The man’s grin was feral as he wrestled against his chains, as if he might break free and tear her apart himself.
“They say he was burned to a crisp,” he answered. “They couldn’t control the mob, not when they’d heard what you’d done. They hung him from a post in the Relija for all to see. A symbol of retribution for your treason.”
Aya’s stomach churned, but the man continued, a maniacal glint in his eye as his rage devoured his sense. “They know what you are, now. Your people. They know—”
Aya’s hand snapped forward, her fingers gripping the man’s throat. He coughed, blood spraying her face, but his smirk only grew, grew like thatthingin Aya, roiling and pressing andburning.
She had given her life to protect them. Had spent every year in this godsforsaken realm trying to begood, to use the power her gods had given her for somethingworthy.
And for what?
What has abiding by your gods ever done for you?
“They say your lover will get a trial, but maybe he’ll burn, too,” the man gasped. “They say your father was powerless to the flames—” His words cut off in a wheeze as Aya squeezed,her fingernails digging into his flesh. He scrambled for her wrist, and she shouldn’t have been able to keep her hold him, not with the way she was wasting away, but she did.
“Powerless?” she asked, as that thing rose, and rose, and rose.
His face was turning purple, his breaths coming in shallow pants. Aya slid her other hand down his chest, the movement smooth like a lover’s caress. Her palm halted right over his heart, its thud rapid against her skin, which felt stretched tight to bursting.
Aya leaned in closer. She could smell the blood on his breath.
“Let me show you powerless,” she whispered.
Her power burst forward like a spear, directly into the man’s chest. It wrapped around that well inside him, an almighty hand he could not fight, not with those irons on his wrist keeping his affinity at bay.
Aya held the man’s gaze.
And in one swift move, she ripped every last drop of his power from him.
32
Lorna hadn’t said a word to her since they’d thrown them back in their cell. But Aya could feel the woman’s stare like a brand, long and lingering and wary.
They were all wary.
She’d snapped the prisoner’s neck. After she’d torn out his power, she’d grabbed hold of his head and twisted, the sound of his breaking spine cracking through the room like a whip.
The guards had been on her before he hit the ground, but it was pointless. She’d held out her hands for her shackles as one of the other prisoners screamed, the echoes of her sorrow stretching to the corners of the room. Gregor’s voice had been lost among the woman’s shouts of agony as he tried to direct his soldiers, who were unsure of who they should be taming.
The screaming woman?
Aya?
No, not Aya. Not with the way she went willingly to the guards’ side, her power stifled once more.
“Get her out of here,” Gregor had ordered over the woman’s screams. “Get them both out of here!”
The guards had dragged her and Lorna from the hall.Aya had just been able to make out the sound of a sword being drawn from a sheath before the woman’s screams were silenced.
Aya leaned back against the cell wall. She had thought they’d come for her—after the turmoil in the throne room settled, and they’d had time to regroup, she’d expected they would fetch her.
Oh well. It was no matter.
Aya wet her lips.
“Guard!” she called out, her voice clear and forceful. It took a moment, but the door opened to reveal the Anima. “I wish to speak to the king and the demigod.”
The Anima’s gaze narrowed. “I don’t take orders from you,” she sneered.
