Page 81 of Queen’s Gambit

Chapter 23

Roksana

Somehow, I’d slept through the night. Siras, surprisingly, spent that time sitting near the door. He’d stripped me of my weapons, only raising an eyebrow at my belt of poisons, but allowed me to keep my dignity and clothing intact.

Almost, since the bastard took my boots. Not that a lack of footwear would slow me down, but it would make any attempt more unpleasant. I’d thought about protesting but was too exhausted to fight. Besides, if I were going to dig us out from this pile of excrement, I needed a clear mind and stamina to match.

Siras remained across from me when I opened my eyes. Dark circles framed his narrow, grey eyes, deepening the small wrinkles around them. Sweaty, tangled curls of brown hair fell across his forehead, making me question whether he’d slept at all. He had a pleasant, angular face, and if I had to guess his age, I’d say he was in his forties.

‘I want to see Irsha,’ I demanded as soon as our eyes met.

One eyebrow moved. ‘What makes you think you can demand anything?’

‘The fact that you need my help.’ I sat up and tilted my head at him. ‘You want something from me, and I’m willing to be persuaded, but not if my friend suffers. So, bring me food, and get your arse out of this room. I need to wash and change, and when you return, Irsha will be with you.’

If this worked, I could push even further—provided I didn’t overestimate my value.

His lips thinned. He grabbed my wrist and squeezed. ‘Don’t test me, mage,’ he threatened, as I stared him down.

His left hand was mutilated, covered in old scars. Someone or something had broken his ring and little fingers. It must have been painful, as the bones were set at an odd angle, tenting the skin. The scars over them were tight and discoloured, with the muscles permanently contracted, leaving the fingers in a claw-like shape.

Could he move them at all?

He thought I was testing him? It was time to establish my worth and prepare him for my future demands. I smirked and let my magic flow through the physical connection. He gasped and flinched back.

‘Don’t struggle,’ I commanded, placing my right hand on his to keep him in place. A grimace twisted his visage, and blood beaded on his lip where he bit down. With a crunch, the mangled bones broke. Siras howled but held still as his fingers straightened and the bones fused anew. I didn’t let go until blood flowed through the newly formed vessels, completing the revival.

Once I’d finished, the Prefect pressed his hand to his chest, staring at me, his breathing laboured and unsteady.

Any healer could’ve repaired these fractures if treated early. Yet the mighty Prefect had to suffer because Tangra burned their mages. Given how revered healers were in Dagome, it never occurred to me that the Hierophant wouldn’t make an exception.

Siras swallowed hard but remained still until I moved away. Good. He was already wavering—acting against his doctrine by keeping me alive.

‘How was my test, Prefect? Did I pass?’ I asked. He flexed his hand, his expression tightening with disbelief.

‘Why did you heal me?’ he demanded without looking at me.

‘Because you stopped Niersen from killing Irsha. Now, be so kind and bring my friend here.’ I gestured for him to go.

Siras straightened, flexing both hands. Suddenly, he grabbed the vase from the table and crushed it in his grip.

‘Was that necessary? Now you’ll need to return my boots.’ I smirked as porcelain shards glistened on the floor, catching the morning sun.

‘No. But it felt good,’ he answered, reaching for my face before he curled his hand into a fist and dropped it to his side. ‘Dress. I’ll send the assassin master here. You have an hour before we set off.’

‘To where?’

‘To see the Hierophant.’ He turned to leave. ‘And before you ask, the assassin and Niersen are coming with us.’

Of course, why wouldn’t they? He needed a leash before he brought his new tool to the Hierophant’s attention. I wasn’t sure what kind of magic the Tangra ruler possessed, but he and the rest of the clergy were the only ones who used it in the Tangrian Empire.

The quiet click of the locking door announced Prefect’s departure, and I rushed towards the bathing chamber. I’d barely had time to splash my face with water when the chamber door reopened. A guard let Irsha walk inside, followed by Niersen.

The Light Fae looked as bad as my Blade. His bloodshot eyes and the angry glare he sent towards Irsha suggested the assassin must have fought hard against his compulsion.

‘Make it quick,’ Niersen snapped when I rushed to my friend to inspect his wounds. ‘Even a favour to Tangra has its limits.’

‘A favour?’ I smirked. ‘Siras gave me an hour, so I’ll take an hour. Or should I tell him you’re refusing to follow orders?’ I pursed my lips.