Chapter 56

"Sir, please make haste."

The knight beside Wild spoke with cold impatience; he had read Baron's hesitation.

He was the same lion-knight Gold had shoved aside earlier, most likely the one who had escorted Wild here.

And Wild was clearly the sort who protected his own.

Old men say Heaven's wheel turns for all, sparing none, but this turn of the wheel felt unusually cruel.

Baron sighed inwardly. Outwardly he reached for his mask; secretly he let a slender blade slide from his cuff, ready to slice his palm and summon the blood shackle at any moment.

Then exclamations rippled through the ballroom, snatching the attention of the knights, the hunters, even Wild.

The music stopped. Guests stood transfixed. On the black-gold floor, still strewn with silver and gold confetti from the betrothal, a single figure in red advanced.

Her mask had been torn away by her dancing partner, Gil, revealing a beauty the poets would fail to describe. The shock of it could rival the moment Faustus first beheld the legendary Hela.

No one was more stunned than Baron.

The instant her face was unveiled, her raven hair—like seaweed—flashed to a brilliant rose-red. A regal, unassailable dignity stabbed out from the gold-flecked crimson of her eyes.

"Carmen..."

Her name slipped from his heart without thought.

Though this face was nothing like the one he had first seen, the tremor in his blood told him this was Carmen: the Dragon Witch, the architect of the Red Dragon's fall, the half-accomplice who had turned him into a fugitive Dragon-Knight.

One by one the guests stepped back, breath held. Such beauty needed no word or glance—her very brows were breathtaking.

Silver Lion's knights drew their swords and advanced on the Dragon Witch. From beyond the dance floor came the roar of lions and the screech of griffins. Gold and Andy raised fists to the sky; the hunters closed ranks around them. Even Gil snapped his fingers. The crimson dome above the floor split, steam rolling aside to reveal griffin-knights with leveled lances.

"Witch, confess," Wild declared, blade bared. "The Law will judge and absolve your sins."

The Dragon Witch—KK, or rather Carmen—gazed back with eyes as cold as an iceberg.

Yet, at the knight's words, the iceberg cracked into a smile. It was only a small upturn of lips, but in that instant it felt like spring breaking beneath the snow.

Baron heard the nervous swallowing of men and women alike.

The witch said, "Spare me. Do you honestly think I believe that nonsense? I've no sins for you to forgive."

"Then why the grand show of collecting Red-Dragon Scales?" Gil asked. "Only the Dragon-Eaters care about dragons, and their cult reveres you as a saint."

"Whom they choose to worship is their business. Collecting scales is mine," she replied. "In any case, thank you for the Red-Dragon Scale, Mr. Gil-Hesstine."

"And thank you, Miss Freya-Lancelot, once fiancée of Baron Constantine."

She raised a rose-red ring—the very one Gil had used to propose. Freya glanced at her own bare finger; the betrothal ring was gone. No one had seen how, but the witch had stolen it under every eye.

Freya's alarm drew only a faint smile from her betrothed. At Gil's nod, Andy stepped forward and chanted a spell.

Carmen reacted at once, dropping the ring, yet too late. Light flared; seven golden rings snapped shut around her, runes blazing, weaving an invisible cage.

For a moment she tilted her head, lips moving as if to speak. Then a barrage of explosions engulfed her. Smoke billowed, blanketing the hall. When it cleared, the golden rings lay on the floor empty: the witch had escaped an instant before the blast.

Freya turned to her fiancé. "Why didn't you tell me the ring was a trap? And where is the real one?"

Gil produced another red-lacquered box. Freya opened it—and froze.

Inside lay not the ring but a single, gnawed chicken bone.

...

Ten kilometres beyond Hyde Manor, in an abandoned sewer, darkness reigned save for a distant glimmer. Figures moved in the faint light.

Baron lit a tongue of Dragonfire to read the new Birmingham Times. A full-page wanted notice: him. The article claimed he had been shot during his escape and hadn't long to live, urging citizens to report suspicious strangers...

He rolled the paper into a torch. A woman leaned forward, lighting a cigarette from the flame. Sobranie Black Russian—what the British royals kept in reserve.

"Want one?" the red-haired beauty asked.

Baron declined. "Heavy smoke might bring the Silver Lions down on us."

Carmen said nothing, merely studying him through a veil of smoke. The impish tilt of her lips made her look every inch a fallen courtesan—nothing like the queen who had ruled the dance floor moments ago. A beautiful courtesan, but a courtesan all the same.

"When did you become a Dragon-Knight? I thought the Inquisition executed you after that night. Yet here you are, a bloodless scion, alive—and contracted, no less..."

