CoS18

## Chapter 18

**Chapter 18** of **City of Spells** follows **Wesley**.

## **Full Version**

WESLEY STOOD IN THE center of the tree house and peered down at the forest below, alight in green and the dim yellow glow of the lanterns. He could hear the trees singing, like a lullaby in the night.

“Enjoying the view?” Tavia asked. “You said you wanted updates, but if you just feel like sightseeing, let us know.”

Wesley gave her a sullen look. “Take it away,” he said, and gestured to the magical fire in the center of the room, where Saxony was currently warming her hands. “What have the new busker boss and Crafter Liege been up to while I was away?”

“I’ve stolen enough magic from the Rishiyat buskers to fuel our people,” Tavia said. “And now that we have Casim’s buskers with us, all that’s left is to wait for him to convince the other underbosses to help. Though now that you’re back, you could probably do a better job at rallying them.”

“And you?” Wesley asked, looking to Saxony.

She stood and sighed, to let him know that she didn’t like the thought of reporting to him.

“Tavia already told you that I summoned Crafter Lieges from across the realms,” Saxony said.”Most have already made their way here.”

“And when the others come, are they all going to be happy about you being Head Liege of all Lieges?” Wesley asked. “We need a united magical army for this to work.”

Saxony cleared her throat. “I’m not a Liege,” she said, and the way she looked down at the floor told Wesley that it wasn’t a choice she’d made for herself. “My amja is taking over Zekia’s duties for now.”

“Bullshit.”

Saxony’s head shot up. “Excuse me?”

“You have the experience,” Wesley said. “You fought against Ashwood and you took the initiative to summon the other Crafters. Why are you taking orders from anyone else?”

“Because that’s the way it is.”

“Until you say otherwise.”

Saxony scoffed, like Wesley couldn’t possibly understand their ways. And she was right. Wesley didn’t get how someone like Saxony, who had fire burning in her veins and the scars of war on her fingertips, could step down and let someone else make her decisions for her.

“So what parts of Uskhanya have you set up bases in to protect?” Wesley asked. “What did the Doyen say about all of this when you spoke to her about an alliance?”

The almost chastised looks on their faces made Wesley want to go back into Zekia’s hold. At least she and Ashwood had a plan.

“You did speak to the Doyen, didn’t you?” he asked, already knowing he wouldn’t like the answer.

“We can’t just send a bat to a world leader,” Tavia said. “And we’ve been busy. We’ve been—”

“Sitting around sniping at each other?” Wesley asked.

Tavia gave him a familiar *I’m going to punch you* kind of a look. “What was your contribution to the war effort these last few weeks?”

“I didn’t die,” Wesley said. “And since you so clearly need me around, I’d say that I did you a favor by staying alive.”

Tavia didn’t argue with that, which made a change.

“We need to speak to Doyen Fenna Schulze and align with her forces,” Wesley said. “While you were building an army, did none of you think about the army that was already out there? The entire military force of Uskhanya could be on our side right now.”

“Yeah,” Saxony said, rolling her eyes. “Because what the officials want in the fight against magic is a bunch of Crafters and crooks.”

“Except that I already negotiated that deal.”

It seemed like a lifetime ago when Wesley was back in the amity precinct with Tavia, negotiating Saxony’s release with the Vice Doyen. Agreeing to kill the Kingpin in exchange for becoming the Kingpin. It didn’t seem possible that only a few months had passed, rather than years.

Wesley pictured himself then, feet kicked up on the table and his suit not pressed with blood, feeling like nothing in the world could hurt him.

“Vice Doyen Armin Krause gave us permission to go after the Kingpin and said that we’d have Schulze’s backing,” Wesley reminded them. “Since the Kingpin isn’t dead, as far as I’m concerned that deal still stands. It’s about time we collected.”

“You really think she’ll join forces with us?” Tavia asked.

“I don’t think she has a choice.”

None of them did now.

It was kill or be killed, just like the streets had been when Wesley was coming up. Though now those shadowed streets had spread their arms and the entire realm was at risk of having to look over their shoulder every second, or fear that doing or saying one wrong thing could cost them their lives. That doing or saying nothing could cost them worse.

