CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Pain floods the senses, tearing shrieks from throats
The lancing agony overwhelms fear
And though she has a calculating hand
She’s pushed further than she can ever bear
The wolf and prey are now one and the same
In tragedy she is the one to blame
—THE BOOK OF UNVEILING
“Where is she?” Aren’s voice boomed through the Cantor’s empty library in the glass castle, making the hairs on the back of Kyara’s neck stand up. How had she survived even one night with him? Something was truly wrong with her.
The young guard manning the door made the mistake of showing fear. Aren was like a wild animal; any weakness shown only served to rile him up even more.
“The T-true Father called the C-cantor away on an errand,” the guard stammered. “She’s to return tomorrow or the next day.”
“Tomorrow or the next day?” Aren roared, incredulous. Kyara bit back a sigh of relief. There was time yet. Time to do the impossible.
Aren’s temper had grown with each passing kilometer of the journey across the Grand Highway, reaching a fever pitch when they’d dragged Darvyn to the library. Ydaris’s absence only made it worse. Kyara knew this was partially her fault for having not answered any of his questions about her whereabouts for the past week and a half. But his suspicions about her behavior meant little; he was not the one she had to convince.
“Let’s drop him in the dungeon. I’m hungry,” she said, carefully schooling her voice to boredom. She could not look at Darvyn. Not just yet. Especially not when Aren took his frustration out on him with another blow to the head. Kyara clenched her fist so tight, her short nails broke through the skin on her palm.
“I don’t think so. I can start this interrogation myself,” Aren said.
He couldn’t be serious. “Do you even know what Ydaris wanted to question him about? I think this is above both our pay grades.”
Aren looked back at her with murder in his eyes. She shut her mouth, the frustration of not being able to strike out at him coursing through her. Her wound was as it had always been, a dull ache of pain irritated by the touch of her tunic. The rush of power from days at Serpent’s Gorge had finally ended shortly before Aren’s ambush of the Keepers, reinstating the full weight of the spell that controlled her.
Aren hauled Darvyn over to the dreaded stone table. There were no words in the Lagrimari tongue to describe her hatred for that table. The thing was made only to run red with blood.
Darvyn’s head knocked against the stone as he was pushed onto the surface. Kyara gritted her teeth to keep from screaming. His eyes never met hers. She was glad of it. If he had looked directly at her she might not have been able to keep her composure. The urge to do Aren bodily harm was so strong that her Song buzzed in her chest, clamoring for release. She clamped down on it, holding every muscle in her body taut. The destruction simmering within, longing to break free, had never been so fierce.
Aren perused the display of sharp instruments Ydaris kept nearby. He had a cruel streak a hundred paces wide. She may commit the acts of a monster, but he was worse. He enjoyed every horrible act. He was a monster.
She used all of her resolve to stand still as Aren ripped open Darvyn’s shirt, exposing his chest. The firm, sculpted muscle there was perfect and unmarred. It would not be that way for long.
The tool Aren picked up—a curved scythe about the size of her fist—made the bile rise to her throat once again. Aren laughed wickedly and then put it down.
“Since you can’t heal yourself, we can’t have too much fun. I do need you to be conscious when Ydaris returns.”
Aren ran his fingers over the metal instruments, stopping at a small, cruel scalpel. Darvyn’s face was impassive as the Flame approached, wielding the blade with flair, seeking a reaction. When he didn’t get it, the savage smile Kyara knew too well appeared. Aren poised the tip of the blade over Darvyn’s chest.
She tried to bring herself to watch but couldn’t. Instead, her vision blanked as she thought of all the men she’d killed. The fear in their eyes, the pain. Fathers and husbands, sons and friends. Some had been brutal and deserving of death while others had just been on the wrong side of the True Father’s fragile ego. Some had been suspected of being Keepers—a few likely were. Kyara had given most of them swift deaths, a gentle passing from this world to the World After.
What Aren did was messy and horrific. He loved every moment of it. Kyara planted her feet and made herself stay, even when she wanted to run and find a place to vomit or bawl her eyes out.
Her resolve lasted as long as Darvyn’s did. She began to crumble when his screams rent the air. He was strong, so strong, but still human, and Aren was sick and twisted.
Though her eyes were open, her vision had glazed over. When she blinked and took in Darvyn’s blood-soaked chest and mangled fingers, she stepped forward to Aren’s side.
It was as if she were outside herself looking down from above at the body she admired, the skin she’d longed to run her fingers across, now bruised and battered. Ribbons had been sliced into his chest and abdomen.
Aren watched him carefully, a gleam in his eyes. There was so much further Aren could take it, but Kyara could not stand any more. She grasped hold of Darvyn’s Nether, now strong and bright within him. She accelerated it, pushing it further, filling him, and bringing him past unconsciousness to the very brink of death. At the last moment, she pulled back, in shock of having nearly lost control.
His heart still beat, his lungs still expanded and contracted. He lived, barely, but his suffering was over for the moment.
Her eyes flew shut, and she stifled a gasp upon realizing what she’d done. Aren and the other Flames in the room were close enough to bear the brunt of the spell. She darted a glance toward them, expecting them to be passed out or vomiting, but none had been affected. They all stood, eyes transfixed on Darvyn’s unmoving body.
Was this because the blood spell prevented her from harming them? But it hadn’t given her so much as a twinge when she had been lost in Darvyn’s Nether. In the past, merely accessing her Song while in the presence of those she was forbidden to harm would cause pain.
Kyara’s sole focus had been on Darvyn, and she had manipulated his Nether with pinpoint accuracy. Maybe the blood spell hadn’t kicked in because Aren and the others had never been in danger from her. Had she finally controlled her Song? And could she do it again?
