“It’s not good, love,” he admits. “Not just the wound… the brand itself.”
I haven’t wanted to know. Haven’t wanted to acknowledge the brand I now wear—it may as well be a fucking collar. I plead with myself to resist the temptation.Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask.
“What is it?”Fuck.
Correk doesn’t speak. He weighs his words, measures them with the sort of care that only comes with an unwanted truth.
“It’s the Thorne family crest, love,” he admits solemnly.
The world tilts.
Sound drains from the world.
My pulse fractures.
Of course it is.
Kael Thorne has already branded my heart, ruined me so thoroughly that there’s no going back, and now I have to wear his family crest on my skin? But he’s already under my skin, burrowed into the marrow of my bones, etched into my soul.
This is a sick joke fit for Lukis, God of Luck & Trickery.
Tears run in rivulets down my face unbidden. My stomach twists, roiling and lurching, and this time, not from the infection. I spin to my side, retching and heaving.
To wear Maldrak’s last name on my skin is degrading. To wear Kael’s is torment.
Correk takes the opportunity to smear balm over my infected wound, and through my tears and torment, I hiss at the sting. “Fuck,” I grit out.
“I’m sorry, love. I’m sorry,” Correk says with a tenderness I didn’t know I needed.
The heavy door at the top of the dungeon stairs booms open, “Correk!” Vessira’s voice belts through the dungeons.
The air shifts.
Hope’s always been a thief’s trick—there one moment, vanished the next.
“Yes, Commander,” Correk replies compliantly, swiftly tucking the balm and vial into his pockets. “I’m ensuring the Lightborne is still alive.”
Her heavy footfall begins down the stairs, and Correk leans in close, dropping his voice into a hushed whisper, “You know, Princess—lillath chains only nullify Starborn magic, and if my intel is correct, you have more than that running through your veins. Just a thought.”
Holy fucking Stars.
He winks at me, scrambling up, standing tall, and bowing his head in deference before Vessira reaches the bottom step.
My mind reels with Correk’s words.
My magic from the gods. If I can use it….
“A Dravari whore with the royal crest of The Wastes’ King branded on her—now, there’s a sight I relish,” Vessira snarls.
I pull my mask in place, shoving my hurt under layers of defiance and bravado. “It’ll be the last thing you see in this world, Vessira. A reminder that I’ll be the last one standing.”
She strides toward me with a promise of violence, her eyes glowing like I’m a code she wants to crack. “You know, Lightborne, I’m more than a commander—I’m the most powerful Venomshade in Aevryn.” She unsheathes the dagger strapped to her thigh, the silver tip glinting in the faint light of the lanterns. Her mouth tips up into a sadistic smirk. “I infused this with a very special kind of alchemy. The kind that allows me to conjure images and memories that forge so seamlessly with reality that they distort your perception of the truth,” she croons, inspecting the sharp edge of her blade. She’s toying with me—a cat playing with its food. “I’ll feed you the exact truth I want you to believe with every slice of my blade, Gutter Rat.”
This is what Venomshade do—they blend alchemy and weaponry in a brutal dance of torture, both psychological and physical.
If I wasn’t already drifting between reality and unconsciousness, fear would seize me. But it doesn’t—audacity does. “There’s nothing you could do to me that’s worse thanthisreality, Vessira. Disappearing into an illusion sounds like a welcome mercy,” I spit.
She barks a laugh, “Correk, leave us. I love a challenge. Let’s see if I can make this reality seem like a mercy from the visions I’ll conjure.”
