Page 110 of Severed Heir

“I am one of the last living Seekers,” she said. “I know who you are, Severyn Blanche.”

A Seeker.

“You’re in your own prison. He trapped you. Blanche blood always betrays.”

“No,” I whispered.

“They say torture led you here,” she crooned. “A ghost’s voice. A lover’s scream. And your dear brother? He finally got his winning story.”

“Cully wouldn’t betray me.”

“Oh, sweet girl. Ink for blood. You were bartered. And now… now, they want your flame.”

“You’re not real.” I backed against the wall, holding my damn head like it might fall off. “None of this is real.”

“They’ll break your mind before they kill you. You’ll rule a wasteland, and they’ll call you queen. But you were painted for death.”

The cell door slammed open. Cully stumbled inside, shoved by three armored guards. “Shit, Sev,” he said, hands raised in surrender. “I got caught.”

My voice cracked. “I can see that.”

From behind me, the Seeker’s whisper slithered through the cold air. “A story he chases… at the cost of blood.”

“Just do what the guards say,” Cully muttered, not meeting my eyes.

One of them stepped forward, his silver mask catching the dim light. “Sneaking into the prison, are we? Haven’t seen thatbefore.” He elbowed his comrade with a crooked grin. “Boss is gonna love this.”

“I—yes, but—I didn’t—” My words tumbled.

A gloved hand clamped down on my shoulder and shoved me toward another cell. “Enough stammering,” the guard barked. “Tell us why you’re here.”

I steadied myself, forcing the tremble from my voice. “I came to plead for someone. He’s innocent. He doesn’t belong here.”

The guard with brown eyes snorted. “We don’t let prisoners walk just because a pretty girl shows up.” He reached for me again, and I stepped back.

And that was when I saw her. Her silver hair hung in knotted tangles, hazel eyes stretched wide, and a toothless grin split her wrinkled face. “She’s come to free her shadow-wielder,” the Seeker rasped, her voice brittle as cracked stone. Her eyes cut toward the brown-eyed guard. “I’ll offer a bargain… for his release.”

My breath caught. “How do you know that?”

The second guard crossed his arms. “She has no authority. We don’t bargain with prisoners.”

“And yet here I am,” the Seeker said softly. “Thirty-five years, and still you haven’t broken me, Commander. I’ve painted victories. Losses. I painted her.” She lifted her chin toward me. “I’ll trade my gift for a moment.”

The guards exchanged a glance.

“Shut up,” the silver-masked one spat. “One girl shows up and suddenly you’re bartering like it’s market day?”

“She’s bluffing,” said the one she’d called Commander, though his voice lacked conviction. “She won’t show us her gift.”

The woman cackled. “I do love a good market day. But yes, I speak only the truth. And I will paint it, too.”

The Commander’s eyes narrowed. “If she doesn’t crack soon, the Boss will have questions. Maybe this gets her talking. Or painting.”

“This is insane,” I whispered. “What’s happening?”

The Seeker’s gaze slid back to the Commander. “I could paint your wife, you know. The one you haven’t met yet. Red hair like fire. A mouth sharp enough to cut marble.”

“Bullshit,” the guard snapped.

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