From Anastasia (The Anastasia Series Book 3)

by Jordi Burton

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  A nastasia groaned as she opened her eyes. Her head felt like someone had smashed it with a hammer; her mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. The last thing she remembered was seeing Dani in a cell. And then Joey had shot her and William with some kind of tranquilizer.

  Raising her head, she took in her surroundings. It was pitch black, and smelled damp. A chair cushioned her body, with ropes tying her down, but she seemed uninjured, despite the aching in her head.

  But then she realized Aagney was missing. Panic momentarily overwhelmed her, but she pushed through it, reaching out to take in the feelings around her. There were people she didn’t recognize, their emotions foreign to her, all laced with malice. Aagney’s signature serenity shone like a beacon among them. If he was peaceful, then he wasn’t in any danger, he wasn’t afraid. Further out, she felt fear, despair, and desperation, but they were too far for her to know to whom they belonged.

  “Good morning, Ana.”

  She jumped; she hadn’t realized anyone was in the room with her. But how was that possible? She felt the room around her again, but no emotions flooded her. It was as though she was alone. How could that be?

  A match struck a moment before a lantern flared to life. Joey stood illuminated by the firelight, his icy blue sorcerer eyes trained on her. “Sleep well?”

  “What is all this?” she asked.

  “All in due time.” He turned and picked up a small paring knife from a table beside him. Holding it to the lamp, he studied it. “I’d wager the last time I saw you was the most pain you felt. Am I right?”

  Anastasia thought back to when he’d attacked her, when he’d nailed her upside down to a post, when he’d stabbed a syringe into her back. She shivered. None of her previous injuries compared, not even when a Shadow’s claws pierced her chest. Perhaps it was because Joey had been the one hurting her, and there was an emotional component as well as physical.

  “No matter,” he said with a chuckle. “You will know worse pain. Like I did.”

  She looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

  “All those months I was gone, did you ever wonder what had become of me?” He moved towards her, holding the knife aloft. “I was being tortured, for information about you and your precious premonitions.”

  She started.

  “Oh, yes, I know all about your silly little visions, Anastasia. But they are nothing compared to the gift I’ve received.”

  “What gift?”

  He smiled, an unnerving thing that sent a chill through her. “All in due time.”

  Leaning forward, he pressed the tip of the knife to the edge of her fingernail. A hot sweat broke out across Anastasia’s skin. Reflexively, she jerked away from him, but her hands were too tightly bound; she couldn’t move.

  “Please,” she whimpered. “Why are you doing this?”

  He met her eyes; there was nothing but empty darkness in their depths. “If you make a sound, I’ll kill all your friends I have captured here, starting with the baby.”

  With that, he wedged the knife beneath her fingernail. White hot pain burned like fire up her arm. She clenched her jaw, swallowing back a scream. In one fluid motion, he brought the knife up, tearing off her fingernail. She clenched her body, writhing, clenching her jaw to keep from shrieking in agony. Tasting blood, she gasped, trying to breathe through the pain. But Joey didn’t give her a reprieve. He just worked the knife under her next fingernail and tore it off.

  Her vision flickered. With her good hand, she dug her nails into the wooden arm of the chair. Bright red blood dripped down her fingers, pooling on the stone floor beneath. Anastasia focused on the sound, but the pain overwhelmed her, driving her into the darkness beyond.

  She awoke with a start, dripping from head-to-toe. Joey held a bucket, which he apparently had just used to dump icy water over her head. She gasped, taking short, quick breaths.

  “Did I say you could pass out?” he demanded.

  Her vision flickered in and out; her head lulled to the side.

  Joey slammed his hands on the arms of the chair. “Look at me!”

  She dragged her eyes to meet his. He’d been tortured at the hands of Adrian and the Shadows for months, hidden away in the Shadows’ world. That was enough to break anyone. But there was no trace of the Joey she’d grown up with, the young man who had earnestly learned the ancient language, and blushed when he talked about Alex Woodsman. That man was gone, replaced with a monster she didn’t recognize.

  “You will face what I faced, dear Anastasia, and then I will make dear William watch as I kill you.”

  Anastasia’s breath caught. “William?”

  But Joey just shoved the knife under her third fingernail and ripped it off. Her throat was raw with her swallowed screams. Her body convulsed under the pain; she slipped in and out of unconsciousness.

  “Why?” she croaked.

  He gently caressed her face. “Because I am the rightful King of Jacqueline.”

  She spat blood onto the floor. “You’re crazy.”

  “Am I?”

  He pressed both hands against her face, gripping so tightly she thought he meant to crush her skull. But then her vision flickered as though she was falling through smoke. She slumped back against the chair as an image exploded in her mind:

  I stand in the castle gardens, my hands clasped behind my back. The moonlight filters through the runas bushes, bathing everything in pale pink light. Valdon leans casually against a pillar, his arms crossed. He looks far younger than I’ve ever seen him, still carrying himself with a youthful air.

  He straightens as someone approaches. Shock slams into me as I see my grandmother. She can’t be more than seventeen-years-old. Her hair is elaborately pulled back on the left side, as is the custom for married women, and she wears a beautiful summer gown of green and gold. As she glances behind her, I see our pendant glinting at her throat.

