Blaise Pyre stared, unwavering, as the fire consumed what remained of her home. To the untrained eye, it looked to be no more than a burning pile of wood and stone, perhaps the result of another forest fire in the Outlands—the result of magic gone horribly wrong. In a way, the assumption wouldn’t be wrong. Cool flickers of violet danced with the heat of the searing flames, the same shade as a small spark that cracked and spit out a handful of dull flares against her numb skin. Blaise tried to ignore the fire as it winked at her, serving as an unwelcome reminder of the rotten stench of burning flesh filling her nostrils and settling deep within her stomach. The scene was slowly tearing her apart, moment by moment, though not a single tear had fallen from her unblinking eyes.

She closed her raised hand into a fist, letting it fall to her side. It wouldn’t be long someone would see the smoke, too dark and thick to be another prank by a nobleman’s son. If she wanted to escape, she had to leave quickly. Even against the night sky, the dusty cloud would surely be spotted blocking the glow of the bright blue moon that had welcomed the beginning of summer only days before.

“Blaise,” a soft voice tickled her ear.

She ignored it, choosing instead to keep her gaze solely fixed on the flames. They continued to grow, engulfing the building without mercy. After all, magical fire had a tendency to catch quicker than natural, elemental flames. Soon there would be nothing but ash left in the wake of its bloodthirsty appetite. All of her memories, all physical traces of her former life, reduced to light grey flecks scattered all over the Eastern Province. Traces of her school books would land in vegetable gardens, fermenting the compost. Pieces of her favorite wool blanket, the one her grandmother had woven her before her death, would darken some young child’s fair hair. The remains of her parents—

“Blaise,” the voice spoke again, its tone harder—harsher—but she would not waver, would not give in to its melodic beckoning.

She remained still, focused on the symphony of crackles and sputters before her as another wall crumbled beyond the curtain of flame. She let herself remain entranced, convinced that her safety would linger for a few minutes more. But even as the thought crossed the haze coating her mind, she felt her world fade into a dull blur, the heat of the flames pressing ever closer.

“Blaise!” The voice was growing impatient now. “Blaise!”

Craning her neck to the side, its weight was a heavy burden as her vision blinked in and out of focus. It took a moment to register the bright green eyes staring at her intently. Her stomach dropped as she recognized the figure, though he was cloaked in shadow. She opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out, leaving her gaping. Panic weeded its way through her, grasping at her arms, her legs, her chest, rooting her to the ground. She pushed and pulled with what little energy she had, trying and failing to break free.

She tried to scream, her throat constricting with the effort but there was only silence. Even the flames had ceased their mocking.

“Blaise.” She heard him speak once more, taunting her. Daring her to break free.

“BLAISE!”

A sharp tug, the sensation of falling, and then there was light. Bright light. The sharp contrast blinded her as she was heaved back into the waking world. Lying down now, her gaze pointed up to a worn wooden ceiling. No flames were in sight, no force pinning her legs, though she flexed her toes just to be sure. She looked to her side, a few strands of dark hair falling across her face. Brushing the deep brown threads to the side, she saw the comforting sight of her best friend, Alana, looking at her with bright blue eyes wide as cake pans.

“Another nightmare?” she asked, though she already knew the answer. Not a night had passed these last few weeks without Blaise venturing into the same dreamscape—reliving the experience of seeing her childhood home burn right before her eyes, the flames caused by her own hand. Her own mistakes. Though in reality she had never been rendered immobile, she had felt just as helpless. She had also been alone, not a shadowed figure in sight. Whatever demons still plaguing her subconscious continued to play their dirty tricks night after night, twisting and bending the truth so that she could relive her inadequacies; no matter how hard she tried, she continued to fall for them, feeding them with her fear, her pain, her mediocrity.

Blaise finally allowed herself to nod with the sluggish grace of someone regaining consciousness, answering Alana’s inquiry in the best way she could as she adjusted to the real world around her. She propped herself onto her elbows, rubbing at her sleep-caked eyes. The real world, she thought, wasn’t much better than her nightmares. But they managed. Living life on the run had its challenges but it was better to be alive and challenged than dead with no worries at all, though she would be a fool to admit the other option didn’t sound tempting on her more vulnerable days.

Even though they had managed to make it to the Western Province, as far away from home as they could manage, there was still no escaping their past—armed and ready to slash them down at a moment’s notice. In their case, the sentiment was as tangible as it was cerebral. The man who had killed Blaise’s parents, who had forced her to burn their bodies before they could rot without a proper burial, was still out there. A threat to all that remained of her.

