Return of the General's Daughter

In the hush of nightfall, beneath a sky heavy with stars and secrets, two figures cloaked in shadow crept onto the secluded estate of a baron just south of the capital. The taller one, masked and silent, had done his homework. He knew the baron had lately taken to sleeping not in their matrimonial bedroom, but in the quaint cottage tucked behind the main house—a gift for his newest mistress, a woman half his age with ambition in her eyes and gossip at her mouth.

They moved like phantoms, slipping through the garden with the practiced grace of seasoned thieves—bodies low, footsteps light.

Inside the cottage, the baron lay tangled in sheets with his mistress, her limbs draped over his bulk like ivy over a crumbling statue. For a moment, Kasmeri froze in the shadows of the doorway. The memory of fire—the blaze that consumed his stepfather’s home—flickered in his mind, hungry and bright. He had come here to exact his revenge in the same manner.

But something in him hesitated.

"She’s innocent," he whispered, his voice barely audible. He did not want to involve innocent people in his game of revenge.

Molavi, the shorter of the two and far less sentimental, leaned close. "Innocent?" he scoffed. "I heard from one of the house servants—she wormed her way into his bed, poisoned the baroness with jealousy until the poor woman took ill. And she tormented the baron’s youngest daughter, all because the girl was prettier than her. That’s your innocent?"

Kasmeri didn’t answer.

"If you can’t do it," Molavi murmured, "I will."

Before Kasmeri could respond, Molavi darted forward. The mistress had just stirred, eyes fluttering open—only to be slammed into unconsciousness by a precise blow. Her arms slid off the baron’s chest like dead vines. The baron, groggy and slow, barely had time to grunt before Kasmeri knocked him senseless.

They worked quickly. Kerosene soaked the silk sheets, the plush mattress, the expensive curtains. Then, without ceremony, Kasmeri struck a match. The flame snapped to life, a single defiant tongue of fire licking at the corner of the bedspread. It caught fast.

The blaze began its crawl.