CHAPTER 11: THE WITCH'S LOAN

I don’t go back to my chambers after the arena.

I can’t. Draevor will be waiting, or his guards will be, or one of the priestesses with another white dress for Mira. Three days isn’t safety. It’s just a longer fuse.

So I go to the only place in this castle that Draevor can’t walk into uninvited: Silas’s tower.

The Witch King doesn’t use doors either. His tower is open to the sky, a broken ruin held together by spellwork and spite. Vines grow through the cracks in the stone, and the air tastes like copper and lightning.

Silas is sprawled on a pile of velvet cushions when I walk in, flipping a dagger between his fingers. He doesn’t look surprised to see me.

“Little Luna,” he drawls. “Come to collect on that loophole I promised?”

“I need to get my sister out,” I say without preamble. “Tonight. Before Draevor decides three days is too long to wait.”

Silas sits up, and the lazy amusement drops off his face. “You think I can just walk her out the front gate? The wards on this castle are blood-locked. Draevor’s blood. He’d feel it the second she crossed the threshold.”

“Kain gave me something.” I pull the bottle from my pocket. The black liquid inside moves on its own. “Three drops. Fakes death for twelve hours. He said he could extract her if I used it.”

Silas takes the bottle, holds it up to the light, and snorts. “Of course he did. The Scientist and his toys. This won’t work.”

“What?”

“Drayvor’s not stupid.” Silas tosses the bottle back to me. “He’s got priestesses checking Mira every hour. If she ‘dies,’ they’ll burn the body before the twelve hours are up. Ritual purification. He told them to. He’s expecting you to try something.”

Of course he is. I close my eyes. I’m so tired. “Then what do I do?”

“You borrow from a witch.” Silas stands and stretches, his joints popping. “Real death can’t be faked. But it can be delayed. Traded. Owed.”

He walks to a shelf crammed with jars and pulls down one filled with red dust. “This is grave ash. Mixed with your blood, it’ll tether Mira’s life to yours. If she dies, you die instead. The wards read it as a Luna-bond. Draevor can’t claim her without killing you first, and if he kills you, the Fifth Law collapses. He won’t risk it.”

I stare at the jar. “You want me to blood-bind myself to a seven-year-old?”

“I want you to give me a reason to help you.” Silas sets the jar down and steps into my space. He smells like cloves and storm clouds. “Everything costs something, Nyx. Kain gave you that bottle because it serves his 1%. Theo gave you that carving because he’s already dead in his head. Rook’s giving you three days because he thinks you’ll pick him.”

His finger taps my chin, tilting my face up. “What are you giving me?”

It’s a fair question. Silas is the only King who hasn’t asked me for anything yet. Not directly.

“What do you want?” I ask.

His smile is slow and sharp. “Your firstborn.”

I go cold. “What?”

“Kidding.” He laughs, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Mostly. I want a favor. To be called in when I choose, no questions, no hesitation. Could be tomorrow. Could be ten years from now. Could be me asking you to kill Rook with your own hands.”

“You know I can’t promise that.”

“Then your sister stays here.” He shrugs and turns away. “Draevor puts her in that dress on Day 8, and you get to watch. Your choice.”

It’s not a choice. It never is with them.

“Fine,” I say. “One favor. No questions. But you don’t get to ask me to hurt Mira, or Rook, or—”

“No conditions,” Silas interrupts. “That’s the point of a blank favor, little Luna. If you get to set terms, it’s not a debt. It’s a negotiation. And I don’t negotiate with girls who come to my tower begging.”

He’s right. I hate that he’s right.

“Fine,” I say again. “One favor. No questions.”

“Say it properly.” Silas holds out his hand. His palm is covered in thin white scars. Witchwork. Price marks. “‘I, Nyx Varrow, owe Silas Rhen, Witch King, one favor to be redeemed at his choosing.’”

I take his hand. His skin is warmer than I expected. “I, Nyx Varrow, owe Silas Rhen, Witch King, one favor to be redeemed at his choosing.”

The scars on his palm light up gold for half a second. Magic sealing the deal. It burns, but I don’t pull away.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

He lets go and picks up the jar of grave ash. “Cut your hand. Three drops of blood in the ash, three drops of ash in your mouth. Then go to your sister and breathe on her while she sleeps. The tether will set.”

I do it. The ash tastes like dirt and iron. When I breathe on Mira an hour later, sneaking into the nursery past two sleeping priestesses, her chest rises with my breath. I feel it in my own ribs.

It’s done. She’s mine to protect now. Or mine to kill, if I die.

I don’t sleep. I sit on the floor of the nursery until dawn, watching Mira, counting her breaths, feeling each one in my chest.

Rook finds me there on Day 6.

He doesn’t speak. He just sits down next to me, his shoulder against mine, and watches Mira too.

“You smell like Silas,” he says eventually.

“I made a deal with him.”

“I know.” Rook’s jaw is tight. “I can feel it. The bond shifted. You’re tied to something new.”

“He’s helping me protect Mira.”

“He’s tying you to him.” Rook turns his head to look at me. “You know that, right? Witches don’t do favors. They collect debts.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“You had me.” His voice is quiet. Hurt. “You could have come to me. We could have stormed the nursery together. Killed the priestesses. Taken her and run.”

“And gotten her killed the second we hit the wards.” I meet his eyes. “Draevor would have called it an escape attempt. He would have had her executed by noon. This way, he can’t touch her without killing me first. The Law protects me until Day 30.”

Rook stares at me for a long time. Then he reaches out and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger on my neck, right over my pulse.

“You’re getting better at this,” he says. “Lying. Scheming. Using us against each other.”

“I’m learning from the best.”

He huffs a laugh, but it’s sad. “Is that what I am to you? The best monster?”

“No.” I cover his hand with mine, pressing it flat against my throat. Letting him feel my pulse, my life, the tether to Mira that now runs through me. “You’re the only one who asked me what I wanted before you told me what you’d do.”

Rook goes still. Then he leans in, slow, giving me time to pull away. I don’t.

He doesn’t kiss me on the mouth. He presses his lips to the corner of my jaw, right under my ear, and breathes me in like he’s starving.

“You want that future,” he whispers against my skin. “With me. With the kid. Say it.”

“I want it,” I say, and it’s not a lie.

“Then stop making deals with Silas.” His teeth graze my earlobe, not hard enough to break skin. A warning. A promise. “Come to me next time. Even if it’s stupid. Even if it gets us killed. Come to me.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

He pulls back, his eyes dark and blown wide. “Okay?”

“Okay, Rook.”

He grins then, sudden and real, and it transforms his whole face. For a second, he doesn’t look like the Necro-wolf. He looks like a man who just got told he might get to live.

“Good,” he says. “Because I’m about to do something really stupid to keep you.”

He stands and offers me his hand. I take it.

Day 6. Twenty-four days left.

I’m blood-bound to my sister. Debt-bound to Silas. Fate-bound to Theo’s death on Day 16. Science-bound to Kain’s 1% future.

And now I’m stupid-bound to Rook, because I want him alive more than I want to be safe.

Draevor has three days before the Law forces my hand.

I plan to make every one of them hurt.