When we arrive at the capital by nightfall, a fog hanging over the forests. The scouts inform us that, although the guard presence is heavy at the front gates, it's lacking on the outskirts of the slums where pit fights are taking place.

I hate to think how those fights have evolved since I was down there myself. Back then, the king made them strictly voluntary to those that wished to have their bodies pummeled into mush and killed once they were deemed unworthy of another fight. Some of the first lives I took were down in those pits, and I had the complicated ways of the king's strength hanging over my head like a swaying noose.

Possibly to gain more attraction or more thirst for blood, the pits have evolved to face similar conditions to Lona's brave and ruthless citizens. Anyone, whether shoved, pushed, or walking in there willingly, can be a worthy opponent. A tepid barmaid, a pirate with a peg for a leg, a prostitute shoved from the edge of the crowd. Once you're in the pits, there's no getting back out.

Fight or die.

It's not about receiving gold coins as payment anymore. It's about proving to their king that they're the strongest and most worthy. They're being fed lies. The witches here, the strongest, they're being told that joining the king's army will land them in riches, battles they will win, and endless women that will kiss their feet and hold them dearly.

The king promises those things. Once they're under his control, he has no right to deliver. Minds become warped, unable to request the simplest thing from a man that offered them so much already. Between a potion and a life, everything changes. And there's no possibility of them regaining control over their senses.

So instead of bothering with the front gates, it was our last option, anyway; we choose to enter Mailan through the slums. The streets are colder, emptier than when I was here last. I rode through these streets and held my chin high to the sound of rattling chains. Prisoners walked behind me, prisoners of war—of Saebia. I don't remember their faces either.

A thick fog hangs over the streets and serves as a shield. The scouts and the spies hang back towards the edge of the city and watch for commotion, for guards, for the king's men leaving the fighting pits with their hands bloody and their eyes glossed over. They'll warn us with a simple bird call—death is coming.

As for Bren and Tesha, they cut right to hug along the charred and ruined buildings. The residents of the slums picked this place apart and used the stone and any building supplies for their own manors. If I saw them, I doubt they'd be in better shape than what we pass. The loose, dry stone cracks and skids underneath our boots, but it's not loud enough to draw any attention for someone brave enough to sleep inside the tattered remains of these buildings.

This is the beginning of getting Silas out alive. The first step.

We've made it this far. My heart is pounding in my chest, I can hardly see straight other than to stare at the middle of Renit's back and hope I don't trip over anything.

Crouching low, Binx tags along behind me, twin swords drawn. His eyes, after serving in war and being at the king's side, are more aware than my own. From the rumors I heard those months at the castle, he was a strong fighter and an even stronger spy. Infiltrated the enemy camp and gathered enough information before a witch of deflection spotted him through the illusion and almost shot him dead. Binx was quicker, though. Has always been quicker.

The glory of timing our arrival at nightfall is the lack of bodies to acknowledge us. We slink into the shadows upon watching Mailan residents open wooden doors, turn left and right, and strut out onto the street. I wonder what they could be doing underneath the presence of cold candlelight. Serenading a forbidden lover, trading one illegal good for the next, gathering information for their masters back at another shady residence.

Renit can attest that the horrors in Mailan don't stop at the castle. Like blood thicker than honey, horrors leak from all corners of the capital and swarm towards the middle. It's there the citizens, the ones left that don't want to steal, barter, and kill, are killed and swallowed before they're allowed to take a shuddered breath. A cry for help.

There's no room for weak witches in this kingdom.

It's a statement the king shouted on more than one occasion. Screamed it to no one in particular, as if the walls were listening. Often times, when I couldn't stand to be far away from him and that eternal bond tightening within my chest would lead me in the direction of his chambers. During the middle of the night, I'd rest my shoulder against his door, my arms crossed, torch-light turning my hair a dark shade of red, and listen.

He'd scream. Over and over again, the king would scream how he wanted strong witches, capable witches, those that could stand to the test of war. Those like me. He said that once. I'd gone still upon hearing those words because something about it didn't sound right. There wasn't a single way he valued me that much, to believe he wanted to craft and mold his soldiers after the first he managed to convert.

Thinking about it now, I can't believe it. Is there a possibility I should? I longed for his appreciation and acceptance, yet through the veil of the potion consuming my every thought, I still believed the king didn't appreciate me that much. It was...impossible.

Renit, throwing me from my thoughts, holds out a hand behind him to stop us. I nearly run into it but stop at the same time Binx does. He's paying more attention than me, and he's at the back of the line.

A door creaks open down the street and a hooded figure, one I don't recognize, descends the stone stairs leading out onto the street. I catch a flash of silver towards the roof and look up. Tesha and Bren are nestled on the slats, peering down onto the street and waiting for the man to pass. Or woman. It's impossible to tell underneath the cloak dragging along the stone behind them. No wonder the ends are completely ruined, tattered and covered in mud.

We wait until they're gone before continuing. Up ahead, Tesha and Bren leap from building to building once we find ourselves in the residential district of the capital. The buildings are nicer here, they won't crumble underneath the weight of a boot, and that makes for easier overhead travel. Renit frowns at them as if he wishes to be in the same position, rather than crouching so low to the ground, he can almost feel the chill of it on his ass.

It's impossible for me to hear anything other than the thundering of my own heart. Street by street, it plagues me, and I try to think of anything to reassure me we'll get through this. Celestine's laugh, Renit flicking my nose with his finger, Binx's jokes to unsettle me those months ago. Tesha and Citlali, the beauty of their relationship, Bren's love for my sister. Nothing works. I care about all these people too much to think about them dying within the next few hours.

