I reached up, probing the tender flesh and wincing. Black, blue, green, and yellow bruises contrasted with one bloodshot eye… I couldn’t see the other one; it was still swollen shut.Gods, I’ve seen corpses in better condition.The only thing Tivala’s healer had repaired was the wound from the srebrec bolt. You couldn’t torture a corpse.
Hopelessness overwhelmed me. The fear, the pain, the hands I could still feel clinging to my body, broke me into pieces.
I couldn’t give in now, yet I couldn’t stop it.
I grabbed the pillow from the bed, pressing it to my face so hard I couldn’t breathe, and screamed. The sound, inhuman and agonised, ripped from my throat, and when I finally ran out of breath, the tears came. I clawed at my throat, scratching the skin until blood stained my fingernails. I almost passed out when the air entered my starved lungs, and my sobs grew louder, wetting the pillow with tormented, ugly weeping.
I’d been defiant, never giving Tivala the final satisfaction, holding all broken pieces glued together by my hatred. This strength was a lie. I was broken. I’d corrupted my magic, creating a monster; I’d become a monster. The guards’ foul touch had finished what I’d started. I was no longer the woman Rey loved, and yet, I wanted him.
Not to fix me or tell me everything would be alright, but to let me be weak, scared, and for a moment, take the weight of the damn world off my shoulders. I wanted his smile, his exasperated frown, and that fucking growl that scared everybody away. I wanted him to drive away the ghosts who lingered in my mind while he looked at me with Wild Magic burning gold in his eye as he said he loved me.
I didn’t know how long I’d been crying. Someone knocked, then voices came from outside, but I couldn’t force myself to care. To do anything but hold on to my berserker king while drowning in the darkness.
I didn’t know when the people at the door left, but the next thing that caught my attention was the rattling shutters and the howling wind. As I sat up, I heard shouting. This time, it wasn’t anger but fear in their voices as the people ran around securing doors and windows against the storm.
I flinched as lightning struck, the thunder so deafening that I sat there, shocked out of my despair. Confused by the storm outside and the searing heat that radiated from the manacles, I looked around.Something isn’t right.
Winter storms happened, and the wind was legendary in this region, but thunderstorms without rain? I tore the pillow apart, then stuffed the fabric between the metal and my skin to ease the burning. Was nature raging against my pain, lashing the world with its fury?
I wished a vivamancer’s tears could affect the weather – then stopped, frowning.What if they could?I stood up and walked to the window, pushing it open. I grasped the cold steel bars, staring at the black, raging sea. Slowly, the veil of darkness that cocooned my mind faded, leaving behind manic laughter.
I was alive.
I wasn’t weak or powerless. I was hurt, wounded. It would take time, but I would heal and wear my scars with pride. I took a deep breath and placed my hands on the windowsill. ‘I wish you could see this, Rey. I brought the world to its knees, mourning my hair!’ A memory came – another window, another time. Rey came to me then, lost and angry, commanding me to stay still. Gods, I would give anything to hear his growly commands again.
‘I miss you so much. My body hurts, my soul hurts, but I did it.’ I touched my hip where folded schemata sat beneath my skin like a throbbing callus. ‘I burned your contract and stole the documents. In the grand scheme of things, it was a small price to pay for the lives it will save.’ A sob slipped out, but I straightened, my will firming
It helped to imagine Rey was here, listening to my thoughts. I had a reason to go on. I would become stronger, forged in the fires of despair. Jagon, Mlot, Tivala – they had forged the weapon that would destroy them all.
‘I am Roksana Regnav, The Deadly Nightshade, and I have too many people to kill to stay broken!’ I said, striding from the window to the door. I unlocked it, catching a maid crouched with her eye to the keyhole. The two men guarding my door quickly peeked into the room, then relaxed.
‘I’m ready for my bath,’ I said, moving back to the window, leaving the door ajar. The woman called for assistance, and the room filled with people scurrying about their business. The room filled with steam as they dragged in a bathtub, filling it with hot water that smelled faintly of patchouli and lavender.
‘My lady, all is ready; everyone else has left.’ I turned to see the servant from before – a young girl with dark skin and jet-black hair, radiant in her southern beauty.
‘What is your name?’ I asked, and to my surprise, she curtsied.
‘Amala, my lady. Master Jagon told me to serve you. He almost beat me black and blue when he heard you crying. Please don’t cause more trouble.’ Her last sentence made me laugh.
‘That old bastard. Did he also threaten to kill you if I ran away or was unhappy with your service?’ She lowered her gaze, but the reddening of her cheeks was enough of an answer. That was the only conversation I could muster. Amala must have sensed it because she wordlessly moved to my side, helping me out of the dirty, blood-stained clothes, gasping when she saw the damage to my body.
‘My Lady Makosh, save us. Who would do such things to a woman?’
Her exclamation was a poignant one, but I was too busy wincing from the hot water to answer straight away. Only when I settled did I look at her. ‘Tivala, Tangra. There are many who enjoy causing pain, who need to break others to feel powerful.’ The bath was bliss for my battered muscles and aching bruises. The fragrant, flowery scent helped me put aside thoughts of whohad ordered it and why, and I savoured the fading pain as my mind wandered.
‘Amala, what is this town called?’ I asked when she placed her fingers in the remains of my hair, lathering the shampoo in slow, gentle movements.
‘Gerrans, my lady. We’re in Wrecker’s Cove, that’s why the wind is so strong.’ She combed my hair, easing the strands stuck together by dried blood.
Wrecker’s Cove, that’s one of the Mules’ smuggling ports, I thought, realising I knew this place from Tymon’s maps. The good news was that I knew the way home. The bad news was that it led through the deadliest part of the swamp.
‘May I tidy your hair, my lady?’ Amala asked, and I waved my hand dismissively.
‘Do as you like; it can’t get any worse.’
I felt her move behind me, then the quietschnickof the scissors, carefully cutting and combing my hair while I fought my tensing muscles. I couldn’t use magic with the manacles on, but they could be easily removed by any willing blacksmith if I had to escape wearing them.
My knowledge remained intact, and I’d already spotted a few useful herbs floating in my bath. If I was smart about it, Amala would deliver the rest, all harmless, inconspicuous ingredients, completely innocent until blended together.
