CHAPTER 28

Lanri rested her head against Seeker as she drove the wagon down the stark white road that wound through the thick bamboo forest. Ahead of them, the column of militia and guards marched, the long snake of people eager for battle weaving in and out of view as the road ahead snaked between hills.

As they followed the road, the views grew ever more familiar the closer they got to Bodrin. Rather than the southernmost parts, which she’d only occasionally seen before she met Faron, they were now much closer to home. These were places she saw weekly, riding along on her father’s cart to collect produce from the other farms in the area when she was younger, or driving it once she was old enough so he could take potshots at wild chickens with his slingshot without worrying about the horses running off.

It pained her to think about the fact that he didn’t live here anymore, that he didn’t get to catch and eat those stupid birds at least once per week. It pained her, and that pain led very quickly to anger. First it was anger at Armitage for evicting them in some twisted attempt at revenge for Faron, and then anger at herself for not saving Faron.

“Stop that, Dear,” Seeker softly chided. The voice cut through her distraction, and disrupted her line of thought. “Be fair to yourself.”

Lanri nodded. She knew she should be fair to herself, should be fair to Armitage, too. The man apparently had that mage whispering spells and bad advice into his ear long before anything happened to Faron. Maybe he would make it right, now that he’d come to his senses. She should give him the chance.

But that girl. That Chara. She must be something to be able to get into that position in the first place. Most high nobles and royalty had protections against mystic persuasion. Some kept a schedule of potions to sharpen their minds to routinely audit themselves, or had court magi to scour them for signs of magical interference. She knew he’d adamantly refused a mage in his court since his perceived betrayal by Faron, but the fact that he’d apparently not kept a supply of potions for the next best thing confused her.

Why had he been compromised so easily? Between the monastery, various shrines, and several arcane shops, Cerene was one of the most magically active cities in Remere, maybe only behind Astoria, New Gyr, and the Pontifical Convocation. Surely some priest or mage would have been able to stop Chana’s…

A pit opened in Lanri’s stomach, and she prodded Seeker a few times to get her attention. “When I saw Chana, she was with a mage,” she started. “A–and didn’t he join the militia?”

Lanri watched Seeker’s eyes widen as understanding dawned on her.

________________

Lanri was right, Seeker knew. The scheme her mortal implied rang unambiguously true to her. She fixed her with a stare, an expression she knew would convey she needed Lanri to obey her when she ordered, “stay with the wagon.”

She handed the reins to Lanri, and squinted at the column of soldiers ahead of them. “Seeker, what are you–” She shushed her. She was looking for him, for that mage, and she didn’t have the time to explain Lanri’s own conclusions to her.

She stood upright on the driver’s bench, raised her vantage point to scan… All the gods, trying to make out a man she’d only seen in passing in a crowd that was exclusively facing away from her was impossible, even for her. The only remotely identifiable person in the whole fellowship was that captain Addler, who rode an armored horse alongside what must be Ithella.

They might know where he is.

She tried to gather her will, to invoke a spell to get there faster, but she was distracted by self depreciation. That insidious slime had been the only one to suggest the earrings might not be enchanted, and she’d brushed it off as incompetence. How could she have missed this?

She took a deep breath, and did her very best to banish the thought. She didn’t have time for this, she had to get to Ithella and Addler. She had to be there. Over there. “Là-bas.” The spell took hold of her immediately, fuelled by her primal sense of urgency as much as her mastery of Ishara’s power.

One moment, she was standing on the carriage.

Then there was vertigo.

Then she was staggering to a stop on the limed road, in front of two panicked horses and two riders that were struggling to control them. In seconds, the nearest guards and militamen alike leveled their spears and glaives at her, and Seeker did her best to ignore them. “The mage,” she said. “Where’s that mage?!”

Apprehension was writ large across Ithella’s face. “Why do–”

“One of them is working for the enemy,” Seeker said, answering the question before Ithella could finish it. “Lanri figured it out, and she’s right. He’s the one who tried to downplay the earrings, he was with the girl that’s been in the baron’s bed all this time, the first time we saw either of them.”

“You’re sure of this?” Asked Addler.

“Do I look like I’m not sure?” Seeker retorted. She didn’t have time for this, didn’t have time to explain how the pieces fit together, didn’t have time to worry about being wrong when being right would mean these people and Lanri were already in profound danger. “Where. Is. He?”