Blaise felt a movement on the mattress and shifted over to accompany the extra body.

“They’re not getting worse, are they?”

“No,” she shook her head. “They’re always the same. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Of course not,” Alana said with a quick wave of her hand. “I was already awake. Besides, you should know it takes a bit more than your tossing and turning to wake me up.”

“Like burning a blanket?”

Alana frowned, recalling a few nights previous when Blaise had rendered her blankets to a pile of ash. Alana had to douse her with a bucket of water to stop the violet flames from spreading. The last thing they needed was to be thrown out of another town by people who didn’t understand the costs of magic—feared its power and intention.

“That was an accident,” Alana murmured, running her hand across the new quilt she had purchased from a nearby shop. It was scratchy and uneven in its craftsmanship, but it was all they could afford. Blaise had insisted she not replace the stupid thing, but the late summer nights were getting cooler by the day as autumn began hinting at its eventual return. Never mind arguing with someone as stubborn as Alana. It was almost like arguing with herself, which Blaise did too often nowadays. There was no need to add o her already endless internal pestering.

“An accident that nearly roasted us alive—and half the town, probably.”

Alana reached over to place a warm hand over Blaise’s clenched fist, a reassuring gesture repeated since childhood. “Magic is unpredictable during sleep. You couldn’t control yourself.”

Blaise fought the urge to pull away. “I used to be able to.”

“You’ll get your strength back. I know you will.” A glint twinkled in her eyes. “For who is Blaise Pyre but the most powerful Cantare in a generation?”

Blaise paused, looking up at her friend with a raised eyebrow. “Actually, it’s two generations.”

“There she is.”Alana grinned, sliding her hand away and standing up.

With her golden hair, striking blue eyes, and light complexion, Alana was a bright ray of sun compared to Blaise’s earth-trodden brown hair, brown eyes, and sunkissed skin. Though Alana had stuck out like a sore thumb in their old village of Alvenguard, which had been filled with people who shared darker characteristics, the striking distinction did more to complement her differences. As did her friendship with Blaise, a happy accident that bonded the two together before their magic had fully manifested.

“Now, would her most holiness like some breakfast?” Alana asked as she walked towards their small kitchen, nestled in a small cove a few paces away.

Blaise’s stomach grumbled at the mention of food. She sniffed the air and caught wind of sweet cakes and eggs. Licking her lips, she glanced out the window to observe the position of the sun in the sky. She threw the blankets off with a groan and stretched her hands above her head. Her back gave a satisfying series of pops in response, thanking her for relieving the knots she had created by sleeping on the thin strip of sheet-covered hay she called a bed.

“I would, but I have a job today.” She finished up her stretch and walked over to the wardrobe that housed the few clothing pieces she and Alana had managed to smuggle when they first fled home. Not having the time or coin to afford a new wardrobe, they had made do with what few items of clothing they could fit in their rucksacks.

Blaise could feel Alana’s frown as she stripped herself of her bed clothes and pulled on her dressings for the day—light brown pants, matching lace-up boots, and a plum-colored tunic that already showed signs of wear even though it was one of her newer acquisitions. When she was mostly covered, she turned around to see Alana now standing behind her, her arms crossed just below her chest.

“Another one?” Her distaste was palpable.

“Yes, another one,” Blaise replied, trying to sound light and failing miserably.

“That’s three in one week.”

“Need I remind you that they put food on our table?” Blaise countered, fastening her bodice with tense movements. She had still not gotten used to wearing a bodice, the cheap leather snug against her curves. It was necessity with her work, a lesson she had learned the hard way when she received a nasty cut along her stomach after one of her first contracts. She purchased the bodice from a sales cart their first week in Noss, the small town they currently called home. It wasn’t the finest of armor but it had to do until she could afford another.

“It’s not as if you actually eat any of it.”

Blaise had the good grace to look guilty as she sat down on her bed. She tied the laces on her boots, carefully avoiding Alana’s judgmental stare. It was pointless to argue. They had gone over the same dispute what felt like a hundred times. The subject was beyond tender and talking in circles wouldn’t do anything to help. It had been like this for months and there was no point in creating more problems by trying to justify her choices to someone who easily found a job as a healer’s assistant.

Blaise wasn’t talented in any subject save for magic. Sure, the work she had found wasn’t the best or most moral of ways to utilize her abilities, but it made the aches of dormant magic disappear. Anything was better than suffering from an excess of power trying to fight its way out of her body, leeching onto her erratic thoughts and using them to try and destroy anything within a league or more. Without her contracts, she was an explosion waiting to happen and they both knew it.

