I release a small amount of my Wield into my palm, the wisps of smoke swirling around.
I’d always wondered why the fates cursed me with such power. I searched every text, book, and scroll for some semblance of understanding. For any record of another person suffering from the same magic.
Nothing.
There was not a single other person from Vellar – or any other kingdom – recorded to have Wielded poison. It was like my magic was the realm’s personal “fuck you” to my father. Or at least that’s how he always took it.
He would be so proud of me now. Proud of the monster he carved me out to be.
His handiwork at its finest. Well, his and the priest’s.
The cleansings worked well enough, I suppose, in some regard. Instead of control, however, I learned only repression. As I aged, my Wield grew stronger, and it became harder to reject it without risking my life.
She’s the same. Which means, Ezra’s right on one thing, she’s too powerful. But, if he’s truly using those tonics on her to keep that magic from destroying him… then he’s risking her. The Wield will become too much, I should know, and it will be the cause for Eveera’s death.
He was selfish in taking her. Selfish in keeping her hidden.And I can’t even fucking blame him for his “why” in doing it.
The bastard managed to do the one thing I’d hoped to – he took her away from all ofthis.The war, the bloodshed, the knife meant for our heads.
But if I know Eveera… she won’t accept this as her fate for long. She won’t be so easily contained.
Eveera
“Oh! OhGODS! Yes, right there… rightfuck…right there.”
“Would you for all bleeding hells sake shut up?!” Ezra shouts. “You’re being ridiculous.”
My head hits the flat pillow, a fit of laughter rumbling through me. “Ha – well, I just thought since you were soooo comfortable taking meetings and spending the night in the brothel that I thought I’d bring the show back here. For an encore.”
“Someone is going to hear you.”
A frown settles onto my face at his words, “oh? And we couldn’t have that. I forgot I’m to be seen not heard – er whoops – I’m not to be either of those things actually.”
He shoots me a withering stare as he fiddles with two liquid vials. From my angle, it looks like he is mixing them.
Fantastic, can’t wait to feel like a rotting vegetable after takingthat.
It’s probably my punishment. The tonic.One you don’t have to accept, my conscience snaps.
Days following our time at the brothel, I’d made a variety of moans, grunts, and overall pleasurable noises. Ezra has hated every minute of it. Which that hatred has only encouraged me. I figured if he was going to be erratic and paranoid, then I would have my fun – mind games have always been a strong suit of mine, even without Wielding.
Turning sharply, the liquid sloshes over his hand, and the glint in his eyes grows feral.
Your pride isn’t worth your life. You’re not meant to be a martyr – or a prisoner.The thought crosses my mind, and in that brief moment, I decide to do what only days ago I said wasn’t enough. Sliding out from underneath the covers, my palm wraps around a metal pipe I’d been hiding. I’d broken it off from underneath the sink one of the nights he’d gone on a rampage, leaving me behind, and stowed it away.
The fact that he hadn’t noticed was mildly concerning on a hygiene level, but I don’t have much time to dwell on that. The minute Ezra knocks his knees with mine, I swing my arm up, aiming the metal pole straight for the side of his head.
He dodges the hit, but at the cost of half the mysterious tonic’s contents pouring out onto the floor.
Well, even if this doesn’t work, at least the damned drink is wasted.I tell myself.
Ezra curses under his breath as he grabs my chin, trying to force the remaining drink down my throat. I thrash my head to the side and swing again, and this time the rod lands harshly against the back of his neck.
His head dips forward, the bottle clattering to the floor. “Bitch.” He hisses.
“How sweet.” I snap, using his vulnerable position to land a third blow against his temple.
“FUCK!”
