CHAPTER 2
SERIS
They’d drugged me.
Not enough to knock me unconscious, they needed me awake for the casting, but enough to make my limbs feel heavy and strange, like they belonged to someone else. The potion tasted of bitter herbs and something metallic that coated my tongue, making everything taste like blood. My vision wavered at the edges, but my mind stayed sharp. Cruelly, perfectly sharp.
I could feel everything.
The ritual chamber squatted in the bowels of the keep like a tumor, all black stone and carved runes that hurt to look at directly. Ancient symbols crawled across every surface, pulsing with a sickly green light that made my teeth ache. The air itself felt wrong here, thick and oily, as if too much dark magic had soaked into the stone over the centuries.
They stripped me down to a thin shift that barely covered my thighs, because it was easier to draw the targeting sigils on my skin, the kind that would scar. The ink burned like acid, each symbol a fresh violation that made my magic writhe and snap beneath my flesh. Royal mages circled me like vultures, their faces hidden behind black masks, their voices a constant drone of incantations.
“The subject is prepared, Your Majesty,” announced Master Thaddeus, the king’s chief torturer. He’d traded his usual bloodstained apron for elaborate ceremonial robes, but I could still smell death on him, old blood and newer screams. “The targeting crystals are aligned with the suspected site of the rebel encampment. Distance: forty-three leagues northeast.”
Forty-three leagues. Far enough to spare them the sounds of death from these cowards and their heinous crimes.
King Aeron stood on a raised platform, safely behind wards that would protect him from any magical backlash. Coward. “And the amplification matrix?”
“Stable, Your Majesty. The focusing rings will channel her power directly through the ley lines. The destruction should be… comprehensive.”
My stomach clenched. Comprehensive. Such a clean word for burning families alive.
They’d chained me to a metal framework that held me upright but immobile, my arms spread wide like a scarecrow. Or a crucifixion. On the other side of the chamber were the innocent Fae children, blindfolded, gagged, and bound. They writhed as the ropes bit into their skin. My magic was fighting the drugs, the suppression runes, the targeting sigils, and everything that tried to force it into a shape it was never meant to take.
“Begin the invocation,” the king commanded.
The mages raised their hands, and power crackled through the air like lightning. But this wasn’t the wild, living magic of my bloodline. This was something colder, more deliberate. Calculated. They were going to use me as a conduit, forcing my magic through their framework, shaping it into a weapon of precision rather than passion.
It felt like a violation.
“No,” I whispered through the muzzle, the word muffled but audible. “No, I won’t.”
Pain exploded through my skull as one of the suppression runes flared to life. The world went white for a moment, and I tasted blood. When my vision cleared, Master Thaddeus was standing directly in front of me.
“You will,” he said simply. “Because the alternative is watching these mutts die piece by piece while you listen. We’re very good at making death last, child. Very creative.”
The targeting crystals began to glow, a network of faceted stones floating in the air around me like a constellation of malice. Each one showed me glimpses of what they wanted me to destroy, a hidden valley where firelight flickered in cave mouths, where Fae who had never done anything worse than refuse to bow to a tyrant tried to build something better.
I could see them. Mothers holding babies. Children playing with wooden toys. Old men sharing stories around dying fires. They had no idea death was coming. No way to prepare or protect themselves or run.
Because of me.
“Channel your power into the crystals,” Thaddeus commanded. “Let it flow through the targeting matrix. Feed the flames that will cleanse the kingdom of your filthy kind.”
My magic coiled beneath my skin like a living thing, responding to my terror and rage. But something was wrong. Instead of the usual wild surge I expected, the power felt… different. Older. Deeper. Like I was tapping into something that had been sleeping for centuries.
The first crystal pulsed, and I saw a flash of the rebel camp, a woman singing a lullaby to her baby. The melody was one my mother used to hum, back when the world was simpler and I thought monsters only existed in stories.
"No." The word came out stronger this time, cutting through the muzzle's restraint. "I won't kill them."
"You will," the king snarled from his safe platform as he pointed at the nearest child. "Or that boy?— "
The magic erupted.
Not in the controlled stream they wanted, not channeled through their crystals and frameworks and careful calculations. It exploded outward like a dam bursting, raw, wild and furious. The targeting crystals shattered in sprays of light and molten glass. The metal framework holding me began to smoke and warp.
Several mages screamed as the backlash hit them, their masks cracking, their careful robes catching fire. One fell to his knees, clutching his head as blood poured from his eyes. Another simply collapsed, his body convulsing as too much power coursed through him.
