Kato’s tongue slid across his lips, as if he was already savoring the thought of blood. His dagger gleamed in the dim light, ready.

  Isabelle leaned against the cold stone wall of the Black Spiral’s corridor. Beside her, Garath shifted his weight, shoulders tense, the urge to act written all over his face but chained by restraint.

  A few paces ahead, Tunga and Kato faced each other.

  Tunga stood his ground, steady as a rooted tree, the look of a man carrying out a duty he would rather not. His staff spun once, the wood now thickened and bristling with spikes the length of knives. He swung it in two wide arcs, each strike crashing down hard enough to make Kato stagger back a step.

  Isabelle nodded. Good. Against a dagger, reach was the key. But Kato’s Illusion magic turned that advantage fragile; his feints came from impossible angles, each movement layered with deceit.

  Kato stepped back, palms coming together as his eyes slid shut.

  Tunga’s jaw tightened. “Your tricks useless. Fight fair.”

  A heartbeat later, Kato moved. and another him appeared behind. Two identical figures danced around each other, weaving and swapping places so fast they blurred into one.

  Tunga tilted his head, unshaken. “Both empty ghosts to me. I see no true man.”

  The illusions bared their teeth and struck from both sides.

  Tunga slammed the base of his staff into the floor. The air cracked. A fireball burst from the weapon’s tip, exploding against the stone with a thunderous whump. A shockwave of heat rolled through the corridor, scattering embers and ash like sparks from a forge.

  Isabelle threw up an arm as the blast hit. Scorching air slammed into her, stealing her breath and clawing at her lungs. The explosion in that narrow hall must have swallowed them both.

  The heat faded as fast as it came. She lowered her arm slowly.

  Tunga still stood in the middle of the corridor, untouched.

  Kato was gone.

  A ragged cough cut through the silence. “Isabelle…” Garath rasped.

  Cold steel brushed her throat. Kato’s face snapped into view, so close his breath washed over her skin, sour and rancid.

  Where had he come from? A heartbeat ago he had been locked with Tunga, and now he was here. Damn Illusion magic. Her core tightened, muscles going rigid. “Kato…” The name slid from her tongue like poison.

  “Well, well. Look what a tasty little morsel we’ve got here,” he murmured against her ear. His hand fisted in her hair, jerking her head back until pain shot through her neck. “I wonder what Tunga will think when I carve into this pale, smooth skin.”

  Tunga’s lip curled. “Warden gave you honor: death in fair duel. And you pay her back like this?”

  “Honor,” Kato spat, shaking his head. “Just a trick to make fools die for nothing.”

  A chill spread along Isabelle’s neck. The blade pressed harder, and the cold turned strange. Not sharp, but hollow. Numbness crept down her throat in slow, crawling waves. Death magic. The knife was feeding on her life.

  Her pulse hammered in her ears. She drew her focus inward, channeling the flow of energy through the chakras in her head and chest, forcing it toward her neck. The barrier shimmered faintly under her skin, slowing the poison’s crawl.

  A ragged cough cut the silence. “Isabelle…” Garath rasped.

  Cold steel pressed at her throat. The blade dug in another fraction. She swallowed against it.

  Garath kept both hands raised, his voice steady. “I am Head Inquisitor of the Citadel. I can keep you from the gallows if you cooperate.”

  Kato’s lip twitched. “Cooperate?”

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  Garath nodded, sharp and decisive. “Yes. I need information.”

  Kato snapped, the words jagged and fast. “And what is left to tell that I haven’t already spilled?”

  “Give us the name of whoever hired you to attack the Cashnar,” Garath said. “You release the Warden. You surrender. Then you leave.” He pointed at Isabelle, counting each condition with a small, precise motion.

  Kato leaned closer, until his breath clouded the air between them. “So I talk, I let her go, and I walk free?” His mouth curled. “Sounds convenient. For you.”

  The blade pressed harder. Isabelle’s jaw locked. The lightning core in her fist burned white, a nail driven into her palm.

  Garath stiffened, his jaw set.

  A slow smile crept across Kato’s face, small and sharp. “I have a better idea.” His voice sank to a hiss. “I slit this mare’s throat, then give the same gift to every last one of you.” His tongue traced his lips, eyes glinting with a hard, hungry light. “No confession. No talk. Just—” He spat the word like a stone.

  The pressure at Isabelle’s neck eased the tiniest degree. Kato’s focus slipped from her. Irritation flickered across his features.

  That fraction of space was all she needed. The blade was still at her neck, but there wouldn’t be another chance. He was about to kill her.

  Isabelle clenched her fist one last time around the lightning core, then drove it into Kato’s body.

  A white flash snapped the air. A sharp crack split the corridor. Smoke and the bitter sting of ozone rolled over them.

  Kato went rigid. Pain contorted his features as the arm that held the knife convulsed, jerking back in a violent, unnatural spasm.

