One
Shaye
The throne room is dark and so cold I can see my breath dance in front of me. Fear tickles my spine as I examine the glass fragments from the shattered windows littering the blood splattered floor and grimace at the bodies lying at odd, broken angles. Their eyes are still open, but their souls were snuffed out long before I snapped their necks.
A menacing cackle echoes, wrapping its wicked arms around me. My heart lurches as I whip around to catch sight of who the laugh belongs to but find I am alone. I swivel back and jolt at the sight of a battle-worn Bastian lounging on the Ice Throne. Armas Basilius' severed head is resting in his lap – a silent scream frozen on his face for the rest of time. Blood trickles down to the floor, puddling around his scuffed, leather boots.
Bastian's head hangs against his chest. I'm not sure if he's breathing. I take a tentative step toward him, but when his eyes flick up to find mine, fear grips my heart and squeezes, forcingme to retreat. He smiles at me, but evil brews in his face and the undeniable sense of danger chills my blood.
"You think you can escape me, Ilaria?" He grabs a fistful of Armas' hair and tosses his head at my feet. It rolls between us, but I don't dare tear my gaze from the man I once loved. "You are mine. You will never be rid of me." His nose crinkles and the angry frown lines marring his forehead deepen. "You will come to realize it sooner than you think."
"You are not the Bastian I know. Not the boy I once loved."
He chuckles darkly before he shoots across the room with unnatural speed. His fingers wrap around my throat, and he lifts me off the floor.
I struggle to breathe. I thrash against him, failing to escape his tightening grasp. In a last-ditch effort, I reach for my magic, but to my horror it's not there.
"Oh, Ilaria," he coos, fingering through my dark brown locks with his spare hand. "Sweet, naive, Ilaria. You are no match for a monster like me."
With the absence of my magic and my white hair now brown, I know he's right. I am no match for him.
Agonizing screams erupt all around me and suddenly the dark, cold throne room is lit with warm light from a roaring fireplace, heating my goosebump riddled flesh. I scan the space to see who the pained cries belong to, only to find my friends shackled against the wall. Soul Eaters carve into their skin with blades and blood accumulates beneath their bare feet. Fingers and toes are scattered underneath them, and their eyes and tongues are missing.
"What have you done?" I yell as hot tears streak down my cheeks, combating the dizziness threatening to overtake me. He doesn't loosen his hold around my neck but turns me just enough so I can see the torment Atlas, Finn, Nyx and Eris are enduring.
"The question you should be asking is what haveyoudone?" Bastian's voice scrapes the inside of my mind, a torture of its own. "Had you come with me when I asked, I wouldn't have had to do this. It's because of you that your friends are suffering."
"No!" I bellow. "Please stop. I'll do whatever you want, just stop hurting them."
"There is no hope for them, Ilaria. Death is the only mercy I can offer."
"You bastard!" I kick at him but come up short. "I hate you! I hate you!"
"Shaye," Atlas groans. There's so much blood coating his skin, I can barely look at him but force myself to.
"Atlas!" I cry.
"Shaye!" He whisper-screams as Vesper carves into his chest with her dagger. "Shaye!"
"Atlas!"
"Shaye, wake up! Shaye, wake up!"
My eyes fly open, and I lurch into a seated position in my bed, gasping for air. The second I feel a hand caress my arm, I reach for my magic and put a shield around myself. Once my vision isn't blurred, I realize the hand grabbing me doesn't belong to Bastian, it belongs to Atlas, and he's not bleeding or missing fingers or screaming my name in agony. He's whole with disheveled hair and sits shirtless on his side of our shared bed. Instantly, I lower my shield and throw myself into his arms. Without saying a word, he holds me against his chest, and I listen to the rhythmic beating of his heart.
He's alive. He's alive. He's alive.
I repeat it in my head over and over and over again until I believe it as truth.
Gently, he rakes his fingers through my hair, kissing the top of my head to soothe me.
"What happened?" he asks.
"It was horrible." My lip trembles and I flinch at the horrendous sound of my raspy voice. Pushing away from him, I grab the glass of water on my nightstand and guzzle the remnants until my thirst is quenched. I settle back against my pillows. It's still dark outside. The lights of the city of Elowen twinkle outside my bedroom window.
It's been two weeks since Bastian and his Soul Eaters attacked and yesterday Thrane celebrated his coronation as the new Frost King. I'm safe here. Atlas is safe here. Even though part of me wants to dart around Stelara and bang on each of my friends' bedroom doors to make sure they're all right, I refrain, returning my focus to a sleepy-eyed Atlas.
"I'm sorry I woke you up again." I tuck my legs against my chest and curl my arms around my knees.
