Every curse Cythera had stored on her skin for decades came loose at once, and they lashed out at Hazoth with interest. As the magician’s protective spells came apart, the demons he had exploited and enslaved sensed the release down in the pit, and sought every crack and crevice in the universe through which they could reach his side, intent on having their vengeance before the curses could undo Hazoth entirely. The people who lived on Ladypark Common closed their shutters and hid under their beds, but could not escape for the next three hours the screams of a dying sorcerer and the bellowing rage of the Bloodgod’s children, denied this prize for so long. They took their time destroying Hazoth. They savored it.

Chapter Ninety-Five

Chapter Ninety-Five

Witchly light filled the sky over the common, and the gruesome sounds of Hazoth’s demise made the air shiver. Malden did not look back over his shoulder, as much as he might have enjoyed watching Hazoth meet his sticky end. He had places to go yet tonight, things to achieve, or all could still be lost.

He could see his path easily in the weird illumination as he broke for the streets beyond the common, intending to lose himself in that maze and make good his escape.

He was not to be so lucky.

Ahead of him on the Cripplegate Road, a score of men in cloaks-of-eyes were waiting with weapons in hand. They moved quickly to cut off any avenue of escape, circling around him should he even think to return to the ruined villa. When Malden was completely surrounded, one of them came forward and held out an empty hand. “Give it over, thief,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?” Malden tried.

“We know you’ve got a dagger at your belt. Give it over or I’ll run you through and take it from you.”

Malden stared at the man with pure hatred. But there was nothing he could do. He drew the bodkin from his belt and handed it over. “I’ll want that back, now.”

With a chuckle, the watchman tossed the knife over the wall of the Ladypark.

Malden’s heart sank. The message was clear. He wasn’t going to need the knife anymore. He would not be given another chance to use it.

The rank of watchmen parted and someone came through the gap. Anselm Vry—with an expression of annoyance on his face.

“You really couldn’t do it with less fuss?” he asked.

Malden blinked in feigned incomprehension. “Do what, milord? I was only walking on the common, something I often do at night. I find it calms my mind. I’m not sure what’s going on over there,” he said, pointing at the green fire dancing on the other side of the common, “but I think you should definitely go investigate.”

Vry sneered at him. “What’s that on your belt, then?” he asked.