An hour had passed.
Cassian stood over him, stomach shriveling at the sight. Tears filled his eyes and dripped down his cheeks at the viciousgarnet puddle seeping across the floor, collecting around his shoes.
Finnian hung limp from his chains with a knife buried in his sternum, another lodged in the side of his neck, in his left ear canal. Slowly, agonizingly bleeding out. A permission granted by Cassian. What was he thinking?
I cannot do this.
The ends of his fingertips numbed as he brought his hand up to clutch his chest. A sharp twinge prodded within.
Through his divine power, Cassian could hear the oozing of blood from arteries, filling the floor like sap, the slow thudding of Finnian’s heartbeat like a weakening whisper, the wheezing of lungs as they collected with blood.
Cassian attempted to breathe through the closing of his throat. The taste of copper coated his tongue. The sharp twinge in his chest grew worse, spearing straight through his chest cavity and coming out on the other side. He felt the pain lance between his shoulder blades.
What have I done?
He stepped back. The blood squished underneath the sole of his shoe. A shudder ran up his leg and over his spine. His stomach twisted and a sickness climbed up his esophagus.
I cannot do this?—
He pulled at his tie, his breaths shallow and broken. Spots pricked in his vision. He hunched over. His hands came down on his knees. A sob broke through his hyperventilating.
He lifted a shaky hand up to his forehead, sticky with a cold sweat.
I cannot?—
He squeezed his eyes shut.
If he remembers, it will all be over.
The torture will end.
Divine power thrummed in Cassian’s veins, pouring out like inky ribbons blotched in water. They swam around Finnian and enclosed him in an illusion.
You are not here. You are home. In the comfort of your apothecary room, scribbling notes within your grimoire, a piece of licorice in between your teeth, the soft bubbling of a potion in your cauldron. As you work, you think about who you loathe most in this world.
Cassian felt the illusion weave in the depths of Finnian’s mind, and he stood. Shoulders stiff and eyes bleary with tears, he headed for the door. If he didn’t leave now, he would give in and unchain Finnian. Beg for forgiveness. Let him go free.
Cassian went to grip the knob, but his hand traveled straight through the iron handle—as if he were in an illusion himself.
He felt the color drain from his face. Nausea burned in his gut as he reached through it again and again.
Needle-thin thread snagged around his fingers and ripped them back. The bones in his knuckles snapped like twigs.
Ruelle.
He ground his teeth, glowering through the moisture in his eyes at the gilded twine slackening around his reconstructing fingers.
She is going to trap me in here?—
Make me watch while he?—
Then he saw it: Ruelle orchestrating her razor-sharp threads to rain down all around her, ethereal and slicing through Finnian like he was made of paper. Severed and split apart, legs unattached from his body, like a soul in the Serpentine Forest after an Achlys freshly feasted on it.
He gasped for air as his whole body tremored.
Another image forced into his mind: Finnian lying on the ground, wheezing, blood soaked down his face, eyes steady on Cassian, a smile curling across his stained lips.Dying.
Panic ignited in Cassian’s chest.
