Asterious turned his head without offering a response at first. He didn’t know the answer. He let the echoes of their footsteps in the cold chamber drown out his thoughts about questions he didn’t want to ask himself.Was she more than that?
“Why the hell would she be?” He brushed it off and ripped off the wraps. He didn’t need any protection. He should feel every bit of pain he could. That was the point. His magic would dull him to any pain while in combat, but he would feel it twice as severely later.
He stood squarely in position ready to throw the first punch, his Lightborn magic coursing through his veins. Riven positioned himself opposite him, facing him in a blocking position. Then the controlled hits went flying. With his precision and speed, Asterious would have battered his opponent to a pulp had he been making full contact. He pulled his blows, aware of the lethal force that would obliterate anything in his path if he didn’t, thanks to the way his magic reinforced his bones and skin like armor during combat. He dodged every block with inhuman speed, moving before thought could form, pushing Riven back with each step forward into his swings. Riven ducked and made for a swift defense move, but Asterious was quick to counter faster than lightning could have struck. His silver eye sparkedlike steel, and he overpowered every possible movement Riven could make, his own body its own kind of weapon.
In a moment of pause, unable to stop replaying the way Caramyn had looked at him in that dining room, through her tears, he felt his heart twisting in knots. She looked at him with such fear and disdain, as if seeing what he was, as if knowing he deserved none of her. And since that moment, he’d been lost in a storm of rage, hurt, desire, and shame. And he had to stop it. He had to make it hurt. He had to attack whatever he was feeling. "Get your sword, Riven."
“Are you sure, Asterious?”
“Yes. Do it. And don't you dare hold back.” Asterious panted, his raven hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead.
Riven returned with the sword and gave no warning before coming down swinging. Asterious dodged with a leap to the side and then grabbed the sword by the blade, twisting around in attempt to dislodge it from Riven’s grasp. But his own grip faltered, slick from the blood seeping from his hand. With another jab of his elbow, he knocked the sword from Riven’s hand and reached to catch it as it fell.
When his hand touched the hilt, searing pain surged through his arm and up through his heart like hellfire. Even with all the determination and pent-up fury in the world, he couldn’t have willed himself to grasp the sword through the agony. Dark sparks flew from his hand and the weapon’s handle, a force pushing them apart like magnetics, and the sword dropped to the ground beside the prince on his knees.
21
Violets
Sinevia
The coronation had come and gone. Most of it was a blur to Sinevia, but the people didn’t question it, and that was enough. Where a priestess of the old religion would have officiated decades ago, this was the first ceremony conducted by a clergyman of the Order. A remnant of her father’s crusade sure to go once she plunged this kingdom into the darkness it deserved—a kingdom that must prove itself worthy of protection from the magic it fears, through sacrifices, tithes, and unfettered devotion to its queen and its queen alone.
But for now, she had recited the oaths, pledged herself to the crown and the people, and satisfied the illusion they clung to.A fitting starting point to set greater things in motion. A line lingered in her mind from the coronation vows:
“By the blood that binds me to this throne, and by the Blackwynd legacy, I pledge to honor what must be preserved—security and order—and to sever what must be destroyed—those things which are deceitful and feared. To uphold the Order. To keep the kingdom pure of magic and the lawlessness it sows.”
Deceitful and feared.
Sinevia turned these two words in particular over in her head as she gripped the cold metal of the prison keys. To some, they were threatening ideas to shun, but to her, they were the path to power and strength. And some fools, like her brother Asterious, couldn’t seem to fathom that path.
He was so powerful, yet he chose to fight it. To waste it.
She’d never forget that moonless night when she heard Daphne’s screams from the depths of the dungeons. When he’d killed her. After she’d tried everything in her power to break those locks and get her out. Every spell, every rune, every key she could find. But it had been useless. As useless as begging her heartless father not to kill her best friend. And the weight of those keys in her hand reminded her exactly why she could never again be reduced to begging for someone else’s mercy, only to be crushed when they chose not to give it. And why she would make Asterious pay for Daphne’s death in blood.
His turn would come, but for now it was the bastard’s who’d turned Daphne in after she used magic to heal his fatal battle wound. And here he was, standing attentive at the foot of her throne as though waiting for some noble orders, unaware of the surprise awaiting him. “You requested me, Your Majesty?”
She blinked. “General Arik. Thank you for responding to my summons so quickly.”
“Of course, My Queen.” He tucked in his arm and bowed at the waist. “It is my duty to meet your demands as swiftly as possible.” Sinevia loathed the sound of his sniveling voice. He only cared about impressing his superiors so he could move up the ranks. He would kiss the ass of whoever was on the throne, so long as it suited him.
“How admirable of you, General.” Sinevia stood and walked down to him, the keys jingling in her hand. “I requested you so that I could inquire your opinion of the state of our prisons.” She noted the uneasiness with which his eyes shifted, but of course he didn’t object.
“Come.” She linked her arm with his, earning a startled look from him. “Let’s take a walk down to the prisons for our inspection, shall we?”
She instructed her guards not to follow them down the long walk to the torchlit dungeons deep below the castle, where dripping sounds echoed in between the groans of prisoners and scampering rat feet.
“Tell me, General. Do you find these cells to be suitable punishment for say—a spineless traitor?” She ensured her arm was still linked with his. Her spells weren’t yet strong enough to work without touching the subject. But that wouldn’t be the case for much longer…
Arik fumbled with his answer, looking around, unsettled. “I—I would suppose so. At least until they are put to death, as the law demands of traitors.”
“Good.” Sinevia smiled. “Then you’re in the perfect place to fulfill your sentence.” Before the shock could even show on his face, Arik’s body stiffened, his eyes wide with horror as Sinevia combined her Seer’s visions with the power of a Shadow spell to force images of his greatest fears into his mind. And she ensured he would feel every moment of it as though it were real. And by the blinded whites of his eyes, she could tell it was working.
He was lying miles from the battlefield, badly wounded. The acrid metal taste of blood filled his mouth, and gasping for each breath felt like reaching for the moon. Blood pooled around him as his innards lay beside him, ripped from his body, and great birds circled above. He was dying a warrior’s death, and yet no one would ever find him to know. Vultures would pick his bones dry long before anyone ever came across his flayed corpse. He would die this way, for nothing. Forgotten, food for the wilderness, and without a semblance of honor.
Sinevia watched the quivering lump in Arik’s throat as he tried with all his might to scream, but he was paralyzed by her spell, forced to watch and feel the worst death he could imagine. Until finally, Sinevia decided he’d suffered enough, and plunged a knife through his stomach. He dropped to the floor, his muscles jolting from the pain and shock of the vision. And then he became another soul to steal. The perfect chance to strengthen her power. She carved a rune into his still quaking body, and he withered him from the inside out, into a hollow shell of a carcass, and another blackened scar seared itself into Sinevia’s hands—the mark left behind from each soul taken in exchange for power.
This was the cost. This had to be done. All because of Daphne. If Daphne had just told her she was using magic to heal, maybe Sinevia could've talked her out of it, told her not to risk wasting it on those ungrateful patients. But she was too compassionate. Too weak to let them die. And she'd trusted that damn Arik more than she'd trusted her own best friend.
