Drip…drip…drip.
She wouldn’t survive much more, but she vowed she’d die before she told Uther anything, and she would see it through. There wasn’t much she could give to her friends (was Emmeric a friend? was Altair?), but she would save them from the wrath of a monster. At a recent session, Uther was present as a silent observer. Azazel had given her something—some drug—Iyana wasn’t conscious enough to determine what the contents were. Bitter liquid coated her throat as Azazel had pinched her nose closed, forcing her to swallow. She supposed the desired results would be to loosen her lips, in which it was successful, but not in the way theywere hoping. Instead, Azazel’s face elongated, whiskers sprouting from around a twitching nose. Beady eyes became beadier still, turning red, and yellowed teeth sharpened into razors. White fur grew out of his skin until he had fully transformed into a human sized rat. The rat-man had saidI don’t think it’s working sire, and she glanced over to the emperor leaning casually against the wall.
His already imposing figure grew and grew until he was almost touching the ceiling; broad arms with hands large enough to crush her head like an egg. Horns sprouted from his white hair, spiraling higher until they scraped the top of the room, screeching against the roof every time he moved. Iyana felt the noise in her teeth; her bones. His eyes turned from their normal icy-blue to pure white, no pupil to be seen. Even the clasp of his cape, the one she’d noticed her first day, had grown in size. The edges seemed to pulse, and shadows snaked out from the golden heirloom, searching, searching. The anatomical heart at the center came alive, beating. With eachlub dub, lub dub,the shadows lengthened. They were hungry, out of place. They didn’t belong there. Iyana watched them sniff her out, moving closer, closer. She thrashed at the table, manacles gouging into her wrists and ankles, not feeling any of the pain. Yet the blood sent the shadows into a frenzy, and they speared into her chest. Her lips finally loosened, and she screamed. Screamed. Screamed. Until her lungs ran out of oxygen, and she slept.
Iyana spent the next couple of days (hours? weeks?) in a haze. Her parents were there, she was alone, Emmeric was there, Altair was there, she was alone.
Drip…drip…drip.
Azazel continued their sessions. Mercifully, Uther did not return, but that was when Azazel became more frantic. Frenetic. At one point, he’d held her underwater in the ice-cold tub, the same one she’d started in. How long ago? A lifetime. The freezing temperatures squeezed at her lungs; she wanted to breathe, it would be so simple. Open her mouth, breathe the water in, float gently down the river into Altea’s welcoming arms. So easy to let death in. How fragile humans were. Her body’s survival instinct would insist on holding her breath as long as possible. Three times Iyana had decided to drown herself, escape, be free, jump off the cliff with a smile on her face and peace in her heart, but Azazel always yanked her back from the precipice. Large, gulping breaths of air, because her body demanded it, and back under she’d go. He stopped once he realized she’d rather drown, sending herback to the cell, soaking wet. She had heard of hypothermia, studied it, but it didn’t happen in the heat of the desert. She remembered it was bad when the shivering stopped. When had the shivering stopped? Was it because she was dying, or was her magic working on its own to keep her alive? Gods, Iyana hoped she was dying. Since Azazel, she hadn’t been able to reach her magic. That little woman made of fire was nowhere to be found. It was rather lonely.
Astalle.She sighed, sinking into the comfortable hallucination of Altair. The loneliness wasn’t so bad when she thought about him. Daydreamed what her life could have been if she weren’t destined to rot in this cell.
“Astalle.”
Wait.
Iyana rolled over carefully, slowly, her entire body simultaneously numb and on fire. Hair was plastered to her face, and it took some effort to clear her vision. Altair stood outside her jail cell, resplendent, a soft glow surrounding him like a halo. Looking down on her, his face twisted in pain, anger, and pity, his golden eyes glowing brightly. Her dreams weren’t usually like this—he didn’t appear in her cell; they only flew away somewhere. Together. But, then again, Emmeric had been outside her cell, and she was unsure if he was real or imagined.
Nothing seemed real anymore. Only the pain. Only the cold.
Altair placed his hand on the lock to her cell. The metal heated, turning from red to orange to white. Iyana felt the warmth. The lock popped free, clattering to the floor, and then Altair was there next to her. Brushing her hair back from her brow and behind her ear. Gently, so gently. Like she was a newborn rabbit, needing to be cared for with the lightest touch possible.
“Oh, my star…” he said, softly. “I’m so sorry.” He slid his arms underneath her neck and knees, lifting her slowly, cradling her against his warm chest. A whimper escaped her. Altair’s brow furrowed, lips pressed into a hard line, eyes kindling with anger. Little sparks of gold separated from his surrounding halo. She followed them with her gaze. Little fireflies.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” she rasped, her voice hoarse from screaming and disuse. Altair chuckled, the lines on his face easing, the golden sparks brushing against her body, suffusing her with warmth. She sighed.
“Iyana,” Altair choked out, his eyes now glowing stars, “tell me who did this to you.”
“Why?”
“So I can dismember him. Slowly.”
This was so unlike any of her previous dreams with Altair. He’d never commented on her wounds before. Come to think of it, she’d never been wounded or in pain during her dreams. “Is this real?”
“Yes, my love. This is real.” He placed a feather-light kiss on Iyana’s brow, trembling lips lingering against her skin. She stroked his cheek with her thumb. Despite the pain it caused, she needed to touch him, calm him. Reassure him she was alive. Not whole, but alive. Altair closed his eyes, letting out a deep exhale. When he opened them again, they had returned to their normal molten-gold coloring.
“Altair!” came a shout from down the hall. “Hurry your ass up!” It sounded like Emmeric, but that couldn’t be right…he was working with them, torturing her. It had to be a trick. But she was still wrapped in his lemon-scented cloak, so perhaps she’d wrongly judged Emmeric this entire time. The noise of the dungeon suddenly made itself apparent to her, and she wondered how she hadn’t noticed it before. The clamoring; the banging on the bars. People had seen what Altair had done and were asking for aid.
“Altair,” she said, “we need to help them.”
He shook his head. “We don’t have time. And I don’t have enough magic to open every cell.”
“We need to try,” Iyana insisted.
“We can help them by getting you out of here. We’ll come back for them, my star, I promise.” Iyana had no option but to acquiesce, even though she knew it for the empty promise it was. What would she do about it, anyway? She was a broken woman without access to her magic.
“Altair!” Emmeric shouted again.
Altair finally moved out of the cell, his strides long and confident, Iyana safely ensconced in his arms. The first cell they passed, a young woman around Iyana’s age reached her arm towards them, her face pressed against the bars. She was also naked, emaciated, skin almost translucent from lack of sunlight.
The woman made eye contact with Iyana. “Please,” she begged. But Altair continued, not breaking stride, not even glancing at the young woman who could so easily be Iyana in any other situation. Iyana burrowed into Altair to avoid seeing anyone else they were unable to help. But she couldn’t block out the cries, the pleading.
Then they were out, the heavy metal door clanging shut behind them, the sound making Iyana wince. It was never a good sign when that door opened and closed, and usually meant pain was on its way. Instead, the guards were unconscious. Emmeric was standing there, hand on the sword on his hip, his other sword strapped to his back. Dressed in black instead of Holygazer green. He looked fierce, determined. He gave her a cursory glance, eyes flashing, then turned on his heel to walk down the hall.
“If you see the man responsible for your pain,” Altair said, “you point him out to me.”
Emmeric said over his shoulder, “The deal was whoever saw him first gets to kill him.”