She tapped the ash. "Interesting."

Baron's smile was mocking. "If it weren't for you, Miss Carmen, I'd still be a common office worker."

Voice flat and hard he asked, "Why murder that family and frame me?"

"If I told you I didn't kill them, would you believe me?"

Without waiting for an answer she drew again on the cigarette. Firelight flickered, hiding her expression.

"I believe you."

The prompt answer made Carmen blink. "Why?"

"Micro-expressions," Baron said. "If you lied I'd see it. All I saw was grief."

"Grief?" The witch paused, cigarette between her fingers, and pinched her own cheek. "Do I look that pathetic?"

"Yes. Like a runaway girl who hasn't eaten in days."

Carmen fell silent. After a long moment she said, "Mr. Constantine, you're nothing like when we first met."

"Life changes people. So does running for it." Baron shrugged. "I can't say I'm grateful, but at least you let this once-blind man see the real world."

"Don't mention it. Least I could do."

The witch took another drag, looking suddenly very young.

"So is this your real face, Carmen?"

Baron studied her: a flawless blend of girlish innocence and demonic allure. Without the signature red hair and gold-flecked crimson eyes—and her own admission—he could never have connected this ravishing creature with the composed young lady in the villa that night.

"Don't call me Miss Carmen. Just Carmen. Makes me sound like some ancient hag. I'm only a few decades—maybe a century—older than you."

Only a century... Might as well call her Grandma Carmen, Baron thought.

"I know you're thinking something rude," Carmen said.

Footsteps drummed above them. Both held their breath, pressed shoulder to shoulder against the damp stone, feeling each other's warmth.

When the silence stretched, Carmen reached for another cigarette. Baron rolled over, pinned her to the wall, snuffed the cigarette, and clamped a hand over her mouth. His golden eyes bored into her crimson ones.

Startled, the witch bit down on his palm. Two small fangs broke skin; blood welled but did not fall.

Baron's voice was low. "They're still up there."

The hand Carmen had placed on his back stilled. She stopped struggling and glared silently, fangs just visible as her red lips parted.

They stared at each other until, far above, footsteps faded with the distant growls of lions and the screech of griffins. The danger had passed.

Baron released her. The blood he had held back now trickled down. He ignored it; blood-pact users could control their own blood, but the witch might notice.

Baron Cambera had said dual professions were impossible in the Old-Blood world; instinct told him to hide his.

Carmen watched the drops, pursed her lips, tore strips from her red gown, and bound his hand. She then tried to rearrange the remaining silk to cover herself.

Baron sensed the overture of trust and felt a flicker of embarrassment. "Your bandage is wrong. It will stop the bleeding, but too much pressure will block circulation. The correct way—"

"Give it back. I won't bother."

Carmen, who had been indifferent, now tried to yank the bandage off in a huff. She didn't mind that the movement brought her closer; Baron could see the hair more brilliant than flame.

Clearly the witch was lowering her guard.

The Dragon-Knight sighed. "So why me?"

"What do you mean, why you?" She paused.

"The Knight Codex, the only Dragon-Knight, the Inquisition, the prison..."

"Hold on—just stop." The witch cut him off. "The first half's a secret I can't speak, and the second half is something I still want to ask you."

She frowned. "I thought it was my fault you were dragged off to prison, yet here you are—our so-called bloodless scion—suddenly labelled the Lawbreaker who assassinated the Knight-Commander."

Baron stared at her, the tension in his eyes gradually loosening. "That's what's puzzled me all along. So you didn't know either. Then let's part ways here."

"This squares the debt from the dance floor. I saved you; we're even. For both our sakes, we never meet again. And if we do, we don't acknowledge each other."

With that, Baron turned and walked away.

The witch stayed crouched, not caring that her red gown dragged across the filthy pavement. Elbows on knees, chin in hand, she watched his retreating figure in lazy silence.

Only after a long moment did she speak. "I didn't kill those three. Their souls were incomplete, yet their blood was fresh—and different."

"In other words, the spirit that anchors consciousness was already gone; only the soul that sustains life remained."

Baron's footsteps hesitated.

A long time later, a single "Thank you" drifted from the far end of the tunnel.

Carmen smiled without a sound, rose, and brushed down her skirt. Then she walked away in the opposite direction, leaving the sewers behind.

...

The moment she stepped out of the sewers, a voice sounded behind her.

"So that's the new chosen one you've picked? Doesn't look like much."

The witch turned. A figure emerged from the shadows—Andy, the Dragon-hunter.

The Dragon Witch's expression cooled back to aloof disdain. "Just an old bargain from years ago. Who the Red Dragon will ultimately choose—even I don't know."