Pain that filled every crevice of my body. My toes in my boots, the lines of the Talisman inked across my chest, my head. Oh, Ancestors, fucking Ancestors. My head ached.
My heart beat and it sent pain shooting through my veins. I tried to drag in a breath, but the small act of opening my lips was impossible. Every twitch of muscle brought pain sharper than anything I’d experienced in my immortal life.
I had endured torture before, but it had never felt like this. It went beyond physical. As if the core inside of me, my very soul, was being shredded. My insides were tearing themselves apart, searching for something.
Something was missing.
I tried to take stock. Tried to hone in with the warrior’s focus that had saved me from terrible, life-ending situations again and again. But I couldn’t order my mind, not with this pain.
I could not fight it.
Not without… whatever it was that was missing…
I could not fight.
And the pain swallowed me whole.
14
VEYKA
We were a mile past the last sign of tracks before Lyrena caught the scent on the wind. The same one I’d stumbled across while hunting for Gorlois’ soldiers. Percival was clever, indeed, dragging his feet through the thick mud, only to change direction and head west instead. Had it been anyone else, I might have applauded the attention to detail in a moment of crisis. He and his sister had run while the battle at the lakeside still raged.
But he was arrogant as well as clever. And after more than a fortnight of relative safety, he’d let his guard down and hadn’t bothered to be clever anymore. Which was how we walked right into his camp.
It was so simple it did not even require a plan. Lyrena, Cyara, and I exchanged glances, pulled our weapons, and encircled the meager camp.
I left Percival’s long-lost sister, Diana, to my companions. She wasn’t a warrior. Cyara could likely have subdued her on her own. But Percival was mine.
He managed to get a dagger out and up. The same blasted dagger I’d pressed into his hand in thanks for saving my lifewhen we battled the succubus. The one he had slid into Lyrena’s back the instant it benefited him.
Diana was whimpering in the background. Not much fight in her.
Percival’s dark eyes darted around the campsite, trying to take stock, to weigh his options. He had none. His deep ochre skin paled at the realization. I smiled.
“You really thought it would be that easy, did you?” I crooned, pausing a few yards away. Propping a hand on my hip, chuckling mirthlessly. “No matter who triumphed in that battle, you were always going to be hunted down like the vermin you are.”
Percival’s chin notched upward. “Lord Gorlois promised—”
“Gorlois is dead. If you were stupid enough to trust him, then you deserve the consequences.” I took a casual step in his direction, then another.
I made a show of examining my knife, the twin to the one he held. Percival gripped his hard enough that the red-brown of his knuckles nearly glowed. Mine—casual, loose. Deadly.
There was a slight crunch behind me. Diana hadn’t stop whimpering from the moment we had entered the clearing, so I doubted the intentional, quiet sound came from her. Lyrena or Cyara, then. Trying to remind me of something?
I summoned a slow, malicious smile as I turned to look at Percival’s sister. Her lilac robes, a variation of what the other priestesses on Avalon wore, were filthy. The hem was caught on the log she’d been sitting on when Lyrena dragged her backward. It would not be the first rip in the ragged garment. Her brown cloak—which I recognized from Percival’s shoulders in the weeks before we arrived at Avalon—was in only slightly better condition.
But none of it was as impactful as the tears rolling down her cheeks or the way her soft chin trembled against Lyrena’ssmall knife. My golden knight had not even bothered to draw her mighty sword.
I rolled my eyes, rolled my shoulders, and looked back to Percival. “She doesn’t seem worth the effort.”
His eyes burned with anger. He wanted to stab that knife into my gut, to twist it again and again. The feeling was entirely mutual.
But I could not allow myself to be governed by rage. Not anymore.
So, each move was carefully calculated.
Springing toward Percival. Knocking my knife out of his hand and catching it with my empty one. Burying my knee between his legs and then smashing it into his face as he doubled over. It took hardly any effort to push him down to his knees; especially with a knife pressed to his throat.