“Daray protect us,” prayed Ithella. “He peeled off from the column to relieve himself in privacy a few minutes ago.”

Addler looked at both of them for a moment, then kicked his horse up to a gallop as he rode to the head of the column, shouting orders to prepare for an ambush, and for the archers to prepare their enchanted arrows.

“You,” Ithella said to one of the guard sergeants. “Run back through the column, and tell them the same thing. An ambush is coming, ready arrows.”

“Yes, priestess, uhm, I mean comm–”

“All the gods, who cares, man?! Just fucking do it!” Seeker yelled at him, and was satisfied when he did so.

“Thank you for being so swift, Your Grace,” Ithella said with a deferential nod. “Do you wish me to send a detachment to protect your consort?”

Seeker considered the offer. As much as she had told herself she wanted to stay out of this fight, she knew she could do a lot of good. She was powerful, she could save lives with her swords and spells. But her mandate and personal feelings for Lanri simply didn’t allow it. She was a higher priority, and Seeker was compelled to abide by it.

Ithella seemed to understand, and gave her a soft smile. “Then go, Your Grace. My plans do not rely on your intervention saving us.”

“Thank you,” Seeker told the elf. “And good luck.”

She turned and ran against the flow of people, gratified to see that everyone the sergeant passed was nocking arrows, preparing spells, or readying spears and glaives, and that none of them were complacent. All eyes faced out into the thick bamboo, and all of them were looking for signs of danger

She noticed some of the archers were running through the column, handing more of the fragile arcane arrows to the less experienced or clumsier bowmen, and even a few guards that had seemingly borrowed bows. Apparently Ithella did not trust everyone who could use a bow not to drop the fragile munitions on the march there.

As she got to the rear of the column, she saw the priests had, consciously or not, all stayed relatively close to her carriage and Lanri upon it. She didn’t blame them, of course. They were so devoted to Ishara that she had granted them a bit of her power; It made sense that they would wish to be close to her and Lanri when going into battle.

Behind them, Lanri was driving the wagon as competently as Seeker had expected from the farmer’s daughter. She smiled at her, and Seeker smiled back as she jogged the last bit of the distance, and mounted the driver’s bench without breaking step or Lanri slowing down.

“You’re back quickly. Did you get him?” Lanri asked. She didn’t sound nervous, at least not enough that anyone but those who knew her best could pick up on it. But Seeker could feel the worry dripping from her. Worry, and no small amount of guilt at taking so long to figure it out.

“No,” Seeker solemnly said. Lanri offered the reins back, but Seeker wordlessly refused them. She needed her hands for other things. “He ran off into the woods a few minutes ago under the guise of the call of nature. Whatever scheme he’s cooking up, it’s too late for us to stop it.”

“Should we go back?” Lanri asked with a glance at her. Seeker considered that, and reached into nowhere. A few seconds of feeling around in the balmy air of Ishara’s realm, and soon she pulled out the gilded cuirass that was the core of her armor. “I’ll take that as a no,” she mumbled.

“Whatever the trap is, he’s already sprung it, Dear,” Seeker said as she put the piece of armor on. The leather straps across the shoulders acted as a hinge for the front and back plates, letting her don it like a deeply uncomfortable tunic that dug into her skin. She set to fixing the various other straps and latches to make it rigid, and kept talking. “Say we turn around, only to find a mile down the road that that’s where the bandits and their thralls are mustering to attack.”

“That would be bad,” Lanri conceded, and she shivered in the breeze. The mortal was flicking her eyes back and forth, splitting her attention between the road and the process of putting on the armor. “Do you actually need that?”

“Depends on how you define need,” Seeker absently said as she again reached into nowhere, and took out her pauldrons. She clamped one between her knees as she used her chin to hold the other in place on her shoulder and fixed the straps. “I’m not at risk of dying without it. Even if my body were completely destroyed, Ishara would restore me. But taking a spear to the gut is something I’d prefer never to experience again.”

“Do you need any help?” Lanri asked, and Seeker fondly smiled at her as she moved on to the other shoulder.

“Oh, no. I’ve put this on and taken it off thousands of times,” she assured Lanri, as she reached into nowhere a third time, and pulled out her rerebraces. They were single cylinders of metal, and trivial to put on compared to the pauldrons. “I rarely wear the full suit, but I’m pretty confident I’m quicker to put it on alone than any mortal knight with a squire to help.”

