I woke up on Day Twelve with a plan that was either brilliant or completely insane.
Probably both.
Definitely both.
I'm going to publicly demonstrate necromancy at a garden party.
In front of witnesses.
On PURPOSE.
The invitation had arrived yesterday—cream envelope, House Silvermere's seal in silver wax. Lady Margot Silvermere hosting a spring equinox garden party.
Translation: "Please come so we can show everyone we're important enough to host the terrifying dark magic family."
They expect me to be BORING.
They expect polite conversation and tea.
They have NO IDEA what's coming.
I sat up, and Nyx immediately slithered onto my lap.
"You're doing it today," he said.
Not a question.
A statement.
"I'm doing it today," I confirmed.
The grimoire spell.
The group reanimation.
Three birds. In public. In front of EVERYONE.
This is where I stop HIDING and start PERFORMING.
Nyx's tongue flicked out. "You're vibrating like a tuning fork having an existential crisis."
"I'm EXCITED," I said.
I'm about to commit magical heresy in front of minor nobles who will DEFINITELY tell everyone.
The Church is going to hear about this.
The royal family is going to hear about this.
EVERYONE is going to hear about this.
That's the POINT.
But also: my heart is RACING and I might vomit.
"You're terrified," Nyx corrected. "Your pulse just spiked to hummingbird levels."
Traitor.
My own familiar is a TRAITOR.
"I'm strategically concerned," I said. "There's a difference."
"Sure," Nyx said, dripping sarcasm. "And I'm a harmless garden snake."
I got out of bed and walked to my wardrobe.
What does one wear to commit public magical villainy?
Something that says 'I'm about to ruin your garden party and you're going to REMEMBER it.'
I pulled out midnight blue—almost black—with silver embroidery that looked like constellations. High neckline. Long fitted sleeves. Beautiful, sophisticated, absolutely appropriate for a garden party.
Perfect.
I'm going to look RESPECTABLE while I raise the dead.
That's the kind of cognitive dissonance that makes LEGENDS.
I dressed carefully, fastening the silver raven necklace around my neck. The amethyst eyes caught the light, glowing faintly.
Mother's inheritance.
A symbol of House Raven's power.
A reminder that I'm PROTECTED.
Even when I'm committing magical heresy.
Nyx coiled around my shoulders as I headed downstairs.
The carriage was waiting—black lacquered wood with silver ravens carved into the doors.
We don't do ANYTHING subtly.
Why would we?
We're DARK MAGES.
I climbed into the carriage, and we set off.
"So," Nyx said as we rolled through the streets. "What's the plan?"
The plan.
RIGHT.
I should probably have an actual PLAN.
"I'm going to attend the party," I said. "Be polite. Drink tea. Make small talk."
"Boring," Nyx said.
"And THEN," I continued, "when the moment is right, I'm going to find three dead birds—"
"There will definitely be dead birds in a garden," Nyx interrupted. "Birds die ALL the time. It's very convenient for necromancers."
He's not wrong.
Nature is basically a necromancer's supply closet.
"—and I'm going to use the grimoire spell to raise all three at once."
"The battlefield spell," Nyx said, and there was something almost impressed in his voice. "Bold."
Bold.
That's one word for it.
INSANE is another word.
But I'm committed now.
I'm DOING this.
"It's a statement," I said. "It's not just 'look, I can raise one bird.' It's 'look, I can raise MULTIPLE corpses SIMULTANEOUSLY with a SINGLE spell.'"
"It's showing off," Nyx said.
"It's PERFORMING," I corrected. "There's a difference."
Machiavelli understood this.
Power isn't just about HAVING it.
It's about making sure everyone KNOWS you have it.
It's about the PERFORMANCE.
The carriage rolled through the gates of House Silvermere's estate.
Oh.
Oh, this is PERFECT.
The garden was beautiful—manicured lawns, flowering trees, elegant fountains, stone pathways winding through flower beds. Maybe thirty guests scattered throughout, all dressed in pastels and spring colors.
They look like a painting.
A peaceful, serene, BORING painting.
I'm about to ruin it.
I'm about to ruin it SO HARD.
Lady Margot Silvermere greeted me at the entrance—silver-blonde hair, smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Lady Isabel," she said, voice carefully neutral. "How wonderful that you could join us."
Translation: "I invited you because I HAD to, but I really hope you don't cause a scene."
Too late, Lady Margot.
WAY too late.
"The pleasure is mine, Lady Silvermere," I said, matching her polite tone. "Your garden is lovely."
It IS lovely.
It's about to be a LOT less lovely.
But right now, it's very pretty.
She led me into the garden, introducing me to various minor nobles—Lord This, Lady That, all of them smiling politely while their eyes screamed "Please don't curse us."
I'm not going to curse you.
I'm going to do something MUCH more memorable.
I accepted a cup of tea from a servant and positioned myself near one of the fountains.
Timing.
This is all about TIMING.
I need the right moment.
The moment when everyone's relaxed.
The moment when they think I'm just another boring noble.
THAT'S when I strike.
A young noble—Lord Something-or-other from House Thornwick—approached me with a nervous smile.
"Lady Isabel," he said. "I heard about your... encounter with Prince Aldric at the palace reception."
Oh, EVERYONE heard about that.
That's the POINT.
"Did you?" I said pleasantly. "How interesting."
"It was very brave," he said, and he actually sounded sincere. "Standing up to him like that."
Brave.
Or INSANE.
Probably both.
"I simply spoke the truth," I said. "Prince Aldric is boring and predictable. Someone needed to say it."
Lord Thornwick laughed—a genuine, surprised laugh.
"You're not what I expected," he said.
No one ever expects the villainess.
That's what makes it FUN.
"I rarely am," I said.
He excused himself, and I was alone again.
Now.
This is the moment.
Everyone's relaxed.
Everyone's distracted.
Time to RUIN this peaceful garden party.
I set down my teacup.