A Girl in Black and White (Alyria 2)

The fire spread across the stairs, blocking the exit, and licking up the wall.

His jaw tightened when he realized who had the upper hand here, and while he was the one in the position to snap my neck, I was the one in control. And he didn’t like it.

He let out a frustrated growl. “I fucking hate witches.”

I pursed my lips, before supplying, “Me too.”

“That . . . brothel you’re living in, my guess is it’s a Sister cult.”

“How on Alyria did you figure that out?” I said dryly.

“Woman . . .” He exhaled an agitated breath. “Maybe you do not realize how stubborn I can be. Before I came here, I ordered my men that if I did not come out, to kill every woman in that brothel.”

My fight dissipated. “You’re bluffing.”

The room grew hot, the flames licking higher than our heads, as the smoke began to build in the air.

“How would you know? Even if I didn’t, they know where you live. They would be sure to investigate . . . and once they found out the truth of the women you live with . . .” he drifted off, saying everything with his silence.

I gritted my teeth. “What do you want?”

“A favor.”

“What favor?”

“I don’t know yet.”

I paused, coughing on a bit of smoke. I might have been able to manipulate fire, but smoke still affected me like everyone else.

“No,” I replied automatically.

“Do you understand what it’s like to die under my touch? You think it’s painless? It’s not. It feels like thousands of tiny knives slicing your insides.”

“I am not afraid of you.”

“Maybe not, but do you want to subject the women you live with to it?”

“Okay, Maxim.” He narrowed his eyes as I didn’t “address him respectfully.” Too bad. “I agree, under two conditions.”

He raised a brow.

“I want to know if Weston is coming to the Kings Festival, and also your promise not to tell him about me.”

He watched me for a moment. “No, he won’t be here. I invited all the royals, and Weston declined, didn’t even give a reason like anyone else would out of propriety. In fact, he wrote, ‘Will your head be on a pike? That’s the only cause for celebration I can think of.’”

“We have something in common, it seems,” I muttered. “Will you tell him?”

He chewed his cheek, thinking about it. “No. That would bring trouble I don’t need.”

The church bell rang, and the sun was starting to pour into the tiny barred window. I was going to be late again. “The seal? You aren’t concerned about it? Would it not solve your problem to open it?”

“If you were going to open it by now, you would have. And no, I’d rather not destroy the land for something I can accomplish without.”

I rolled his answer around, reading his sincerity. “Okay, fine. I agree to your terms. One favor and you’ll leave the Royal Affair alone.”

He slowly released me, and I fought the impulse to rub my throat. For a minute, I panicked, thinking that I couldn’t manipulate the fire enough for us to get out, but with a cold sweat of relief, my magic appeared in that tell-tale heat inside me. The flames parted from the stairs. “Well, thanks for the evening, Maxim. If I ever find another man as courteous as you, it shall be a miracle.”

His hand wrapped around my wrist—not trusting me to keep the flames from closing in on him—and followed me up the stairs.