He turned, dark and unyielding eyes slamming into my widened stare. The truth slammed into me with brutal clarity. He had lied. Since the fire. Since he put his hands on my body. Since I shared my pain with him.
Something vicious and humiliated tore loose inside me. I wasnothis prisoner.Not his ally. Not his lover. I was his bride—and I’d been the last to know.
Before I registered what I was doing, I spun so fast that my head swam and I ran. My boots hit the earth with desperation. I could get to Winston. I could get away. There would be another way to unite the Kingdoms. A solid arm wrapped around my waist, and a frustrated cry left my lips.
“Youran, Little Drownling,” he murmured into my hair, voice dripping with disappointment. He forced me to turn, trapping me against his chest and tilting my head up to look at him. “You have no reason to run.”
I hit my fist against his chest, squirming in his arms and arching away. He lifted me easily, throwing me over his shoulder. I gripped the water in his body to bend to my will. I pulled as hard as I could. But his steps didn’t falter.
“You cannot use your powers on me, love. I let you once, but it is in my control. Please, stop before you burn out.” His words only fuelled the anger, the determination, theneedto control him. To make him hurt.
My body began to tremble, the song in my throat spilling out with vicious intent. The warriors dropped to their knees, eyes wide and simmering with an iridescent gleam. If I couldn’t hurt the Commander, maybe one of his own could.
Four of them rose, drawing their weapons with a symphony of steely rasps, pointing them at their High Lord. They lunged. Without putting me down, the Commander gripped his sword and pulled it from the sheath strapped to his back. He spun. The obsidian sword slashed across one of his warrior’s throats. Hot blood sprayed against me, hitting my skin like a thousand knives. The song died in my throat. The spell I held over the warriors snapped like a rubber band. My vision wavered and a wave of nausea rolled through me. Exhaustion threatened to pull me into unconsciousness. The warrior crashed to his knees. Hands pressing against the gushing wound slashed across his throat, rivulets of blood spouting between his fingers. He spluttered, one wet gasp before crashing to the side. Dead.
The Commander said nothing, stepping over the warrior’s body. He didn’t look back at the warrior he’dslaughtered because ofme. I went slack over his shoulder, watching Solas press his hand to his fallen comrade’s throat to stop the bleeding. I was as lifeless as the warrior he was trying to save. The Commander stiffened beneath me, hand tightening on my thigh. “Lyra?” The raw edge in his voice barely pierced the buzzing in my ears. I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t even open my eyes. The world dimmed to nothing but the heat of his hands and the distant echo of my heart breaking. He only held me tighter and carried me into the darkness of his court.
Pain ebbedthrough every thought as I blinked against the dull light. I lay amongst soft blankets that smelt like fresh night air and an underlying hint of something sweeter.
I flicked the blankets off me with a grimace. This washisbed.
Flames flickered in sconces, illuminating the most beautiful mural I had ever seen. It was so stunning that I almost forgot howangryI was.
It was painted with a swirling ocean. Dark flowers bloomed in random places across the wall, a familiar constellation of stars at the centre. The same stars that were tattooed on my left hand from the blood bargain. Movement caught my eye, and I startled, blinking so my eyes would adjust.
Cerilla sat at a small, round table in one of two velvet plush chairs, sipping tea from a delicate cup before it clinked back down onto the ceramic plate. Picking up the other cup, she walked over to the large bed that I laid in.
“Finally awake darling? How grand. Here.” Sheextended the cup towards me, and I sat up to take it, wincing at the throbbing in my head. “This will help with the pain.”
“Thank you,” I murmured and brought the tea to my lips. I wanted to be happy to see her, I had missed her. But her betrayal tasted as bitter as the tea she had made me.
“You lied to me,” I said evenly, calmly placing the cup down on the bedside table.
Cerilla smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. “No. I told my dear brother to tell youwhoexactly you were offering your hand in marriage in hopes it would change your mind. But the sweet boy did not want to put that pressure on you while trying to find the Soul Relics.” She reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, watching me carefully. “I am very protective and loyal to my brother, Lyra. But. I do not agree with him on this matter.” She smiled sweetly, nose twitching as if she had smelled something rotten. Did the Commander’s scent still linger on me? There was a strange undertone to her voice that almost sounded like a threat, but her smile stayed genuine, her eyes kind. Cerilla leant closer, lowering her voice as if the walls had ears. “No reincarnation of you has ever taken a Relic into themselves. Not once. Not in a thousand years.” My heartbeat sharpened, each thud rising like a wave about to break over me. “Everything is different this time,” she went on, eyes bright with something between fear and awe. “The war. The Gods. The balance of the realms. I can feel it shifting.” She paused, studying me. “This feels like the end,” she whispered. She clapped her hands with glee, “and we are the ones who claimed you.”
The words struck like a cage slamming shut.Claimedme. Like a possession. A piece on a game board that couldbe owned. I had come so far since I escaped my father’s hold, but here I was. In a castle. Trapped.
“So, how are you going to escape?” she asked lightly, as if we were discussing the tea I could no longer stomach.
“I’m not?—”
“Oh, please. I can see it on your face. Look, I might be able to help you escapeafteryou fulfill the bargain. It’s dangerous, but you might be able to imbue weapons for us without all three Soul Relics in you.” She sipped her tea as I stared at her blankly, unsure how to respond. I had reacted when I found out, yes. But I was hurt about being lied to. It felt humiliating. When my silence stretched, she shrugged one shoulder and stood, brushing out her skirts. “Think about it, it would be the best option for my brother. And for you.” She walked to the double doors of the large room and disappeared through them, opening enough for me to see guards at the door before it creaked shut.
I laid back down, the smell of caramel and fresh night air flooding my mouth as I inhaled. Of course I was inhisbed. Why would he have a mural of the Dead Sea in his bedchambers? The journal I’d earned through the blood bargain caught my eye, sitting on the bedside table. I sighed and pulled it into my lap, the spine groaning as I flipped to a random page. Monsters. The sketches were impossible to look away from. Detailed, haunting, each surrounded by lines of strengths and weaknesses like warnings left by someone. The Skanthi were the worst. Even the ink seemed jagged and frantic. If I closed my eyes, I could still see its claws sinking into Blue’s flesh.
I swallowed and turned the page quickly, refusing to linger. My breath hitched. At the top of the next page read,Rythos Draven.The illustration was nothing like the others. No twisted limbs. No fanged maw. Just a man that I couldnot make out. Someone had scribbled over the top of the drawing, obscuring his face and body. Words circled the drawing in tight, almost hesitant script, as though the scribe hadn’t known whether they were writing history or a confession. I read.
A soldier in the king’s army. A noble man. A protector. I had loved Maraveth with all of my heart. I am not a monster.
My fingers froze on the page, feeling the pain in his writing, I turned to the next page.
When Helion stole me, he didn’t just torture my body. He tried to rip apart my love for Maraveth. To tear love from bone, from soul. He wanted Maraveth to choose him, to love him. It hadn’t worked. Instead, he was left with a creature forced to kill the woman he loved. Over and over again. A creature driven by curse and tormented by love.
I remember her. Every lifetime. Every touch. Every death. But she didn’t. And each time I am forced to end her life, it destroys what little humanity I have left.
I stared at the page. It felt wrong to feel sympathy for a monster who was created to kill me. But here I was, heart aching from the story of a monster.
Thirty-Five