She heard Alana let out a sigh and knew that the subject was dropped. Blaise walked over to her bedside table and grabbed the silver pendant that decorated it. She carefully fastened the chain around her neck and positioned the single four-pointed star against the center of her chest. Gathering up the remaining essentials, she tucked them away in various pockets hidden away in her clothing, thankful that the seamstresses in this town didn’t ask questions when someone asked for additional pouches to be sewn into hidden fissures of fabric. Especially when of said linings had the exact dimensions of her prized dagger stitched right above her hip. She had a holster for the weapon as well, but found that people did, in fact, ask questions when a young woman had a dagger permanently attached to her belt.

Muffled noises came from the kitchen and she turned to see Alana wrapping up the food she cooked, like she always did, to await her when she returned. Blaise walked over and leaned against the wall.

“I’ll be leaving now,” she said, her voice just audible above the clanging of pots as Alana set about cleaning.

“Right,” Alana said, ceasing in her movements and turning around to face her, features distorted. Any expression other than a smile looked foreign on Alana’s soft features, even after months away from home. “Be safe.”

“I will.”

With one last glance, Blaise turned and exited their tiny loft, knowing her friend wouldn’t say anything else to try and stop her. All words of discouragement and bereavement had, thankfully, stopped last week after she had brought home a roast turkey for dinner. It had been the first proper meal they had in months. Alana’s silence wasn’t a victory by any means, but she took it as one nonetheless. She had to.

The door closed behind her with a soft click, locking away any other thought she had on the subject. Descending the flight of steps onto the gravel below, she wrapped her hand around the edge of the stone building and twisted herself around to the main street. She heard the echoes of conversation come from the open door of the tavern as she walked past, holding in a smirk as Vik dealt with the customers who started their day with ale in their coffee cups. Their landlord was a patient man too kind for his own good. He had offered them the space above his business their first night in town, no questions asked, even after they were revealed as Outlanders by a drunken man who noticed the pins in Alana’s hair—viridian stone, only found deep in the forests and thought to bring luck by their people. She had pawned them off the next day to pay their first month’s rent.

The main square hummed with the sounds of businesses opening their doors and early risers taking in the clear blue sky. She passed a bookseller stacking up her latest stock and the blacksmith’s assistant starting the fires. Keeping her gaze forward, she glided past the shops and made for the fenced-off town border.

When she reached the tree line of Selincourt forest, Blaise put a hand in her pocket, fishing around for the piece of parchment she had received last night with instructions. Finding it nestled next to a small gathering of lint, she pulled it out and read as she walked. Skimming the part about the target’s description and location, she settled on the three words scribbled at the bottom, as if written in an afterthought.

Wanted for murder.

She pocked the parchment once more as she emerged into the shadows of the forest. Realizing this particular road was the same one she and Alana had traveled through when they arrived, she felt her confidence inflate. It would give her a needed advantage over her target.

She was only a few yards inside the cocoon of trees when she stopped. Glancing around, she spotted a thick tree and crept over to it. Pressing her back against the trunk, she swiveled her head left to right to make sure she was still alone. Content that she was, she lifted her right hand and concentrated on gathering the power within her, giving life to the magic that ran through her veins. A warm prickling sensation soon formed in her palm. She moved her arm back and forth, a violet stream of light trailing behind her movement like a thin layer of smog. Closing her eyes, she narrowed her focus as she released the cloud of magic.

Her ears popped as she concentrated on the pulse beating through the forest. Tuning out the slight breeze that rustled the trees, she felt the pitter patter of random wild creatures scurrying about the wildlife as the energy that had once been a part of her now collided with multiple different species. Three deer, one buck, two foals, a rabbit, and a handful of foxes. No humanlike beings within a reasonable distance. Animals and humans were easy to distinguish; creatures of the forest tended to move lightly and had smaller body masses. In truth, Blaise was merely guessing on the exact types of the animals she sensed. It just made the otherwise drab act of empressing, a technique she had learned when she was fourteen, much more enjoyable.

The nearby area complete, she pivoted on her heel and repeated the same gesture on the remaining angles of the forest, producing similar results. She closed her eyes, focusing intently on reeling the magic back into her, shivering as it collided with her skin. With each breath, the raw energy pumped through her veins, enriching them—fueling them. She remained still as the feeling passed, holding her breath as she looked up at the sun in the cloudless sky. It was late morning now; she still had a small window of time before the target neared the tree line.