“And I thought Gorance was arrogant.”

Seeker frowned at the remark, but otherwise didn’t address it. Again, she reached into nowhere, this time producing her cuisses, and the lone mundane gauntlet that complimented the one that had a small portal to nowhere which served as a sheath for her sword.

She stepped into the cuisses and pulled them up to her thighs, then buckled the straps to fix them to her chestplate, and finished by slipping on the gauntlet. “Tadaa,” she said with a mock bow.

Lanri gave her a dirty look. “An immortal angel, and you’re wearing the armor yourself instead of giving it to me.”

Seeker forced a chuckle. “Dear, I’m a full head taller than you. This would never fit you.”

Lanri didn’t seem to even notice the explanation. “No, you thought you should take me into a forest full of rape, murder, and slavery, with only you to hide behind for safety. Because that worked out so well for me last time.” Lanri underlined the jab by leaning down, and rapping her knuckles along the boot that covered her prosthetic.

“Lanri, I–”

“You what?” Spat Lanri, as she steered the wagon to one side, around a guard and militiaman who’d stopped, and were arguing.

“You two, stay with the group!” Seeker shouted at them before she returned her attention to Lanri. “Lanri, I’ll keep you safe, I promise. I know you got hurt, but you have your wand back. So you don’t have to completely rely on–”

“Oh, don’t get me started on this fucking wand!” Lanri paused for a second to draw it from her holster, and held it between them. It was an artifact of how much she cared for Lanri with her face twisted into hate behind it. “I sacrificed this for you – used it to keep you safe even though it could have killed me. And not only did you defile it, but you somehow actually got me to thank you for it!”

Seeker felt small, and didn’t know what to say. “You can’t protect me, Seeker! You couldn’t in the past, you won’t in the future. Eventually you’ll let me die, just like your boss and her friends let Faron die!”

Seeker faintly registered that they’d passed the arguing pair, and that they were now fighting, but she was far too busy staring at Lanri, mouth agape. “Dear, don’t say things like that.”

Lanri let out a bitter, fake laugh that reminded Seeker of the one the baron had put on the day before. “Or what, you’re going to hit me again?”

That didn’t sound like Lanri to Seeker. None of what she was saying did. She’d gotten so angry and mean so quickly, it was almost like during the auction, when– “Magic,” Seeker mumbled, as she focused on Lanri’s mind, rather than her words. On the surface, the hatred felt genuine, but now that she’d thought to look for it, she could feel the spell on Lanri’s mind. It was redirecting her thoughts by force like the supports of a bridge diverting the flow of a river.

Again, Seeker felt like an idiot for not noticing this sooner. “Arrêtez,” she ordered the horses, infusing the command with magical intent to make it so. As gently as she could, she grabbed Lanri, and dragged her kicking and screaming from the driver’s bench.

“Put me down, you fucking bitch!” Lanri snarled at her in her compelled fit of hate. Seeker needed to put a stop to this line of thought until she could deal with whoever cast the spell, but she couldn’t put Lanri to sleep, that would leave the mortal defenseless.

“Shh,” Seeker cooed, as she forced Lanri onto her knees from behind. She needed a way to distract Lanri, to keep her from engaging with these false feelings without creating a conflict of spells. Then she had an idea. With a spell, she pulled Lanri’s wand into her hand, then held it in front of Lanri’s face. “Voyez ça et seulement ça,” she intoned next, magically forcing Lanri’s complete attention onto the wand.

A wave of relief washed over Seeker as the spell took hold, and the thoughts of hate and anger died in Lanri’s mind, almost immediately replaced by every thought and belief she’d ever held about the weapon, one after the other. The mortal went limp in her arms, enthralled by the sight of it, and Seeker carefully dragged her out of the road, and laid her on her side with her wand in front of her. If she were directly threatened, the spell should break, but otherwise it would keep her mind safe from that hate.

Lanri wasn’t likely to be noticed or disturbed there, Seeker thought, which left her able to dedicate her full attention to finding whoever had had the hubris to touch her mortal’s mind, and strike the down with all of the hate that they had hoped to inspire in Lanri. She could sense roughly where the spell was coming from, and would go that way.

