Bishop Tadeusz Sokólski was annoyed. The audience he’d requested with the Archbishop, the Grand Inquisitor, and the King, had been denied.

  He’d been handed a sealed reply from the Archbishop instead.

  They did not believe Bies had returned. She had died long ago, and the idea of her return was preposterous.

  According to the letter, the king had already received a messenger from one of the Graecian city-states with a far more mundane explanation: an extremely dangerous witch had escaped across the border into Silesia. She'd cut a bloody path through everyone who tried to stop her and crossed the border before they could muster a proper response. She had even killed the son of the Archon of Asteria, the largest and wealthiest of the Graecian city-states.

  She was supposed to be a [Katarologa], some type of witch that specialized in curses. The same class as her mother, who apparently was a living legend and had once annihilated an invading army single-handedly.

  Sokólski dismissed it immediately. Graecians never told a simple story when an embellished one would do. A single squad became an “invading army.” A few casualties became “annihilation.” One woman single-handedly destroying an army? Ridiculous.

  Sokólski exhaled sharply through his nose. Typical Graecians. Forever killing each other, then acting shocked when one of their savages behaved like a savage. He wondered whether they had even tried to stop her, or if they had simply chased her into Silesia hoping the Church would clean up their mess for them.

  At least Archbishop Visnievski acknowledged that she was dangerous and wanted to make an example out of her. Very few had ever dared resist a purge squad, or been able to—Sokólski could remember a handful at most—and each of those cases had involved witches of extraordinary power, the kind the Church still filed away as historical anomalies rather than normal threats.

  Those had been monsters. Abominations that took multiple squads to bring down. The reason a scriptor now accompanied every team: so the Church could study the encounter and refine its methods for the next one.

  Over time the Church had become so efficient at eliminating heretics they barely posed a challenge anymore.

  But this girl? A foreigner barely out of adolescence? And she had wiped out a squad in the blink of an eye, and done it while mocking them? It unsettled him more than he’d like to admit.

  Still, something else bothered him.

  What were the odds that a random runaway witch just happened to look exactly like Bies? And the way the inquisitors had been killed—that didn’t resemble a curse. Then again, the sheer brutality of it also didn’t match Bies’s methods.

  Was it possible there were two witches? More? All of them looking just like Bies? And if she was supposed to be Graecian, where had she learned to speak Silesian? And why?

  His thoughts were cut short by a knock on the door.

  “Enter,” he said.

  The door opened and Marcin—the head inquisitor of Opole—stepped inside. Behind him stood the boy he recognized as Sebek Zalevski, the sole survivor. The only one who had seen the witch and lived. A spike of alarm shot through him, but he did not let it show on his face. Bad news had arrived.

  Marcin gave a single nod. “Bishop.”

  “Speak.”

  Marcin grabbed the boy by the arm and pulled him forward. “Tell him what happened, boy.”

  Sebek stepped forward on unsteady legs. His eyes had the hollow look of someone who’d slept too little and seen too much. His mouth opened, but no sound came out at first. His hands were shaking. He looked at the floor, then at Marcin, then quickly back to the floor.

  "I—" he started, then stopped. "We found her. In Lipova. She was there. With the... with the accused."

  Sokólski’s eyes widened and he fought back a grimace. Do not show emotion. Emotion is weakness.

  "Go on," Sokólski said, keeping his voice level.

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  "Lubomir tried to stop her. He cast [Fireball]. But she... She raised her hand and there was this sound like thunder and there was a giant hole in his chest. And then she was suddenly behind him and looked through the hole and smiled and… made a rude gesture. And then she grabbed a pistol and shot Stefan’s head off.”

  The audacity of this witch was truly unbelievable. No, audacity wasn’t the problem. Audacity he could handle. This was something else. Killing elite inquisitors as if it were a game to her. Laughing while doing it. Treating purge squads like playthings.

  He felt stomach acid rising in his throat. Another abomination had surfaced. One the Church hadn’t accounted for yet.

  Sebek continued. “She walked toward me. Told me to stop praying because she was ‘already here.’ Complained we don’t understand humor. Asked why we were hunting the girl they accused of witchcraft. She told me she was the witch. Told me the girl was just a normal kid without a class.”

  “And you believed her.”

  Sebek nodded quickly. “Yes, Bishop. She pointed at the girl and said, ‘No offense.’ And the girl agreed.”

  Sebek took in a deep breath. “She asked how we found her. I told her about the man who reported his cloak stolen.”