Lungs screaming for relief, she let herself breath again, noticing a small bush nearby. Squinting her eyes, she noticed the spattering of orange and white decorating the plant. Aloe. Alana was always complaining about the lack of medicinal herbs at the clinic. Blaise found herself moving towards the plant before she could stop herself, if only as a distraction from the hammering of her heart in her ears as the magic finally began to settle back into its rightful place. Hidden, contained, controlled.

Pocketing a few of the herbs, she found a gathering of berries close by that she recognized as edible.

“Jackpot,” she whispered, silently thanking her mother for all the afternoons she made Blaise venture out into the wilderness to collect potion ingredients. Yellow, she remembered, were nearly always edible. Unless they were nightingale. But those were easily recognizable by their red leaves. She picked a handful of the berries, their leafs a safe shade of green, and gnawed on them greedily.

Snap.

She stilled, her body transforming into stone as she heard the noise of a breaking twig sound from somewhere nearby. Slowly, delicately, she pocketed the berries in her hand, lifting herself onto the balls of her feet as she edged to the other side of the bush. Lifting her head above the foliage, she saw a figure pass through into the clearing not a second later.

He fit the note’s description perfectly, down to the deep blue tunic. A bald man, he made up for his lack of hair with his tall and burly build—older, but not old enough that he wouldn’t put up a fight. He parked himself in the clearing, sniffing the air around him. She had consciously avoiding rubbing herself with scented soap the night before, but that wouldn’t buy her much time. As her eyes finished sizing him up, she saw that he was clutching a rapier in his left hand, his beefy fingers nearly engulfing the handle.

That hadn’t been in the description.

Before she knew it, her own fingers were closed tight around her own blade, smaller but just as deadly if she used it properly. If she played her cards right, she would be able to disarm him before he stuck. Without his weapon, he would be a much easier target. Or she could just magically stun him from here. But from the way her stomach leapt into her throat with excitement, she knew that wasn’t a good idea. Not yet.

She began her pursuit before he could start moving again. She still had the element of surprise and planned on using it. Treading with as much stealth and silence as she could, Blaise closed the distance between the two of them, using the scarce amount of trees to hide her movements. She paused briefly, looking around one of the thicker trunks and calculating the mere meters left between them.

She reached for her blade once more and slid it out of its holster. Poising herself to move through the final expanse of brush, she stopped when he turned in her direction. She quickly pressed her back against the bark of the tree and tucked her arms and legs. Her breathing was slow and shallow as he listened for any movement. A few moments passed before she heard another snapping twig. Then, silence.

She peered around the tree, blade pressed to her chest, and anticipated his large form to be waiting for her. Instead, she was met with nothing. Nothing but a clearing, followed by the quick scattering of a squirrel darting across the glade.

Narrowing her brow, she turned her whole body to face the now vacant patch of land and clenched her jaw. She couldn’t have lost him. He was just there. She cursed inwardly, picturing him disappearing into one of the narrow paths leading away from the clearing. Stepping out from behind the tree, she walked out into the naked patch of grass. She relaxed her shoulders and began to collect a small ball of magic in her palm, feeling it tingle against her skin as it grew. Just as it expanded into a reasonable size, a small noise sounded behind her. It must have been as quiet as a whisper but in the silence of the clearing it was as loud as a slamming door. She spun on her heel and nearly ran into the man, who had his rapier at the ready and pointed at her stomach. The energy in her palm faded abruptly as she lost her focus.

He smirked. “Did you really think you could sneak up on me, princess?”

Her face remained stony as she raised her now miniscule blade in a defensive stance. The initial surprise of nearly getting stabbed was gone and replaced with rigid focus.

“Apparently not.”

Now that they were closer, she got a better look at him. Specifically, his eyes. They were disturbing shade of burgundy. If the light shone on them just right, they would very likely appear red. Red eyes never belonged to someone with pure intentions.

He barked out a laugh. “Sweetheart, I could hear your steps before your feet touched the ground.”

Blaise struck out, aiming her dagger at his chest as she hoped to catch him off-guard. He deflected it easily, swiping her blow away like it was a pesky fly. He laughed again and she aimed another attack at his arm. He pivoted his stance and avoided the hit with ease.

“You’re quite slick for an old man,” she commented, swiping her blade out in no particular direction.

“And you’re quite mouthy for an assassin,” he retorted, aiming his first blow at her legs.

She jumped and barely escaped the attack, feeling the sharpness of the blade collide with her calf. Thankfully, the rapier was duller than it appeared and the wound remained a scratch, barely piercing her skin. She took a step back, careful to keep balance on her right heel. He remained stationary and she took his slight pause as a cue to strike once more, this time successfully. Her blade scraped his cheek and drew a thick line across his pale skin.

