THE NEWLY BUILT laboratory of the Black Tower smelled of iron and poisonous herbs. Lamps guttered along racks of glass and one, throwing long, jittering shadows across walls scored with runes.
Nyxaria was making venom.
She uncorked a vial and let a single bead of inky liquid catch the lamp light. It writhed, silver flecks suspended in a black pool as if the moon itself had been drowned and bottled.
Nyxaria smiled cruelly, but her smile faded when she felt a presence that entered her territory.
“Don’t keep me waiting,” a voice said from the doorway, smooth as a promise and cold as riverbed stone.
Nyxaria didn’t turn. The woman who stepped through the threshold was all shadows and tailored silk, a presence that seemed to swallow the room’s meager light. A mysterious woman with an i