  Sebek winced at the memory. “She became very angry. Said the cloak was from her late grandmother. She accused me of calling her a thief.”

  “And then?” Sokólski pressed.

  “She asked what I did after I fled the swamp. I told her the truth—I returned to Opole and reported everything to you. She said that was exactly what she wanted.”

  Marcin shot a look at the Bishop.

  Sebek continued, shaking. “She said she let me live so I could spread the word. Said she knows the Grand Inquisitor, the Archbishop, the King. She said she sees everything.” He hesitated. “She told me to tell you not to look for her. That she would come to you.”

  Sokólski felt cold sweat run down his back. Sees everything? Come to me?

  She knew who he was and still made the threat. She had said she would come for him specifically. He swallowed, forcing more acid down, forcing his expression to remain neutral. This witch. This abomination that had already wiped out two purge squads was coming after him.

  Anger mixed in with the fear. He was an extension of Stvora’s divine will. He was the Bishop of Opole. He was powerful, and he had no intention of dying to this thing.

  She had to be dealt with quickly and publicly. The Archbishop was right, they needed to make an example out of her. Execute her before anyone else got any ideas. Execute her before she could get to him. Now that she’d openly declared she was coming, he would use everything at his disposal to ensure she never reached him.

  Sebek swallowed. “She… she said she wanted you to send your best.”

  Sokólski didn’t answer immediately.

  So that was her game. Either she was unimaginably arrogant, or she was trying to bait them into a trap. Draw their forces to a location of her choosing. Dictate the terms of engagement.

  But if Sebek’s account was accurate—and the boy was not nearly clever enough to invent such detail—she had killed two more trained men in the space of a heartbeat. If she could do that, then provoking them might not be arrogance at all. It might be confidence.

  He looked at the boy’s face, and saw genuine terror.

  Standard purge squads clearly wouldn’t suffice. If a single squad failed, then two squads. If two failed, then three. He would increase the numbers until she was buried under them. Eventually even the strongest witch collapsed under the mighty fist of Stvora.

  But numbers alone wouldn’t be enough. They needed someone exceptional. Someone who wouldn’t freeze, wouldn’t be intimidated or confused by whatever tricks she relied on. Someone who wouldn’t be afraid to fight dirty themselves. Someone impervious to curses.

  And there was one more tool at his disposal: gold.

  If he offered a bounty the likes of which Silesia had never seen—enough to change not just a life, but an entire bloodline—then everyone would hunt her. She would have nowhere to hide. No shelter. No allies. No sleep.

  Sokólski exhaled slowly. “Yes. If she wants us to send our best, we will.”

  “B-but that’s what she wants,” Sebek said.

  “And that’s what she’ll get.”

  Sokólski turned to Marcin. “The Archbishop wants us to make an example out of her. Show everyone what happens to those who defy the church.”

  The head inquisitor nodded once. “I assume you have something in mind?”

  “I do. First, double the size of every purge squad. Request additional men from the other regions if necessary.”

  “Will do.”

  “Second, we announce a bounty. Something that sends a message. Something that will shake every tavern in the country. A sum so large even nobles will consider joining the hunt.”

  “Ten thousand gold?” Marcin asked.

  “One million.”

  Sebek’s mouth fell open and he looked like he was about to faint.

  Marcin’s eyebrows rose and his eyes bulged. “Bishop. We couldn’t. That’s enough to buy a whole town. Maybe multiple.”

  “And that’s exactly why we’re doing it. If one witch can kill our men and walk free, others will believe they can do the same. But if we destroy her so completely that no one dares speak her name? Then the message will be clear. You do not defy the Church. You do not defy Stvora."

  He paused and folded his hands behind his back. "Fear spreads slowly. Greed spreads overnight. By morning, every able body in Silesia will be hunting her. She'll have nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. And when she's exhausted and cornered..."

  A small smile crept onto his face. “Now… as for the final part. I already have someone in mind.”

  Marcin nodded slowly and ran through the possibilities in silence. Then his expression changed. "Surely, you don't mean—"

  "Milena."

  "Bishop." Marcin's voice dropped. "With respect. One million gold is one thing. Involving her is another. They call her Milena the Mad for a reason."

  "I am well aware."

  "She's unpredictable. Reckless. The last time we deployed her—"

  "The last time we deployed her, she completed the mission," Sokólski cut him off. "Results matter, Marcin. Not methods."

  "The collateral damage—"

  "Is acceptable."

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