Wesley had done a lot of bad in his life, but he didn’t want to be part of a legacy of suffering. He didn’t want his name remembered beside Dante Ashwood’s.

If nothing else, Wesley wanted to make sure his city survived.

Wesley whistled the old tune that every person—Crafter, busker, or the ordinary—was taught as a child. The melody to call a *delg* bat from their haunt. There were at least a dozen in the Uncharted Forest—Wesley had seen them hanging from the trees by the curved river—and so it took only a minute before one flew in from the window and landed straight in his palm.

Wesley stroked the blackened creature and it cooed in his hands, flapping its night wings and nibbling at his finger.

“Find Fenna Schulze,” Wesley told the bat. “And tell her that the underboss of Creije wants a meeting. I have an army of magic that I’m willing to align with her forces. If we join together, we can finally end Ashwood’s reign and stop the Loj elixir from spreading.”

The bat chirped in response and leaped from Wesley’s hand. It was fast and it only took a matter of seconds for him to lose sight of it altogether. Wesley wasn’t sure where the bat was heading; he didn’t know exactly where Schulze was, but the creature would find her. *Delg* bats were magical things, feeding off of psychic energy. They could find anyone, anywhere, even at the edges of the realms. Some people said that if the bat was ancient enough and loyal enough to its master, it could even cross into the afterlife to ferry messages to the dead.

So somewhere like the Halls of Government in Yejlath shouldn’t be a problem.

“The Doyen should get the bat within a day,” Wesley said. “And after that we—Damn it!”

Wesley yelled out in pain.

A sudden sharpness pierced through his mind like a hundred needles, stabbing and stabbing.

He grabbed at his temples, teeth grinding together.

“*Skeht!*” he cursed.

“Wesley!” Tavia said, running over to him.

But then Saxony started screaming too.

There was a darkness in Wesley’s mind, clouding his vision until the real world blurred and he could only focus on the images in his head. The shadows squirmed through his mind like worms looking to take root.

It felt like it had when Zekia tried to claw through his mind, only this time Wesley didn’t sense the hesitation he’d felt from her, or the conflict as she watched him cry out.

All he felt now was darkness.

Then from that darkness, a cloud of fog descended.

Saxony gasped out and the fire in the room died like a gust of wind had blown violently through it.

Dante Ashwood’s face appeared inside of Wesley’s mind.

“Hello, my children,” he said.

Wesley winced at the sound of his voice, like nails scraping into him.

“Many Gods,” Saxony cried out, her voice strained. “He’s inside my head.”

She was clutching at her skull, squeezing her eyes shut tightly as if to try to push Ashwood out. But it was no use.

“Today, I come to you not just as a leader, but as a beacon.”

“Make it stop!” Saxony yelled.

She fell to her knees and something inside of Wesley lurched. He wanted to walk over to her, but the pain rooted him to the spot. He felt like if he tried to move, he might collapse as well.

“What is it?” Tavia asked. “What’s going on?”

She couldn’t hear him.

Wesley’s head pounded as he tried to keep the Kingpin’s voice at bay, but all that practice defending his mind meant nothing now.

In the forest below, he could hear the screams of their camp.

Wesley looked out of the window and saw the chaos. People on their knees like Saxony, hands over their ears and clutching at their temples, while others around them looked on in horror.

The Crafters.

The Kingpin was speaking only to the Crafters.

“Today is a day of great joy and progress,” Ashwood said. “It is a day to rejoice and finally unite the realm of Uskhanya.”

Wesley winced and his knees trembled with the pain of keeping himself upright while his head spun so violently, but he’d be damned if he knelt down to Dante Ashwood.

He hadn’t done it when the shadow demon sank its teeth into him and he wouldn’t do it now.

Not here. Not like this.

“I have taken hold of the capital of our great realm,” Ashwood said. “Creije is now mine.”

*Many Gods.*

Wesley couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

The last district in Creije had fallen.

It didn’t seem possible.

“Wesley, what’s going on?” Tavia asked.

“It’s Ashwood,” he said. Even speaking felt painful, with the walls in his mind trying so hard to block the Kingpin out. “He’s taken Creije.”

He looked to Tavia, jaw clenched.

“It’s gone,” he said. “Our home is gone.”

