see if freedom would bring mercy or only oblivion. For the first time, she directly questioned if her very existence was defined by this conflict—a flaw compelled to repair itself through sacrifice.
The others dozed, trading watch. Daisy let herself drift, but the dreams were worse than the pain. She saw the Emperor, standing atop the city wall, veins crawling like worms under his skin. She saw the people below, all linked by the chain, all waiting for her to finish the story.
She woke with the taste of iron in her mouth and a single thought:
If she didn’t break the chain, the world would break.
Dusk came, and they moved.
Oliver was slow but stubborn. Cornelius kept them in shadow, blade ready. Daisy saw the scar on Cornelius's wrist—the one from Lanton, when they pulled Oliver from a burning shed. That memory flickered between them, wordless and solid. Daisy let her hair fall over her face, hiding the worst veins, but felt them buzzing, hungry.
The last mile into the city proper was the hardest. They had to cross open ground, a no-man ’s-land of dead machines and barbed wire. Cornelius threw a stone, drew the eyes of a patrol, then sent Oliver and Daisy sprinting across the mud.
They made it, breathless, ducking into the ruined cellar of an old inn. Daisy collapsed, the pain flaring so bright she thought she’d black out. Oliver caught her, held her upright.
Oliver squeezed Daisy’s shoulder, worry flickering behind his attempt at reassurance. “You’re almost there,” he said, voice soft.
She wanted to believe him.
Cornelius rejoined, wiping blood from his blade. He nodded once. “City’s on lockdown. But we’re close. Tomorrow, we move to the keep.”
Daisy sat against the stone, eyes closed. She could hear the chain in her blood, whispering of roots and ends and the way the world would taste if she just let go. If she released it, she knew the curse would spill out unchecked. It would flood the land. The force inside her was no longer simply black lightning. It shifted, roiling through her veins as both a living shadow and an ancient, aching hunger. The magic might wither every living thing it touched, consuming the city and everyone bound to the chain. Or it might reach even farther, until there was nothing but ash and silence. The risk pulsed beneath her skin, promising peace for herself—but ruin for all the rest.
But she didn’t.
Not yet.
She opened her eyes, found Oliver’s hand, and squeezed it.
He squeezed back, gentle as always.
They rested and waited for the world to come for them.