Page 64 of Sharpest Court

“How was this not in the stories?” Keil asked, looking intently at Calytrix.

Her throat bobbed slightly. “Even in Saxon’s time, Spellmaking was a mysterious art. Knowledge of the craft rarely spread beyond the bloodlines.”

My heart drummed faster. “And yet you know so much about it. Even after all these centuries.”

Calytrix averted her gaze and Raff tensed again, his grip tightening on the crossbow.

Lysander meant only to protect me, Calytrix had said. And now another memory coasted back to me.

You’d be lucky to find a living being who can read the old language, Lye had claimed weeks ago in Erik’s abandoned prison, referring to this symbol, painted in blood on the wall. Even then, I’d thought it was a strangely vague answer; it sounded as though Lye was concealing something from his companions.

And now I knew: He’d been concealing Calytrix. The woman he suspected would be able to read this long-dead symbol, as though she possessed ties to an ancient world. The woman who had said, We are not Wielders.

But had not called herself a Wholeborn, either.

I looked at her, awestruck, and breathed, “You’re a Spellmaker.”

My words spilled like frost across the room, hardening everyone for one cold moment.

Then the ice shattered.

We all leaped to our feet within the same heartbeat, Raff’s crossbow rising again—now pointing between my breasts.

“I told you this was a mistake,” he hissed to Calytrix, now shielded behind him.

“Lower your weapon,” Keil said quietly, his tone laced with warning. His gaze was fixed darkly on the arrow positioned an inch from my heart.

“Stay where you are, highborn,” Raff snarled. Then he said to Calytrix, “Go.”

“No—wait—” I went to step forward, but Raff jutted the arrow against my chest. My pulse lurched at the contact.

“Try to stop her,” Raff said, “and I will fire.”

“Please.” I raised my palms and spoke directly to Calytrix. “We won’t harm you.”

“Of course you won’t,” Raff spat, his brow glistening. “Because then you couldn’t use her. You think we don’t know what people would do to exploit a power like Caly’s? To not only sense power, but create from it?” He glowered at Keil. “What would your own empress give for a minute alone with a Spellmaker?”

Keil’s jaw flickered; even in his fury, he couldn’t deny how Rheya would treat Calytrix. As an asset. But he said, his voice hard, “I give you my word that we intend no ill. But we will not be held here under threat. You have three seconds to lower your weapon, after which I will not apologize for any injuries I inflict. One.”

“Raff.” Calytrix tried to tug her husband back.

“Two.”

Raff dug the arrow further into my chest, and I flinched.

“Three.”

If Raff was truly going to fire, he didn’t get the chance. Because the weapon then reared back under the force of Keil’s specter, the arrow pointing upward as the butt of the crossbow slammed into Raff’s nose.

The air blasted out of me as the crossbow clattered to the stones. Raff doubled over, spluttering, and Calytrix cried out.

“Run,” Raff said, blood pouring from his nose. He tried to push Calytrix toward the exit but she didn’t move. She only faced us, chin high and hands quivering, her fear pervading the cool night air.

My chest twinged as I remembered my last conversation with Carmen. How she’d faced me with similar nerve as I’d brandished a knife against her.

Keil reached into his pocket, and Calytrix stiffened. But Keil only withdrew a handkerchief and extended it toward her. His voice softened as he said, “My apologies.”

Calytrix hesitated, as though she expected a poison dart beneath the fabric. Then she shakily took the handkerchief and tended to her husband’s nose.