She stood up, and just as she did so, Ithella’s voice rang out. “Souvenez-vous qui vous détestez.” Seeker smiled. It was a spell held sacred by Daray’s priests, a form of battle meditation to guide those driven to a berserking rage into taking it out solely on their enemies. The fighting soldiers stopped their squabble almost immediately, and up the road, Seeker could see fights which she hadn’t even noticed before likewise peter out and stop.

Just in time, too. Because a few seconds later, there came a scream from the woods, and the first arrows started to hit the column.

________________

Seeker ran through the column of militiamen and guards as quickly as she could, using magic to speed up her stride and leap past obstacles. Occasionally, she saw an arrow in flight, and was able to shove its target out of the way mundanely, or shield it magically. More often than that, she only saw the arrows once they struck.

As she got farther from where she’d left Lanri, the column was thankfully starting to fight back. Arcane arrows flew at the unwilling attackers, exploding in big pulses of light that knocked their targets out, and allowed the guards and militia alike to advance into the bamboo forests, to bind the poor souls with ropes or even shackles.

Occasionally, she saw the militia happen on someone, and not take them prisoner. Sometimes it was simply a lack of less lethal means forcing the situation, but that was rare. The archers and casters were too well distributed throughout the column for that. No. Most of the worst acts of violence were perpetrated needlessly. The same spell that had compelled Lanri to say such vile things only got stronger as the combined forces got closer to the one casting it, and that anger and hate was proving too much for some of them to control.

A scrawny human charged her with a pitchfork, aiming to skewer her with the improvised weapon. Seeker turned enough to let it bounce off her armor before backhanding the thrall, sending his body flying to land in a crumpled mess. Next, an elven woman swung at her wildly with a rusty sword, which was easily parried. It was child’s play to follow up with a strike with the flat of her sword, which sent the poor woman tumbling to the forest floor with a nasty scratch and bruise on her cheek. This was no glorious battle. It was like someone had armed children and forced them to war. Not even the new Daray, with his fetish for carnage would have approved of this farce; Let alone the Daray that had granted her her sword, and the Valkyries she learned the art of combat from.

Another absentminded strike sent a poor thrall to the floor with a broken nose. A fourth she reached out and simply tore the earring from his ear, tossing it aside in disgust as the dazed boy staggered away and collapsed into a heap of sobs. And still she marched forward, towards where this spell of rage was being cast, knocking aside any who stood against her. She was as a storm blowing aside mere motes of dust for all the good fighting would do them.

It all added to the hatred that was building in Seeker. This mage’s earrings had been clever and subtle enough to be missed by even her, had caused so much fear and suffering in her tenure as a slaver; and was now casting a spell that would not save her, only cause more death and trauma.

Some people were fleeing, thankfully. Former thralls that had lost their earrings in battle, and seemingly wanted nothing more than to go home. Nobody interdicted their efforts as far as Seeker could tell, and she too was all too happy to let them run.

In the distance, she could see Ithella running in the same direction as her. The dark-skinned elf struck people with spell and staff as she passed them, and a sense of pride welled up in Seeker at the sight. The priestess had spent years bound by the yoke of a slaver, but in only a few weeks of freedom had rallied all of these people, and was now leading them in battle against a similar evil.

Up ahead, she could see a farm, and she could sense the spell influencing Lanri and men-at-arms emanating from it. Several burly men and women stood guard outside, and like the other thralls they wielded pitchforks or rusty swords as weapons. Seeker gritted her teeth, and charged at them. She raised her sword in a feint, and when she got close, flared her aura as hard as she could.

The surge of emotion hit them like a hammer, incapacitating them in a fit of giggles and sighs as their legs gave out from underneath them. They collapsed where they stood, and Seeker didn’t bother overmuch to subdue them further, only kicking their weapons away in passing. Ithella would catch up in a few moments, and deal with that.

She moved past them, closer to the small house that was the source of the spell. With one firm kick, the door simply broke and fell from its frame, and Seeker stepped inside. It was a modest building, a few rooms separated by thin walls and curtains. At the main room’s center stood the source of the mind affecting magic, a mage with her hair billowing out from under a hooded cloak. In an instant, Seeker had her hand around their throat, lifting her off her feet as she drew back her sword to dispatch the one that had caused so much pain and suffering. The woman let out a gurgle, and the motion of being lifted threw the hood back. Seeker paused just as she began to thrust. Staring her in the face was yet another of the hateful earrings, worn by another pawn of the vile creature pulling the strings. With a cry of angry disgust she tore the earring away, barely having the presence of mind to shift it to nowhere so as to not rip the poor girl's whole ear off. Seeker carelessly dropped her, and let out a yell of frustration. How many cowardly layers of obfuscation was she going to hide behind?