Though perhaps *gone* wasn’t the right word. Ashwood hadn’t destroyed Creije, he’d just destroyed everything it stood for. He’d just stolen the streets from the dreamers and taken the city Wesley had built on his back, and fed it to wolves.

Tavia’s lips parted and her eyes almost instantly filled with tears. She slipped her hand into Wesley’s and squeezed it tightly, tethering him to the ground so he didn’t crumple.

Wesley looked at the tattoos that danced up his arms: the streets of Creije painted on him so he’d always remember his home and fight to keep it.

Only, everything Wesley had made now belonged to Ashwood.

Maybe it always had.

“It is with joy that I make this announcement,” Ashwood said. “I, Dante Ashwood, a man born on the streets of this great capital, a man who lived through the war and has seen the wonders of the future, will usher us into greatness.”

Ashwood’s pale lips tilted to a smile and Wesley could feel every moment of his twisted delight.

“As the new leader of Creije, I summon any and all Crafters of the realm to my capital, where they will be welcomed and respected,” he said. “I put an end to bans on black magic, declaring all charms legal in this city. And I officially recognize anyone who challenges my authority as an enemy of change. Including the so-called Doyen Fenna Schulze. This is a city of magic and it will be your city of respite.”

“He’s declaring war on Schulze,” Wesley said.

He felt the blood drip from his nose and then the scratch as Tavia used her sleeve to wipe it away. It was taking everything he had not to let Ashwood’s voice consume him completely.

“I can’t keep him out,” Saxony said, her palms flat against the floor as she keeled over. “It’s too loud.”

“The first step to eliminating these enemies is to begin at home,” Ashwood said. “I will conquer the rest of this realm, starting with the government city of Yejlath. My forces are already making their way there, but I know I must prove that I’m willing to start over. To enact change and punish those who once sought to harm you. I must prove that you are safe with me and that I’ll protect you from this realm and everyone in it. Including my own people.”

There was a flicker as Ashwood waved his shadow arm, and then the vision of him exploded into eight separate clouds of screaming and blood.

Wesley’s breath lodged in his throat as he saw the familiar faces.

Ilaria. Stelios. Felix. Luca. Chiara. Greta. Enori.

All of them dying in front of him.

“It’s the underbosses of Uskhanya,” Wesley told Tavia. “Ashwood is killing them all for the Crafters to see.”

Then Casim’s face flashed in the eighth cloud and Wesley’s stomach lurched as he realized that meant Ashwood’s people were in Rishiya. That they were so, so close.

They cut through the underbosses one by one, knives at their throats and swords through their hearts. The blood splattered outward and Wesley blinked and stumbled, as though it might spill from the projection and rain down on them all.

Tavia caught his arm to steady him.

“Sacrifices are necessary for change,” Ashwood said. “I know that you think they were going to help you by sending you more buskers, but these are the vermin responsible for your shackles. These are the criminals who use your magic for profit. They are your enemies.”

The clouds disappeared and the vision in Wesley’s mind refocused on Ashwood’s ghostly face once again.

Tavia shuffled closer to him, her hand dangling by his, eyes searching the forest as if something in the wind was calling to her.

Wesley could hear it too.

He could hear the trees, no longer singing.

But screaming.

Whenever Wesley’s hand twitched against Tavia’s, the leaves of the forest hissed in warning. The branches smacked together.

They were not alone.

They were not safe.

*Run*, the trees said. *You have to run.*

“You must make a choice now,” Ashwood said. “Come to me in good faith, or die as traitors.”

Wesley kept ahold of Tavia’s hand.

And then, as sudden as a storm that had brewed in silence, an army appeared. Below the tree house, where Wesley watched the Crafters cry in pain and the rest of their people surrounding them unable to help, a new enemy blinked into existence.

First bones, then veins and skin and hair.

Teeth that glistened in the sun like monsters finally free to walk the day.

The invisibility charm they had harnessed shattered and they licked their hungry lips. Wesley could see the mark of the Loj on some of them, their eyes like broken stars. But the others, the ones who looked the most hungry and hateful, gave off a familiar wave of magic and blind devotion.

Crafters.

Soldiers.

Dante Ashwood’s willing followers.

“This is a new realm,”Ashwood said, his voice barely a murmur as their enemies descended. “And we shall build it together.”