I turn, facing those coming down the passageway, the witch leading the way. The witch tries to connect to my Silver—who should be far away by now or I’ll skin him myself!—but I savagely cut her off, bringing her into my soul instead of his and putting her in the box with the depth of my pain—newfound love mixed with bittersweet longing—and empathy.

My Gift accepts her mind with a cackle, and she screams as she’s engulfed in the most potent blackness of my sorrows and the feeling of hundreds around the area with joys, pains, and sorrows abounding.

She pulls herself free of the mar, but not without some of it sticking to her like eldertree sap. A smile twitches at my lips. Revenge is best served on a very emotional platter.

I touch my lips, smile deepening as I realize my assassin prince has finally, once and for all, wormed his way deep into my heart and will remain there for eternity, come what may.

I'm at a fork, two passageways before me and one at my back. The witch holds her hand forward, and I twist to keep the wall at my back as oddly shaped creatures come forward, some with mouths gaping, others with lightening flashing in their twisted hands.

One jumps forward, his mouth gaping to devour me. I step to the right, letting him drive himself into the wall and slash his throat on the way by. He goes down with a gurgle. At least they aren't bright. Something catches my eye and I duck.

Oop. That was close. I nearly had my head fried off.

"Don't fry the cloak! It's borrowed!" I shout, stabbing my frustration out on the next one that gets too close, ducking a fireball.

My Gift flares, blocking an infiltration by the witch, even as I continue to fight.

I rebound off the wall into another’s back, stabbing his eye before fire comes and singes my eyebrows off my face. My Gift reaches out, zapping an emotion into one about to fry my arm off. I throw a blade, jump over a swipe of claws, and feel nearly invincible.

Why the heck didn't I accept my Gift sooner? This is awesome!

Then lean back, a fireball passing a hairbreadth in front of my face. Quite literally cause it singes the eyebrows from my face and my skin feels decidedly tight.

I pat my face, glaring at the offender. “That hurt, you prick!”

I throw a blade, sinking it into his heart. Another one comes behind me. I twist, jumping back as he gulps in air and his stomach bulges. I watch with wide eyes, not sure what’s coming. But nothing could’ve prepared me for what emerged from his mouth.

His maw opens, revealing shiny yellow teeth in drastic need of a brushing, and then a loud sound accompanied by a wave of wind struck me. I gag, trying not to pass out at the strength of his… burp?

It kept coming, and by that time I was plastered in spittle. When he closes his mouth, I give a small clap, even as I jump claws and stab another creature. “Wow. Bravo. My brother would pay good money to do that.”

The creature cocks his head in confusion, and that’s when my luck runs out. Something strikes the back of my head at the base of my skull, and I fall forward, rolling into burper’s legs. He picks me up by the back of my neck, shaking me like a rag doll.

My teeth clack in my mouth and I bite my tongue, tasting blood.

Everything goes abruptly still.

“Drop her,” the shrill voice of the witch commands.

The large hand opens and I drop like a sack of potatoes, wincing as impact jars every bone in my body.

My Gift kept Silver safe, masking him from the others, giving him time to move. I smile, even as I feel a trickle of blood come from the corner of my mouth. He’s almost there.

I open my eyes, swaying where I’m on my knees, feeling the cold, hard ground beneath my leather trousers as I come back to Beulah from wherever I was floating in Fifth.

My eyes flick up, and somehow I feel less alone as creatures, tens and perhaps even hundreds, stand behind the witch with her slack jaw and eyes blazing with fury. She stomps her foot and screams, the creatures behind her cringing away and lifting their hands as if to protect themselves from her.

With my last stregth, I free the fairies along the walls, stripping the forced bonds from the creatures, and sending fairies fluttering to the ceiling. Some get smashed, others flee, but at least they are free.

I glance up, seeing the witch staring at me, blinking quickly. And I see something in her eye. Something... strange. Something like... longing.

And when I see that, I send something I never thought I would. I use the last of my strength, shoving the perfect love I knew of my father, the perfect love the King has given, and the pure acceptance of knowing whose I am.

And then a strange thing happens. Tears glitter in her eyes and stream down her perfectly pale cheeks. Beside her, Madame Nika and Gilbert stare at me, their faces slack and fear emanating from them.

But somehow, even with their betrayal… I couldn’t kill them. Even when presented the chance to snip their threads, I couldn't. I saw how Nika treats her underlings. She may have betrayed me, but the Underground is better for her being here, if only so the little ones aren’t so abused.

The witch stops her screaming and pounds her hands against the slick, dingy grey wall in a toddler’s tantrum, slumping her shoulders. She wipes her eyes and face with a handkerchief and sniffles. She goes to a knee in front of me, patting my head like a dog, her eyes still large and watery and glittery from where I gave her a major dose of my emotions.

Anger seems to be the only emotion I can feel through the numbness blanketing me from over-extending my Gift, so I become angry at the way she still looks beautiful like some sort of painting of a damsel in distress after crying. I’d look like a racoon had a baby with a red-faced salamander.

I fighting the blackness that’s encroaching around the edges of my vision. “It’s so hard to find good help these days. Please refrain from any such outbursts in the future or I may have to go after your little lover, hmm?” Her voice isn't quite so cutting as before. In fact.. it's downright soft.

A tear dribbles down my cheek. She wipes it away, staring at it as if it were an abstract idea. “Love. Quite the emotion. Unneeded and weak, but powerful, nonetheless.”

I track Silver, the witch still speaking. He isn’t caught.

The witch tries to find him, but I block her. She eyes me, something like respect in her eyes.

“Strong little thing. No matter. It’s not him we want. Surrender and I’ve no need to go after your little assassin at all.”

I let the knife slide from my hand. Not really by any conscious will to surrender, but because it was becoming too heavy to hold.

“Why?” I whisper.

“Your people once thought they could hold freedom over mine. And when we begged for your help, you left us to die. But we didn’t die. We grew stronger. We grew powerful. And now your people and all the worlds will pay for what you did to us. We will rule, and no one need fear death any longer, for it will come for all of them,” she whispers.

The blackness spots my vision as my body succumbs to the rigors I’ve put it through. And Silver slips through my conscious, beyond where I can reach in my weakened state. I hope that means he made it out.

“Don’t worry, after we have your wolf, it will all be over and you’ll be at peace with your beloved so-called God. And I’ll have the prince and Risia as putty in my hands.”

Everything goes black and I feel myself falling, falling, but I never hit the ground.

Of all the bird-brained, seasnake vis, split-hair ideas, what did she think would happen?

The black-cloaked assassin strode from the underground, and the two men stationed there bowed low, nearly touching their heads on the ground.

They flicked their eyes at the sprites clinging to his arms and shoulders, but he didn’t spare them a second glance. He was sure they had seen much odder things in the course of their station at the Assassins’ Guild.

Three things were on his mind.

Getting an army. Finding the wolf. And getting his beloved from the hands of his enemies… again.

He would’ve shoved a hand through his hair had the fairies not clung to him as if he were the Living Tree.

How strong his tigress was. Both in Gift and in Spirit. If only she wasn't quite so jippet-forsaken stubborn.

Disbelief and shame threaded through him. She had told him. Told him to leave her. And he didn’t fight it.

He shoved his betrayal down, for it was not the time for emotion. They could speak of that—seasnake vis, how they would speak of that—after she was back. Safe. Alive. In his arms.

Where she belonged.

Why couldn’t he have fallen for an ordinary, embroidery-loving princess?

No, he went for the most stubborn, hard headed woman he'd ever met. But she was also the kindest, most selfless person she'd ever met.

And he would move Fifth and Sixth before letting anymore harm befall her.