The scalpel clattered to the ground as Aren’s self-satisfied expression transformed into one of fear. She wished she had tried to hurt him.
Aren felt Darvyn’s neck for a pulse. His shoulders loosened once he confirmed the prisoner still lived.
“Not so strong as all that,” he said, his lips twisting in disdain. Of course he thought he’d caused Darvyn to pass out.
“Thank the Void for that,” Kyara said, her voice monotone. “I was tired of hearing him scream.” She stalked out of the library. Once she was out of view of the guards, she ran all the way to her room. Only there did the dam break and the tears fell. Darvyn lived, but she hadn’t been able to truly protect him.
Ydaris’s summons came in the morning. She must have called for Kyara as soon as she’d returned to the castle. According to the guards, Darvyn was still unconscious. Without his Song to heal him, the damage Kyara had done, on top of Aren’s sadism, had taken its toll.
She’d tried to visit his cell, using some pretense, but Ydaris had issued instructions prohibiting any visitors. At least that had kept him safe from Aren.
Kyara walked rigidly toward the library. The time had come for her to answer for her disappearance and failure to respond to Ydaris’s call with the speaking stone. Aren had cornered her repeatedly since they’d returned, and each time she had refused to answer any of his questions, stating that she would speak only to the Cantor. Now the time had come, and she still wasn’t sure what to say.
She could not lie to Ydaris—the Cantor was an Earthsinger, after all—but the truth would earn her a swift death. The World After held no fear for her. She had longed for death many times. But if she died today, what would become of Darvyn?
Standing outside the double doors, she held her breath. She could choose her words carefully, saying only true things, but all Ydaris needed to do was issue a command and the blood spell would force her lips to speak candidly. Could she resist again? What would happen if she just ran away?
“Kyara-denili!” Ydaris called. “Are you going to stand in the hall all day?”
She pushed open the doors and entered. Each step felt like she was moving toward the gallows. The deep red of the glass walls bathed the room in an ominous light. Ydaris sat at one of her long tables, each side piled high with books. Today, the woman had a pinched and harried look about her. The gown she wore was far simpler than the elaborate creations she normally favored, and the wrap holding back her hair had been hastily tied.
Kyara had never known Ydaris to be anything other than impeccably put together. She’d never seen the woman in anything less than immaculate makeup and a perfectly tailored gown. Her current appearance was alarming.
“Come here,” she said. Her hand moved quickly, scribbling out words on a sheaf of paper. She did not look up. From across the table, Kyara couldn’t read the writing. Ydaris wrote for a moment longer before placing the page in a pile and starting a new one.
“Our guest has awakened. He is being brought up now for my questioning. Would you care to enlighten me as to what happened out there? Why you didn’t respond to my call?”
Kyara swallowed and stared at Ydaris’s bent head. Only the truth. “The speaking stone. It was lost.” Brevity seemed her best option.
Ydaris’s hand did not pause its movement across the page. She dipped her fountain pen into the inkwell and began a new line.
“That’s all? You lost it? And were you searching for it for the rest of the week?”
Kyara took a deep breath. “I’ve never been given a capture mission before.” Again, true. “And you know the power of the Shadowfox. It was not easy. I had it under control before Aren arrived.”
“Under so much control that you allowed the escape of a group of Keepers just before the Shadowfox’s capture.”
“They weren’t the mission.”
For a few moments, the scratching of pen against paper was the only sound in the room. “And his current condition?”
“What about it?”
“Aren believes his ministrations were responsible, but I am not certain.”
Kyara pressed her lips together. There had been no question asked. Suddenly, Ydaris’s green gaze pinned her in place. She stacked the pages before her neatly, then pushed them to the side and clasped her hands on the table. “He certainly is attractive. I would not fault you for bedding him.”
Kyara’s breath stuttered to a stop. Her eyes blinked furiously.
“Even despite Aren’s handiwork”—Ydaris sneered at this—“it’s clear the young man is a fine specimen. And it’s about time you began using your feminine wiles. I’d expect one so dedicated as he would have taken some time to wear down. Honestly, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
With a gasp, breath returned to Kyara’s body. Ydaris looked upon her, something like pride in her eyes. Clearly she had created her own version of what had happened over the past week. Kyara certainly wasn’t going to contradict her mistress.
“He would make a far better bedmate than Aren-denili, at any rate. A little brain can trump a pound of brawn. By the way, what happened in Five with the Golden Flames has come to my attention. I need all of you focused, so I’m modifying your binding. You may retaliate against one of the soldiers in the castle for the purposes of self-defense. I don’t need infighting distracting any of you from the task at hand. The True Father is putting entirely too much pressure on me, and I can’t afford these kinds of disturbances.”
Kyara’s wound flared with the new command. Some of the tightness left her body, and she stood straighter as Ydaris’s gaze raked over her. “Have you gotten your dalliance with our prisoner out of your system?”
Her relief was short-lived. Ydaris had asked a question, and her eyebrows rose high, waiting for Kyara’s response.
Had she gotten Darvyn out of her system? Not by a long shot. But Ydaris’s indulgence would certainly not include Kyara’s true feelings. It went beyond the promise she made to Nerys, beyond finding comfort in the arms of a man. Darvyn had pierced her heart, an organ made tough and cold through training and inattention.
But what could she tell Ydaris? The lie was ready on her tongue. She was prepared to say with a dispassionate affect that Darvyn meant nothing to her. But the doors slammed open and two guards hauled in the man in question. Several other Golden Flames followed, and Ydaris stood, her attention completely taken with her prisoner. Kyara’s voice never came, nor would it, once she saw Darvyn dragged back onto that table.