  Isabelle stepped back and drew her sword in one clean motion. “You wasted your chance to meet an honorable death by the hand of one of your own.” She poured the last of her chakras into the blade. The metal flared, bright and merciless as a burning sun. “Now, for you, there is only the roar of Orbisar.” She leveled the sword at his chest. He hung there, frozen, eyes blown wide. Terror or shock, she could not tell.

  She did not wait to decide. Lightning arced from the blade in a blinding ribbon and struck the warrior.

  His body burst apart in a cloud of violet smoke that tore through the air and scattered against the stone, leaving nothing but a faint shimmer of energy.

  Isabelle kept her eyes fixed on the spot where he’d stood a heartbeat earlier. The last wisps of smoke drifted away, dissolving into the cold air.

  Garath’s eyes widened. “What just happened?”

  Tunga’s mouth twisted. “Coward ran. Strong illusion.”

  Isabelle touched her neck, fingers coming away damp. “But I felt the steel of his blade. His filthy tongue on my cheek.”

  The shaman shook his head. “He very strong warrior. You Church people think you know Orbisar’s magic. You know less than you think.”

  “We need him!” Garath snapped, glancing around as if the corridor might cough Kato back into being. “He’s our best card to get out of this mess.”

  “He go where we no find,” Tunga said. His staff had already shrunk back to its usual size.

  Isabelle slid her sword into its scabbard with a sharp click. “And the best way to avoid a war is still through him. But I have the coins. I know now who handled them before Kato did.”

  Garath’s eyes narrowed. “Is it who I think it is?”

  She nodded once. “Theodrick. We just need a seer beyond reproach, someone untouched by him or the Council.”

  A thin, satisfied smile tugged at the inquisitor’s mouth. “I know the right one. Never liked him. When they find out helping me will bring him down, they’ll jump at the chance.”

  Isabelle loosened the drawstring of the pouch and tossed it to Garath.

  He caught it midair with practiced ease.

  “Good,” she said. “Take the coins to the seer and expose whoever ordered the bridge attack. In the meantime, I’ll find a way to connect Theodrick to Kato. Those two were never exactly childhood friends. Maybe someone saw them speaking before the attack. And Garath, be quick, and don’t waste time.”

  Garath nodded once. “Understood. I’ll go now, even if I have to wake them in the middle of the night.”

  The inquisitor turned on his heel and strode down the corridor until the darkness swallowed him.

  Isabelle turned to Tunga. “I consider myself free of the oath I made to the Cashnar. I’ll return to him and help with his mission beneath the Citadel.”

  The shaman’s brow furrowed. “He ask you stop war.”

  “Yes,” she said. “And that is exactly what I did. Once Garath proves Kato’s coins belonged to Theodrick and no one else, no one will turn their suspicion on the tribes.”

  Tunga’s face remained rigid, carved from stone.

  “You are withholding something,” Isabelle said.

  He inclined his head. Slow. Grave. “The rumors spread among the people. They reached the tribes as well. Now they know the Church wants war.” His jaw set. “They are preparing. Witches recalled from exile. They will unleash the entire jungle rather than be broken.”

  Isabelle drew a measured breath. Troop movements. Supply lines. Mustered forces. Preparations of that scale never stayed hidden for long. The tribes knew now. And recalling the witches meant desperation. No tribe chose that path lightly. Exiles steeped in corrupted magic, feared even by their own kin.

  No.

  Everything she had done, every life she had placed at risk, would collapse into meaninglessness if the tribes marched against the Church.

  “We have to stop them,” she said. “You must warn them. The war is not coming.”

  He shook his head. “I not in tribe. Not since Spirit of Beast stop speak to me. No one listen to old Tunga now.”

  “Then what can we do? There must be a way to stop this before it begins.”

  “Church person,” Tunga said. “Big name. Someone they saw in jungle, helping people. Someone they respect. Someone like you. Maybe they listen.”

  Isabelle pointed to herself. “Me?”

  He nodded once. “Yes. I go with you. If move now, maybe we stop them in time.”

  Her mouth opened, but the words caught. “But Derek…”

  Tunga’s gaze hardened. “He already dead. Death walk inside him, and he choose to die chasing dream. He have all man need. You no need follow.”

  Isabelle lowered her head, fingers brushing the hilt of her sword. She had sworn to stop this war. A vow to the Cashnar she would not break.

  “All right, Tunga,” she said at last. “I’ll return to the jungle with you. We’ll speak to your leaders and tell them there’s no war left to fight.” She forced a faint, weary smile. “If they’re as reasonable as I hope, they’ll listen.”

  Tunga’s eyes narrowed. “I hope you right. But first we must reach them. If they already prepare for war, they won’t welcome us with open arms.”

  Of course. If the Church was already seen as an enemy, and if Tunga was considered an outcast, they would hardly let the two of them through unharmed.

  Isabelle drew the weapon, pressed the cold flat of the blade gently to her forehead, and closed her eyes. “So be it. If it becomes necessary, may Orbisar grant me the strength to wield my sword in a just and righteous battle.”