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fingers.
    Victor clutched at his midsection and
crumpled to his knees with a grunt. The plates of his armor groaned
under the invisible pressure. He snarled and gritted his teeth,
tendrils of spittle spilling from his mouth and streaking his
beard. The sigils at his arms seemed to erupt with white light,
searing trails devouring the darkness of the ink. A sickly pallor
fell over his face, pained tears breaking free of his eyes, but he
did not cry out.
    Deborah held her fist closed another moment
before spreading her fingers apart with a dismissive flick, her
energies dispersing. Victor breathed a heavy sigh and drew himself
up, his limbs trembling. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his
hand, the tattoos upon his arms dimming to blackness once more.
    “ Do not presume to tell me what I must
be, Graves.” She glared down at him. His furious gaze was locked on
the tiles at his feet, though no less fierce for that. “For all
your vaunted history, you are but a slave to the Council; to me , Victor, to me. You will do as I
command or I will be forced to remind you how easily you can be
broken.” She growled at him, “Look at me.” His eyes snapped to
hers. “Mind your place, Lord, or what little freedom you retain
will be stripped from you as quickly as the flesh was from the
bones of your daughter. You remember her don’t you, and why she
died?” She paused to draw a breath, letting her words sink in. “Do
you understand me, Victor?”
    “ Yes ,” he
hissed in response, his face a mask of impotent rage.
    Deborah grinned, reveling in the Lord’s
discomfort. She had no doubt he was thinking of his child, his
family, long ago devoured by the war machine that had raised
Deborah to power. She let him stew a short time, knowing he could
do nothing but accept his fate before her power. When she broke the
tense silence, it was with a gentle voice, free of the rancorous
bite of just moments before. The lesson taught, Deborah could
afford to be magnanimous. “I have another mission for you.”
    He nodded.
    “ It seems we have a warlock loose
among the peasantry. He dared to assail the Red Guard, murdering a
captain and most of her squadron. I want his head.” She watched
Victor nod once more before continuing, “Carrance can direct you to
where he struck, so that you might find his trail, but I want no
excuses.”
    A quiet knock drew her eyes to the door. She
sighed and called out, “Come.”
    Gracelin Shaw peeked inside, the green of
her robes standing out against the burnished wood of the door.
Deborah waved her inside, turning back to Victor. “Are we
clear?”
    The Lord of the Hunt bowed deep, his gaze
touching hers for but a flicker of an instant before his eyes were
away.
    “ Be about it immediately, and bring me
good news, Victor.” She dismissed him with a flutter of her hand.
He left the room subdued, a quiet storm rumbling on the horizon.
Deborah smiled as the door behind him closed with a gentle click.
She glanced to Gracelin, the smile fading.
    Deborah gestured toward the absent Lord.
“Despite the compulsions set upon him, I do not trust Graves.” She
drew back to the throne and settled into it. “He is as willful as
the day his people were conquered. He will never be a true servant
to us, in spite of all the blood on his hands.”
    Gracelin eased up the stairs of the dais.
Her dark hair was pulled back tight and pinned against the back of
her head, its pull making her face severe. Her brown eyes wide, she
dismissed Deborah’s complaint with a snort. “His heart will never
be yours, for certain, but the flesh will remain a slave until it
is dust. His homeland of Ventor is conquered and a part of
Mynistiria now, just as the Outlands are, and all who have stood in
the way of your rule. He is but one man, and the very least of our
concerns.”
    The White Witch agreed with a sigh.
    “ Has Emerald been found
yet?”
    Deborah shook her head. “She hides
well.”
    “ Let us hope she hides as well