A small smile crept onto her face but she reeled it back as she narrowly missed his retaliation—another strike aimed at her legs. She placed one foot behind the other and took a few steps back, speaking in an even tone.

“I’m not an assassin.”

They both came at each other simultaneously, their blades colliding for the first time as they aimed for one another’s heart. His strength was just as she anticipated. It was pure and rugged. She felt her muscles strain against his ever-increasing pressure. She had to think fast or he was going to slice her arm off. Without a second thought, she did the first thing that came to mind and rocketed her right leg into his nether regions.

He buckled at the impact and she slid her blade out from under his own, slicing his forearm in the process. He was quicker to recover than she anticipated and soon the rapier came soaring at her faster than she could deflect it. It sliced a patch of skin close to her shoulder and she hissed, backing away swiftly.

He was already standing at his full height, a good two heads taller than her. His voice was not the least bit strained. “If you’re not an assassin, then what the hell are you?”

She shrugged, remaining silent. He didn’t seem to care for her calm and charged her. She sidestepped him by a hair. They both turned to face each other and collided weapons once more. She knew she couldn’t keep up with him for long—he clearly outmatched her and was getting angrier by the minute. She had to finish this.

Her distracted thoughts weakened her for a brief window and the weight of his rapier against her dagger became too much. He made a circular motion with his blade and her dagger flew out of her hand, landing out of sight. A sick grin spread across his face and he lifted a knee to her stomach, the force knocking her on her back. She made an attempt to get up but his foot collided with her chest and knocked the wind out of her. She gasped for breath and he leaned down, putting more pressure onto her already aching lungs. His laugh started up again as the sole of his boot applied more force. Her heartbeat quickened as she struggled for breath.

“Whoever sent you obviously overestimated your abilities.”

She couldn’t resist the biting reply that came through her gasps. “Obviously.”

“You did, however, give a valiant effort,” he drawled, though his sincerity was discredited as he let out another chuckle. She opened her mouth for another retort but he silenced her with his rapier, swiftly swiping it downward and giving her a gash on her cheek similar to the one she had bestowed upon him.

Smirking, he removed his foot, giving her a short-lived moment of relief. He bent over and cupped her shoulder, rolling her on her stomach. She felt him place both knees on the ground beside her and her blood grew cold.

She felt his hard chest against her back and the small stubble on his otherwise clean-shaven face on her neck as he leaned forward. “Now why don’t I teach you a little lesson about little girls who poke their nose in other people’s business?”

His hands moved to her waist and she shuttered. They were anything but gentle as they squeezed her. She ground her teeth as he continued, a fusion of anger and disgust coming to a boil inside of her. His breath smelled like rotten meat.

“Don’t worry. It’ll only hurt if you put up a fight.”

Her jaw locked. Adrenaline pumped through her veins along with a familiar sense of growing power.

To hell with this.

With all the force she had, she broke free of his grasp, sprawling him on his back. He gaped at her as she got on her knees and waved her hand, a burst of glowing energy emanating from her palm. He struggled but the magic quickly formed bindings around his wrists and ankles, confining his bulky frame to do nothing more than twitch.

She got up on shaky knees and looked around for her dagger. Spotting the glint of sliver near a bush, she summoned it to her with a simple flick of her wrist, mindful to not make it too powerful so that he wouldn’t see its true color. Magic always looked more impressive if it appeared invisible. The blade’s handle collided with her hand. She moved aside her tunic to sheath it and looked back over at the man who was starring at her as if she had just grown two heads.

“You’re a… a…” he stuttered. She imagined that if he had use of his hands, he would be pointing a shaking finger at her.

“Go on, princess,” she said, taking a few steps toward him. “Say it.”

His face was growing paler by the minute but he still managed to spit out a reply. “Outlander.”

A wan smile graced her features when she heard the only derogatory name that people had been able to think of for Cantare in the last two-hundred years, unaware that certain words outgrow their meaning. Slowly, she drew her arm back, conjuring a ball of light into her palm, ignoring his pleas to spare his life. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t. It didn’t matter how much he begged, cried, or sputtered—the sincerity of his words were as worthless as a gold coin, lost to the ages in a new world order.

She held back a shiver as her magic fully manifested and stared, unblinking, as it shot directly into his chest. The man’s body convulsed as the light stopped his heart. He let out one last spasm before dropping to the ground, lifeless.