Her eyes were drawn to the puppet mage taking ragged, frightened breaths on the floor. Her disheveled robes had come undone and bared the woman’s body for anyone who cared to look. What drew her eye was the sigil of Ishara tattooed across her lower abdomen. Seeker sighed. “Of course you’d be Touched. Are you hurt?” Seeker had to force the frustration down and out of her voice as she spoke.

“N–no, Your Grace,” managed the priestess, who was clearly struggling to maintain her own composure. “Thank you! I knew Ishara would protect me… eventually.”

That was a borderline delusional thing to say. Ishara didn’t bother intervening every time someone did something to a priest, not even one of the Touched. Seeker didn’t have the heart, nor cause to dissuade her of the notion, though. So she let the echo of the words die out in her mind, and mumbled “there are four Touched priests in this attack, Daughter of Passion. You should find them.”

This woman’s beliefs that she was so keenly favored by the Lady were of little interest to Seeker right now. They told her nothing about where the Bandit Mage might be lurking. She paid the priestess no further mind as she scampered off to do as she bade, and instead scanned the room, looking for any hints as to where the mastermind of this operation could be.

A sense of familiarity washed over Seeker. She knew this place. Why? She focused for a moment to try and determine where this place laid in her memories. She’d been to Cerene many times before, but why would this farm in the middle of nowhere cause a sudden feeling of nostalgia? Was this another of the Bandit Mage’s tricks?

She searched her mind for any tendrils of magic affecting her, but as expected, there was nothing to be found. But these feelings didn’t feel like they were truly hers, either. She slowly walked through the rooms, noting the discarded pots and plates in a corner of one, and the ruins of one of two beds in each of the others. It was shattered with splinters tearing through the moldering remains of linens. The entire little house had trash strewn about it, clearly having been inhabited by these bandits for some time.

Her eyes were drawn to one of the few remaining bits of furniture. A table stood defiant amongst the decay surrounding it, with papers and parchment strewn across its surface. Seeker leafed through the pages, a collection of caravan manifests and inventory sheets with various entries crossed off. The only common thread Seeker could see from her perusal was food being crossed off the lists. She supposed even the Bandit Mage’s thralls needed to eat and would explain the lack of any food intensive livestock or horses.

Although… One thing that occurred to Seeker was that the math simply didn’t add up. Cerene was a vast city, and the Bandit Mage had been intercepting its supplies for months. Most of the food, and many of the people didn’t seem to actually be accounted for, instead spent elsewhere. Seeker let out another sigh of frustration, leaving the papers where they were for Addler and Ithella to pick over. Perhaps they would find a trail to where the missing food and people were.

She turned back towards the door, and that only made the feelings of familiarity intensify before she realized with a further burst of anger where this was, and what this home represented. This was Lanri’s home. It was where she had grown up, where she had spent her childhood all the way up until she’d met her Faron. And now it had been perverted by the foul actions of this Bandit Mage. She was going to make her suffer for–

Seeker snapped her head back towards the column. She could feel that someone had disrupted the spell on Lanri, and her eyes widened as she uttered out a soft “no.” She sprinted from the building, paying no heed to the last remnants of the battle dying down around her. She passed Ithella in a blur as she pushed her body as hard as she could and demanded that the air around her surge into a stream of wind with an uttered, “comme une feuille,” propelling her every step further and faster.

In mere moments that felt as long as all of the centuries she’d experienced put together, she had bounded over the battlefield, leaping and stepping over bodies and prisoners with ease, her feet hitting the ground with such force as she ran that they sank into the podzol like it was water. Soon the column was in sight and her eyes narrowed in anger at what was before her. One of the priests from the monastery was a crumpled mess on the ground, cradling his badly burned arm and mumbling healing spells. The rest of the bodies weren’t so lucky, either already succumbed to their injuries, or well on their way to such an end.

The remaining two priests, as well as a handful of guards and militiamen, were far too busy to help them. They were in a standoff, aiming bows, glaives, and spears at three figures clustered together.