But the deeper we go into the capital, the closer we become to the castle, the easier it is for me to focus. We slither through like snakes, unnoticeable as street rats underneath those that haven't yet found comfort on their cots. The candles in the windows flicker against the glass, lighting my face for only a moment. Then we're gone, deepening ourselves into the dark.

I spot the peaks of the five towers through the stone buildings of Mailan. Their construction is far more advanced than Arego's, the structure is dotted with accents. Wooden beams, porches, shutters. Signs and bells. Stained-glass windows and doormats. Steel knockers and railings.

We're getting so close to the castle, I can almost smell the blood and death that takes place here. It's a heavy scent, it weighs down my lungs and chokes the air from my throat, but I push on. It's only the reminder of what I did here, the killings. The blood I spilled onto my clothes without a care, then dropped those same clothes onto Celestine's floor and ordered the servant to clean them. Remove the stains or I remove your head.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

How could I have said that? The widening of their eyes, their hunched shoulders...it made me grin. Their weakness underneath my power made me want to rise above them. I wanted to take their heads.

Renit stops abruptly, peering around the corner of a building, and I run into his hand unknowingly. As if he expected it, he grabs onto the lips of my cuirass to keep from falling forward or tripping over his boot.

"What is it?" I whisper.

"Guards," he mutters so quiet I can hardly hear him. We're around enemies, right. A witch of all-hearing can hear my voice from the other end of the capital if I'm loud enough. We're too close now to risk anything. "They're on extra patrol."

I peek around the corner of the building we press against. The castle gates loom in the distance, shadowed by trees and that winding stone path that leads from the base of Mailan and up, up the side of the hill the castle is built on. Renit isn't lying when he says there are guards on extra patrol. They don't just stand near the gates, as they once did.

They flank the entire path, some rest on the stone pillars of the wall around the castle. There are at least five in front of the gates, possibly more hiding in the shadows. All wearing that dark, blood-colored armor with black accents. At first, it was the other way around. Now the armor is predominately blood.

Tesha and Bren take the back roads, alleys, and remain under the shadowed buildings until they reach us. "What's the plan?" Bren asks immediately. His cheeks are bright red. Exhaustion from jumping from building to building and keeping up with Tesha, perhaps.

"I'll create an illusion to get Renit and Roux into the castle," Binx hushes.

No one protests. We nod. It's the plan we decided on throughout the journey here. No one other than Renit and I will go within that castle, but Binx and the remainders will stay outside the walls to keep watch. If they have to, they'll create a diversion to direct the guards in the other direction.

Binx's power won't just veil the two of us. It'll veil him, too, so he can get close enough to the castle grounds to keep a strong hold on it. The droop of his brows and constant fidgeting of his hands are one thing, but the bounce in his step is another. He doesn't want to be here again, doesn't want to come face to face with the man he wronged. What Binx did to get me out of the castle; he fooled us and he fooled the king. That's why witches of illusion are referred to as 'liars.' Their ability to lie is uncanny.

Bren gives me a squeeze on the arm before departing. Along with that squeeze comes a brief warming from his power, hot enough to help me gain the focus I'm looking for. We've been in a similar situation before, I had to decide whether to escape with them to the river or help my parents in the only way I knew how. By using a power I couldn't control.

If I had my power, I might've saved them.

There are different players in this game, different faces, and different roles.

He disappears with Tesha and climbs a stone building closer to the castle. They'll remain hidden on the eaves of the rooftop with arrows drawn in case something is amiss. In case a witch of deflection is there to greet us at the front gates and stop everything before it starts.

"Are you ready?" Binx whispers.

Renit and I nod in unison.

Whether through a blink or a smooth breath through his nose, Binx activates his power. Nothing changes within us; I look down and still have the ability to see my body, along with Renit's and Binx's.

"Are you sure this will work?" I ask. His power is a subtle change, a mask that one slips on to hide their identity. Only, they're invisible to the untrained eye.

"Step out and see for yourself." The playful smirk on his face brings back so many memories I'm not ready to face. Training with him, the silent accusations that I needed to remain focused in the pits, meetings with the king that ended in the leader snapping at him for one misplaced comment. That playful smirk was what got me through those months. And what might end me now is the same thing.

I feel around for the titanium band in my pocket and the other stuffed within the pack against my thigh. In case we manage to make it to Silas and he isn't willing to stay down. I have a feeling he won't be willing to do more than that.

Before I can stop him, Renit steps out into the street. He's more than visible, he waves his arm above his head and jumps into the air, almost foolishly. Nothing. The guards don't respond. With a shrug, Renit gestures for us to follow him.

We don't have to crouch anymore or keep ourselves hidden from the eyes of everyone nearby. They don't see us. We're invisible.

Renit walks around the courtyard, towards one of the side gates that leads inside. Maybe both of the witches I'm accompanying have been alive too long and have experienced too much death to realize it, but the stench in the air, of blood and death, is not faked. My mind isn't making it up.

I dare a glance back at the castle gates as if that'll give me the answers I'm searching for. None of us realized what is spiked on top of those iron posts, their blood no longer dripping, their eyes gone from the crows.

"Renit," I whisper, my voice shaken. I grab his arm and point toward the gates.

Spiked, dead, are four heads. My breath is shaken when it comes out. Their faces are more than clear.

Mills, Mani, Piper, and Darius. Gone. Their heads spiked on the gates in case I ever decided to come back here. To unnerve me.

I clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. Renit's skin blanches, for he knows those witches. Piper was one of his closest friends; Darius...his cousin. Suddenly, the smell of death is suffocating and I, along with the two witches accompanying me to rescue the crown prince, can no longer breathe without smelling the decay.