The two escorts stayed, one standing on either side of the door.
And Cain?
Kailia screamed as he pressed a palm of flames to her navel.
Her power thrashed in her veins, unable to save her because of the manacles. The metal nullified most magic, including hers. The scent of charred flesh filled the room as Cain slowly dragged his hand along her torso.
She couldn’t think. She couldn’t get air down.
Not as that hand trailed up her arm. Clasped her throat. The fire never lessening.
There was only the pain and her screams.
There was only the cost of failure.
Someone was holding her down by the shoulders. She was being jostled. They were touching her, and she was burning, and?—
That wasn’t flames. It was an icy brush of something dark and cold that chilled her bones but also pulled her out of the thrall of her nightmares.
She lurched to the side, tumbling to the floor as she retched.
“Fucking Fates,” she heard a male mutter. “Lia, are you?—”
“Do not ask if she’s all right when you took her out and let her get so drunk?—”
“I don’t let her do anything, Sutara. She’s the queen. If she wants to drink her weight in ale every once in a while, I’m not going to stop her.”
Right.
The awful ale she’d consumed three large mugs of. That was what she was vomiting up right now.
She could still smell the scent of burning flesh, and her entire body still felt like it was being tortured with flames, even if the cold magic had lessened the intensity. When someone crouched beside her, she scrambled to the side, her stomach still convulsing.
“It’s me, Kailia,” Cethin coaxed. “I’m going to hold your hair back. Okay?”
It probably didn’t make much difference now. Strands were matted to her sweaty brow and neck while locks hung limply over her shoulders, grazing the same floor she’d vomited on.
She let him carefully gather the strands anyway, flinching whenever he accidentally grazed her skin. Her muscles ached as if she’d been in those shackles for days, arching in pain as Cain reminded her she may be descended from Anala, but fire was still a weakness.
The minutes passed, the vomiting turning to dry heaving as her stomach continued to convulse, cramping and making her curl in on herself. Razik had retrieved a rubbish bin so at least she wasn’t retching onto the floor anymore.
“Can I help you back to the sofa?” Cethin asked softly when she’d finally stilled, panting from everything.
“I can do it,” she rasped, her throat raw.
“But I can?—”
“I said I’ll do it,” she interjected, pushing up with shaking arms.
Cethin released her hair as she staggered the few steps to the sofa and collapsed back onto it. She pulled her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and pressing her brow to her knees, willing her heart rate to slow and her breathing to even out.
“Drink some water, Lia,” Razik said, and she lifted her head, finding him extending a glass to her.
She took a small sip to get the taste of bile out of her mouth. Anything more would have come right back up. Razik took a step back while Cethin took a step closer, worry etched across his elegant features.
“What do you need, Kailia?” Cethin asked.
A bath.
