The mercenary riding alone—the leader—spoke first. Even on his horse Ana could see that he was an impossibly tall man. He was the one with a black beard, the one she had watched hand the pouch of goldleaves to the bartender. She was close enough to hear his low growl. “You got some guts, lass, riding after us alone. Got a death wish, or what?”
“You must have heard by now,” Ana said, “what happened at the Vyntr’makt in Kyrov?”
“What? You lost your damashka doll?” Blackbeard and his companion rasped with laughter.
Ana kept her face blank. She knew from lessons with her brother that some negotiations required placidity. Others called for firmness. And finally, in the rarest of cases, you showed your power.
Slowly, Ana slid off her glove and stretched her fingers, lifting her hand high.
She summoned her Affinity.
The mockery on the mercenaries’ faces vanished, replaced by alternating horror and disgust, as the veins in her hand began to turn dark, from the tips of her fingers to her elbow.
“An Affinite,” sneered Blackbeard. “You think you can threaten us just because you’re one of those deimhovs? Oi, Stanys. Watch me cut this witch down.”
“Need help, boss?” his companion called.
“Take the quarry to a safer place.” Blackbeard turned to Ana with a malicious grin. “The witch is mine.”
Anger bottled at her throat, but she forced it down, down as she thought of Luka. Her bratika had always strived for peace where possible. Ana gave it one last try. “Hand him over now, and no one has to be hurt.”
Blackbeard’s expression darkened. “I’ll teach you all about hurting,” he snarled, and launched his horse toward her.
Her horse shrieked at the sudden assault, springing back. Ana had just enough time to feel the shift in balance before the saddle tilted beneath her and she tumbled off. By instinct, she latched on to Blackbeard’s blood and pulled.
His curse rang out, and she saw him fall just as her back jolted against the ground, knocking the wind from her. Nearby, there was a thud as Blackbeard broke his fall with a roll.
Ana sucked in a deep breath, willing her stunned limbs to work again. She heard the schick of Blackbeard’s dagger as he drew it from its sheath. “Damned deimhov,” he snarled, and sprang.
Through the haze in her mind, she grasped at her Affinity.
Blackbeard drove his blade down. A rumble of thunder muffled her scream as pain seared over her shoulder. Blood bloomed across her senses.
The mercenary’s smile sliced white. Pinning her down with his body, he brought his dagger to her cheek. In the dim light, she could make out the green-tinted liquid as it formed a drop at the tip of the blade. Terror filled her. “Recognize that, you witch?” Blackbeard’s tone was triumphant, mocking. “You think just because you’re an Affinite, that makes you more powerful than us?”
Slowly, she was regaining control of her body; the fog in her mind was dissipating. Ana twitched a finger.
“Think again. You made a dumb choice, revealing yourself to us, deimhov. I dominate monsters like you. I trade monsters like you.” Blackbeard brought his face close to hers. “You don’t scare me.”
With his other hand, he shoved a glass vial of Deys’voshk to her lips. Bitter liquid filled her mouth. She was back in the dungeons again, metal chains and straps holding her in place, the taste of the pungent poison flooding her senses. My little monster, Sadov whispered.
She choked now, her mind paralyzed with fear, her throat swallowing the Deys’voshk as she’d been conditioned.
Something splashed on her face. At first, Ana thought she was crying, but as another drop landed on her face, then another, she realized that it was raining.
The sky lit up with a streak of lightning, and thunder clapped as rain began to pour. A cold wind tore at her hair, urging her in angry whispers. She was not in a dungeon, this was not Sadov, and she was not the helpless, frightened girl she’d been.
And she had developed a tolerance to the Deys’voshk.
Blackbeard tossed his vial onto the grass. Lightning flashed, reflecting off the glass, an arm’s length from Ana. “Still feeling powerful, you witch?” he hissed in her ear. “I don’t have a particular preference for your type, but I know some people who do.” He gripped her chin hard enough to bruise. Ana forced her eyes to remain on Blackbeard as her hand snaked out along the grass. “Lots’ve things one could do to a pretty