Drask flew over and landed on my shoulder.
I crooked my head to the side to see what he was holding in his beak.
A tiny, bleached-white finger bone.
53
TEMPEST
“Ineed to leave,” I croaked. “For . . . For a moment.”
“Yes, do take that bird back to your suite and make sure it remains there.” Brenna took a sip of her tea. At least she’d stopped crying—for now. “Contain it somehow. I don’t want it flying about during the . . .” She swallowed hard. “The wedding.”
“I’ll be back soon,” I said, flitting to my suite.
Drask held the third pixie gift. Triisa must’ve given it to him, knowing he’d bring it to me.
I didn’t want to see whatever vision this bone would reveal, but she said I must. Settling on one of the sofas in the living area, I tucked my feet beneath me.
Drask hopped off my shoulder, landing on the nearby table. He looked up at me, cocking his head, before dropping the bone onto the smooth surface. With a caw, he flew to his perch. He stared out the window while Igrimaced at the bone.
I dragged a folded flooferdar blanket off the back of the sofa and wrapped it around my shoulders. Chills shook my frame, and my teeth rattled in my head.
Time crept along, and I still couldn’t make myself touch that tiny, wretched bone. Why did I fear this one so much? I hadn’t chosen to dive into the visions the others held, but fear hadn’t tracked through me on dagger legs then, not like it did now.
This one would be more personal. I knew it. Did I truly want to see?
“Fuck it,” I hissed.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I reached forward and snatched up the tiny bit of bone.
It sucked me in like the others . . .
I didn’t find myself inside anyone else, but I recognized the location.
This was the stone dungeon where Vexxion’s mother was tortured, where he was forced to watch as she cried out and took her final breath. Where . . . I sensed I was about to see the conclusion of the macabre scene.
I knew in my heart that what I viewed here would changeeverything.
His mother hung from the wall like Vexxion had not long ago. All color had left her face, and her exposed, tortured skin told me she had been dead for some time. Only her lovely, long red hair remained as a reminder of the beautiful woman she’d once been. The mangled remains of her body clung to the wet stone wall as if the king had finished with her and tossed aside the knife.
As if he’d forgotten all about her before the blade clattered on the floor.
Like when Ivenrail brought Vexxion to the dungeon to teach him a lesson, he hung from manacles fixed to the wall opposite his mother, his gaze staring at the floor blankly. He’d watched as he was made to do, but now that her body had finally found some sort of peace, he was allowed to look away.
Just a boy,I hissed.
Just a boy.The words ricocheted around in my mind.
His slender frame appeared too fragile and broken, and he was suspended high enough his feet couldn’t touch the ground. He wore only a pair of pants. Even his feet were bare. Such a frail chest; it barely moved with his breaths.
I wanted to free him. Hold him. Tell him things would get better.
But would they? That might be a lie.
Ivenrail strode into the cell, stopping in front of Vexxion, holding a knife in his hand. He kept slashing it back and forth, passing it from one hand to the other, each pass making yet another cut. On my right, a brazier smoldered, the metal platter on the top shimmering with red coals. Tongs hung from the side, ready to be used to lift a burning ember for the ongoing torture.
He’d already killed Vexxion’s mother. What else did he need to do?
