The sharp tang of iron hangs thick in the air—my body a masterpiece of cruelty and torture, painted by Vessira herself. My blood leaks onto the floor, and I know this is real.
If Morrathys won’t have me, there is no escape.
So I endure.
Endure.
Endure.
No matter what I’ve been through, the threat of death has always been persistent. If it all got too much, death would save me. But now, in this rotten, suffocating place where death would be a mercy, it doesn’t come. It doesn’t want me.
Just like Kael.
I hate that I reach for him even now. My want for him is a sickness of the mind, dragged from me by pain.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
My blood spilling against the slick stones splinters through my desperation, pulling me back to the inescapable torment of the woman who craves to break me.
“Maldrak’s offer still stands, Gutter Rat—be his Queen, rally Dravara, unite the continent under one king. Or,” she takes a swig of acrid liquor from her flask, sucking her teeth as she swallows it down, “we keep going.”
I try to lift my chin to meet her gaze, but the hessian sack still hangs heavy on my head. My eyes are almost swollen shut, so sight won’t help me, anyway.
“Why? Do you wish to stop? I thought we were just getting started,” I gurgle, and a sick laugh rasps out of me like a wet crack.
I hate that I have to fake defiance. It’s the part of me that always answers. But not now. Now, I beg for death in its absence. But I’ll never let her see her see me break. So I pretend.
She will not win.
She rounds on me, and I brace myself in anticipation. She’s about to unleash another one of her predictable moves, then?—
“Commander!” A voice booms from the top of the stairs, halting her mid-strike.
She huffs an aggrieved snort, “You’d better have a fucking good reason for interrupting me!”
“His Majesty wishes to see you.” I recognize the voice—Correk.
Vessira sheathes her blades back at her thigh, the metal rasp scraping through my mind like steel on bone, and she leans in close, “I have all the time in the world, Gutter Rat. I’ll leave you to hang here for a while. Consider my offer.”
Her footsteps retreat, and I let out a shaky, wet breath. Tears roll freely down my face, and I allow myself a moment of truth: I can’t do this. I can’t keep going. I simply cannot endure more.
I break.
A shattered, wretched cry rents the air, ripping from my throat without warning.
My mind ruptures into a storm of chaos.
Whipping, lashing, fracturing.
Memories—real and manufactured—crash through me like a tidal wave. My parents being murdered, sending my friends to the Final Gate with nothing but my bare hands, Kael cupping my cheek and rescuing me, Virellin torched, Thornewood set upon by Maldrak’s army. I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know what’s real anymore.
Are the memories mine?
Did Vessira plant them there?