One of those figures was a woman in an actual set of armor. Treated leather with metal accents that stood out massively from the other, unarmored bandits, both thrall and voluntary ones alike. With light skin, dark hair, and darker eyes, she eyed Seeker’s carriage hungrily, seemingly keen to make an escape.

As Seeker got closer, one of the guards shifted, and Seeker could see the other two clearly. The mage from the tavern stood there with murder and desperation in his eyes, one hand holding–

Daray help her.

He was holding Lanri, one hand buried in her hair, another pressing her own wand into her throat. From so close, Seeker could sense the mortal panic in Lanri as clearly as it was written on her face. Her Dear knew how dangerous that wand was.

Not again.

That fear of death in Lanri’s mind was a feeling Seeker had felt before, in Gorance’s villa, and Seeker had failed to protect her then. She would not make that mistake again. She didn’t break her stride; She didn’t have time to. But in this moment of grand urgency, the world itself seemed to be too slow to keep up with what she demanded of it.

She extended her free hand towards the man’s neck as his eyes widened in recognition. Before he could speak, either to trigger the wand or cast a spell, she intoned “venez,” as she made a fist, and pulled him towards her as hard as she could. She didn’t have time to be gentle, and couldn’t risk Lanri’s life to negotiate with him. He simply needed to not be a danger anymore, and when she heard that hideous crack, she knew he wasn’t.

He went limp in an instant, letting go of his grip on Lanri and her wand at the same time. As he dropped dead to the forest floor, she collapsed to her knees and scrambled for her wand. The rush of emotions in the mortal’s mind ranged from relief, to hate, and guilt, and as much as Seeker wanted to stop and comfort, she had one more enemy to dispatch.

That greed and hunger faded from the final bandit’s eyes as she saw what Seeker assumed had been her lieutenant get felled in an instant, replaced by wide eyed fear. “I surrender,” declared the woman as Seeker strode closer.

“I don’t care,” Seeker spat, and she seized the Bandit Mage by the throat, much like she had the priestess she’d mistaken for her. Unyielding hate flowed through Seeker, a feeling unlike anything she’d experienced before. This woman had caused death and suffering for months, and had had the sheer fucking hubris to not only touch her mortal’s mind and fill it with hate, but participated in taking her hostage.

The bandit’s eyes held the same fear she’d seen in Lanri’s eyes a moment ago, and she struggled under Seeker’s grip on her throat. Seeker felt a perverse gratification at that as she raised her sword in an unsteady hand, and prepared to strike her down. The Valkyries would likely disapprove of this, the sword itself had wielded calmly engraved upon it, and Seeker was anything but. Regardless, she started to thrust the blade, and the bandit flinched, but something caught her arm.

She turned to look, and was stunned to see Lanri holding her arm back. “No, Seeker,” she quietly pleaded.

Seeker was stunned. Was Lanri begging for this scum’s life? She lowered her sword, at least for now, but did not release her trembling grip on the woman’s throat for fear that she would manage to whisper a spell. “What did you say?”

“Remember what you told me when we met, Seeker,” Lanri urgently said. “You… You told me I shouldn’t kill them, that the victim shouldn’t be the judge, jury, and executioner.”

Seeker scoffed. “I’m not her victim, Dear! You are,” she said. She wasn’t sure she believed that herself, but she wanted this woman dead. She’d failed to protect Lanri from Gorance, this was her chance to prove she could keep her safe.

“That’s not true,” Lanri whispered. “We’re far too close. Hurting me means hurting you.”

“She’s too dangerous to let live, Dear,” Seeker tried. She knew Lanri was right, and she knew she was grasping at straws, but to resist this burning hate seemed like an impossible feat. She looked at the bandit mage, whose struggles were already lessening. She could just keep holding her like this for another few minutes, and that would deal with the problem as effectively as her sword. “She’s a mage, she’ll use her spells to escape any cell I put her in.”

“Then take her spells away,” Lanri whispered.

Almost on instinct, Seeker said “that’s impossible,” but then she paused and thought about it. She couldn’t take her Talent away, sure, but she might be able to – as Lanri put it – take her spells away. She loosened her grip on the mage’s throat, enough to let her take a strained breath, and fixed her with a cold glare. “If you so much as even think about speaking a spell, I’ll break your neck before you finish. So shut. Up.”