Break Vexxion. Only then could he mold him into the man he wanted him to be.
Vexxion had told me this. He’d shared what he could ofwhat happened. Seeing this, experiencing this . . . I wasn’t sure how his mind had survived.
“Wake up.” The king poked Vexxion with the tip of the knife, driving it into Vexxion’s forearm deep enough to draw blood. Redness dripped, joining in with his mother’s blood congealing on the floor.
Vexxion lifted his head. The scars he carried today were branded into his chest, a network of scarlet puckers coiling up and around his neck. Marking him forever as the king’s new toy.
“Do you know where she is?” Ivenrail asked. “Your mother refused to tell me.”
“Who?” Hearing Vexxion’s little boy voice gutted me. He was so small. So defenseless.
Ivenrail sighed. “You might not know. It would be just like her not to tell you.” A quick gouge, and the king severed Vexxion’s pinky finger at the last joint. The digit fell to the floor. Such a tiny thing. When it hit the stone, it didn’t make a sound.
Neither did Vexxion. His only reaction was the deepening hatred in his eyes as he glared at the king.
Ivenrail scooped up the bit of skin-covered bone and placed it in the pocket of his fine black tunic intricately decorated with equally dark embroidery.
He wore black because it masked the blood.
Vexxion’s mother’s blood.
Vexxion’slittle boy blood.
“What’s this?” Ivenrail flicked Vexxion’s hair. “Getting old already, boy?”
A white streak had appeared in his hair.
“I guess it doesn’t matter. I know just where I’ll place the treasure you’ve donated,” Ivenrail said in a jovial voice. “Your sacrifice is duly noted, my son. I’m a collector of things like this, among others. Did you know that?”
Bile surged up my throat. Could I vomit in a vision, or would it gush from me inside our suite? I swallowed it back down. If Vexxion could face this without releasing even a whimper, and him only five fucking years old, how could I do anything else but stoically watch this unfold?
“I’ve nearly finished with you, my boy. You’ll be delighted to hear that, I’m sure. Only one more thing to take care of and guess what?” Ivenrail chuckled, a low, grating sound that scraped across my bones. “I’m going to free you. I’m afraid you won’t be allowed to leave the castle. Training awaits your every waking moment. Your Uncle Camus has agreed to work with you. I’m sure you’ll enjoy that. I think . . .” Ivenrail frowned before his face cleared. “Yes, I have a use for you. Plenty of training along with a few reminders of what happens to those who try to betray me. I suspect by the time you’re grown, I’ll own you, but there’s no harm in making sure.”
He was being punished because his mother refused to do whatever it was the king demanded.
Share her secrets? Vexxion had learned from a master, but she’d been his mother.
Ivenrail had stolen Vexxion’s boyhood. His mother’s life. Annexed his court. And “trained” him for years.
But he had not broken the man I loved.
I girded myself, waiting for the king to cast the spell thatwould keep Vexxion from wielding the blade himself. After all, I was brought here to see it happen.
I would seek vengeance for Kinart’s death.
I would make the king pay for draining my fellow Nullens.
I would remove Ivenrail’s head for what he did to the man I loved.
Ivenrail strode over to a small chest near the brazier. He lifted the wooden lid and tugged out a simple cloth bag made of dingy gray fabric, opening the top as he strode back to stand in front of Vexxion. “The Lieges craft these for us. Did you know that? It’s been so long, I’m not sure anyone remembers but me. You could say it’s their special skill.” His grim smile faded. “I’ll never trust you. Your mother made sure of that. But this will make sure you behave.”
He ripped something out of the bag and thrust it toward Vexxion.
Vines.
Vines.
Writhing vines that sunk beneath the skin on Vexxion’s neck, that bound him to one high lord alone.
