Son of a bitch.

That had been too close, even for her. She’d counted on some response to the burning she’d staged in the small square of Ennore, but not Venandi. Certainly not the Still Shadow.

He had been unexpected. His reputation painted him to be brutal and cunning as she, and she begrudgingly recognized it to be accurate. Soldiers and city guards were no match for her, but the Still Shadow put up a decent fight. In fact, she enjoyed the challenge. It wasn’t often she got to face off with not one, but two Venandi.

Lark and Sylvan and the others would be proud if they’d seen. Even so, she admonished herself for failing to land a single scratch on the bastards.

Still, she sauntered along the streets buoyed on her success. Despite the appearance of the Venandi, her vandalism of the city guard barracks, stake, and pyre was an utter success. It would take time to build a new one, and give the free witches of the city a chance to get out.

The safehouse was hidden away in the cellar of a shop, and she charmed the lock on the back door and descended the steps to the small, dimly lit room. She waved her fingers at the door, locking it and blocking any from entering.

Her magic buzzed in her veins, still hot from alighting the fire and rolling the smoke over her opponents. She’d eventually collapse into one of the cots set in the corner of the room, spent from the use of magic, but for now her body hummed with energy. She shook out her hands as she paced, letting her pulse drop and her breaths steady. She smiled to herself.

“I’m just getting started,” she’d told the Still Shadow as she retreated into the roiling smoke. And she was. The rescue from the fort and the burning of the pyre were only the first steps of her plan. And she would complete her mission.

Let the bastard try and stop her.