In truth, Vi felt broken already. She was losing her edge. It was one thing to feel bad for killing Jarl. Jarl had kept her alive. He’d been a friend and someone who would never demand the use of her body. He hadn’t been a threat, physically or sexually.
Kylar was a different matter altogether, and yet even now, riding slowly through the streets of Cenaria, her hood close around her face, Vi couldn’t stop thinking about him. She was actually sorry he was dead. Maybe even sad.
Kylar had been a damn good wetboy. One of the best. It was a shame he’d been killed with an arrow, probably from hiding. Not even a wetboy could stop that.
“That’s it,” Vi said aloud. “Could happen to anyone. Makes me realize my own mortality. It’s just a shame.”
It wasn’t just a shame. That wasn’t what she felt, and she knew it. Kylar had been kind of cute. If you could think “kind of cute” with a mental sneer. Kind of charming. Well, not that charming. But he did try.
Really, it was Uly’s fault. Uly had talked and talked about how great he was. Fuck.
So maybe she’d entertained a whim that Kylar could be the kind of man who could understand her. He’d been a wetboy, and somehow he’d left it and become a decent person. If he could do it, maybe she could, too.
Yes, he was a wetboy, but he was never a whore. You think he could understand that? Forgive it? Sure. You go ahead with your little crush, Vi. Bawl your eyes out like a little girl. Go ahead and pretend you could have been an Elene, making a little home and having a little life. I’m sure it would have been great fun to suckle brats and crochet baby blankets.
The truth is, you didn’t even have the courage to admit you had a crush on Kylar until you knew he was safely dead.
All the things Vi had always hated about women were suddenly showing up in herself. For Nysos’ sake, she even missed Uly. Like some sort of fucking mother.
Well that was nice. Boo hoo. Do we feel better now? Because we still have a problem. She sat on her horse outside Drissa Nile’s shop. The Bitch Wytch had said the weaves were dangerous, but Drissa might be able to free Vi from the Godking’s magic. Looking at the modest shop, Vi thought the smart money was on the Godking.
The Godking would make her a slave. Drissa Nile would either free her or kill her.
Vi went inside. She had to wait half an hour while the two diminutive, bespectacled Niles took care of a boy who’d been splitting firewood and buried an axe in his foot, but after his parents took him home, Vi said that Sister Ariel had sent her. The Niles closed shop immediately.
Drissa seated her in one of the patient rooms while Tevor drew back a section of the roof to let sunlight in. They looked alike, baggy clothes over short, lumpy bodies, graying brown hair as straight as sheaves of wheat, spectacles, and single earrings. They moved with the easy familiarity of long partnership, but Tevor Nile clearly deferred to his wife. They both appeared to be in their forties, but scholarly Tevor seemed perpetually befuddled, while Drissa left no doubt that she was aware of all things at all times.
They sat on either side of her, holding each other’s hand behind her back. Drissa rested her free hand on Vi’s neck, and Tevor laid his fingers on the skin of her forearm. Vi felt a cool tingle in her skin.
“So, how do you know Ariel?” Drissa asked, her eyes sharp through her spectacles. Tevor seemed to have completely sunk into himself.
“She killed my horse to keep me from going into Ezra’s Wood.”
Drissa cleared her throat. “I see—”
“Gwaah!” Tevor yelled. He jerked backward and fell off his stool, smacking the back of his head against the stone of the fireplace.
“Don’t touch anything!” As fast as he fell, he was on his feet again.
Vi and Drissa stared at him, baffled. He rubbed the back of his head. “By the hundred, I nearly incinerated all of us.” He sat down. “Drissa, look at this.”
“Oh,” Vi said. “Ariel said it was trapped in some interesting ways.”
“Now you tell me?” Tevor asked. “Interesting? She calls this interesting?”
“She said you were the best with small weaves.”
“She did?” Tevor’s demeanor changed in an instant.
“Well, she said Drissa.”
He threw his hands up. “Of course she did. Damn Sisters can’t admit a man might be good, not even for a second.”
“Tevor,” Drissa said.
He was abruptly calm. “Yes, dear?”
“I’m not seeing it. Can you lift it—”
She exhaled all at once. “Oh my. Oh my. Yes, don’t lift it.”
Tevor didn’t say anything. Vi turned to see what his expression was.
“Please hold still, child,” Drissa said.
For ten minutes, they worked in silence. Or at least Vi thought they worked. Aside from something like feather brushes on her spine, she felt nothing.
Finally, Tevor grunted as if satisfied.
“Are we done?” Vi asked.
“Done?” he said. “We haven’t started. I was inspecting the damage. Interesting? I’ll say it’s interesting. There are three side spells protecting the primary spell. I can get them. Breaking the last one is going to hurt, a lot. The good news is that you came to us. The bad news is that by touching the weave, I’ve disrupted it. If I can’t break it in perhaps an hour, it will blow your head off. You might have said it was a Vürdmeister who put the spell on you. Any other surprises?”
“What’s the primary spell?” Vi asked Drissa.
“It’s a compulsion spell, Vi. Go ahead, Tevor.” The man sighed and sank back into himself. He didn’t seem to be able to speak while he was working. Drissa, on the other hand, had no problem. Vi could see her hands beginning to glow faintly even as she spoke. “It’s going to start hurting soon, Vi, and not just physically. We can’t numb you to the pain because he’s trapped that area of your brain. Numbing you is one of the first things a healer would do, usually, so he’s made it lethal. Hold still now.”
The world went white and stayed white. Vi was blind.
“Just listen to my voice, Vi,” Drissa said. “Relax.”
Vi was breathing quick, shallow breaths. Suddenly, the world returned. She could see.
“Four more times and we’ll have the first spell,” Drissa said. “It might be easier if you close your eyes.”
Vi snapped her eyes shut. “So, uh, compulsion,” she said.
“Right,” Drissa said. “Compulsion magic is very limited. For the spell to hold, the caster must have authority over you. You have to feel you owe the caster your obedience. It would be worst with a parent or a mentor, or a general if you were in the army.”
Or a king. Or a god. Holy hells.
“Regardless,” Drissa said, “the good news is that you can throw off a compulsion if you can throw off that person’s hold over you.”
“Brilliant,” Tevor said. “Bloody brilliant. Mad and sick, but genius. Did you see how he’s anchored the traps in her own glore vyrden? He’s making her sustain his spells. Horribly inefficient, but—”
“Tevor.”
“Right. Back to work.”
Vi’s stomach muscles convulsed like she was throwing up. When it passed, Vi said, “Throw it off how?”