I stepped back, reaching for my stave, ready to utter the words. The ritual. But my stave was gone.
She wildly tossed back her long black hair, then she looked at me with her dark eyes, as a smile widened her face, her beauty mark pronounced over the right corner of her lips. My eyes focused on it, like it was an anchor that would keep me from panicking.
“You’re grown,” she cackled. “I’ve seen inside your soul. And I know who you are. You can’t run from me. I’ll still get you.”
I tried to yell. To tell her she was dead. Rotting in hell. But my voice didn’t work, and she only laughed louder, and louder.
There were screams, hundreds of voices crying out in anguished terror.
Then I saw a flash of light. Orange. Indigo.
I sputtered out water, my entire body shivering.
The glass door swung open and Naria stared down at me.
“Myself to Moriel,” she said. “I thought you were having a fit.”
“I-I …” My teeth chattered. I was so, so cold. I could barely talk.
“Did you fall asleep in there? It’s been half an hour. The Bastardmaker keeps sending messengers to my room.”
“Can you …” Fuck. Fuck! I was too cold to move. My entire body ached. How was this happening to me? How was this possible? What did it fucking mean?
“Can I what?” Naria asked.
“T-turn off the water,” I said. “Towel?”
She shook her head, but leaned forward and shut off the spray, then tossed a towel at me.
“Th-thanks,” I said.
Naria’s eyes narrowed, and for the second time ever, she seemed to show some genuine emotion. “You’re not okay. Maybe instead of this meeting, we should take you to the healers.”
“NO!” I yelled. “No.” If they took me there, I’d be at risk. They would figure out what was wrong with me. Know what I was. Turn me in. Send me to Lethea.
Like I’d done to the others.
Maybe that was what I deserved.
Naria sighed. “What do you want me to do then?”
“Tell the Bastardmaker I’ll be down shortly.”
“I’ll let the next messenger know.”
I leaned against the tiles, and closed my eyes, my body shivering, the vorakh’s face laughing in my mind.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
LYRIANA
I groaned, my entire body aching as I opened my eyes. The fiery feeling of the Valalumir was still pulsing through my skin like a living memory. I clutched at my chest, my breath catching, then ran my hand down my tunic. It was no longer ripped. A silver thread down the center held the pieces together in neat, even stitches.
I tried to take a deep breath despite the pain, and get my bearings. My head was resting on a soft pillow, and thick, woolen blankets covered my body. I was in an actual bed. The first bed I’d slept in in weeks. I couldn’t remember the last time I woke up in one—or the last time I’d woken up alone, without Rhyan. He’d been a constant by my side since we left Bamaria, always snuggled against my body, his arms wrapped tightly around me.
A small fire burned a few feet away. A fire in a real fireplace, not just one haphazardly built inside the loose stones of a cave. Behind the bed were frosted windows with open curtains. Night had fallen. Torches protruding from the snowy towers reflected in the glass, and a gryphon growled from beyond, its outstretched wings flying across the mountainous horizon.
My heart pounded as I sat up. These weren’t the dungeons. But a bedroom. A high-ranking noble’s bedroom.