  Valdon reaches out as she approaches, gently pulling her to him. “You’re late.”

  Analie frowns. “We need to talk.”

  “Do we?”

  Leaning in, he presses gentle kisses to her throat. She doesn’t pull away from him, but neither does she return his affections.

  She whispers hoarsely, “I’m with child.”

  Valdon stops immediately. “Do you know—”

  “She will not be the Princess of Jacqueline, I have seen that.” She lowers her eyes. “She is your daughter.”

  “And Brock?”

  She hangs her head. “He does not know.”

  Stepping back, Valdon considers her. “I don’t have to abdicate the throne, Analie. We could legitimize her, raise her as our princess.”

  Analie makes a scoffing noise in the back of her throat. As she moves to sit on the bench beside them, I see the tattoo over her heart: Brock. She’s already married to my grandfather. And yet she’s sleeping with Valdon? Valdon?

  “She doesn’t have the bloodline,” Analie finally says. “She isn’t going to be Queen.”

  Valdon nods. Slowly, he moves to sit beside her. She holds out her hand and he takes it, lacing his fingers through hers. They complement each other reflexively, both reacting to the other’s movements. They’re like mirrors of each other. And their love for each other is plain even from where I stand, hidden amongst the flowers.

  Valdon looks over at her. “What does that mean for us?”

  “We will follow the vision I’ve seen,” she says, but it’s clear she isn’t completely convinced. “I will go away for a year. Upon her birth, I will give her to Deera.”

  “The Sterata woman?”

  Analie nods. “Our daughter will be the mother of the next Sterata. She will need to learn.”

  This doesn’t seem to please Valdon, but he doesn’t say anything. Analie squeezes his hand before she pulls away.

  “And… you will abdicate the throne, let your sister Sona become Queen. I will not take that dream from you.”

  “I am
abdicating the throne to be your advisor, to follow in my mentor’s footsteps.”

  Analie frowns. “That won’t have to change.”

  They sit together in silence. None of Analie’s words seem to surprise Valdon. I suppose he’s used to hearing of her premonitions. It also feels like they’ve had this conversation before. Had they? Did they discuss the ramifications of their actions? Surely, my grandmother would’ve seen this in her premonitions? What would become of them?

  “Will she be safe, our daughter?”

  Analie smiles. “She will grow to be strong, and lovely, and kind.”

  “Just like her mother.”

  This saddens Analie. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  After a moment of silence, Analie gets to her feet. “Brock will return home in the morning. I will leave shortly after.”

  Without another word, she strides away from him.

  “What is her name?” he calls.

  She stops but doesn’t turn. “Calla.”

  Valdon falls back onto the bench, staring after her as she hurries away. She passes me, and I can see her eyes shimmering with tears. I long to reach out to her, to comfort her, but black smoke obscures my vision. I struggle to stay where I am, to stay with this open, emotional version of my grandmother, but the smoke drags me back to my own reality.

  Anastasia awoke with a jolt, breathing raggedly. Her mind spun, struggling to make sense of what she saw. But before she could sort her thoughts, the pain of Joey’s torture sprang to the forefront. She bit back a scream, grabbing the armrest with her good hand.

  “What was that?” she breathed.

  Joey grinned. “My gift. You can see the future? I can see the past.”

  “That really happened?”

  “That’s the story of my mother.”

  The ramifications of Joey’s words slammed into Anastasia. Valdon and her grandmother had been lovers. Their daughter was Calla, the woman who married Deera’s son, the woman who gave birth to the next Sterata. Her son…was Joey?

  It couldn’t be. Joey was human. He’d lived in the human realm his entire life. How could he be Valdon’s grandson? And yet he had the wings of the Nadmilise and the eyes of a sorcerer.

  “Let me fill in a few gaps, cousin,” Joey sneered. “Analie went off to have her baby, and your stupid grandfather never knew anything about it. After she gave my mother away to Deera, she returned to her pretty little kingdom and had your mother, the Queen. Meanwhile, my mother grew up with my father. They fell in love, got married, and had me.

  “Everything was fine, but then Analie came back. She told Deera this story about my father, about what would happen to him. Together, she and Deera took me and my mother away from my father. Our loss drove him into the madness of his Shadow half, and he came after us. That night, eleven years ago, when the Shadows attacked Sehir? That was my father, exerting his power, trying to bring me and my mother home. But instead, my mother went with Analie and Deera to the alternate universe, while Valdon sent me to the human realm.”

  Anastasia shook her head. “That can’t be.”

  “But that isn’t all!” Joey cried. “My father found me. He knew I’d returned to Sehir and saw his chance. When the Shadows attacked Sehir those months ago and took your family? That was my father coming to collect me. He took me back to the Shadow universe and awakened me, showed me what real power can do.”

  “He tortured you!”

  Joey’s hand cracked against her face. “You shut up! No more of your lies, Anastasia! I am the rightful King of Jacqueline, and I’m going to take back what’s mine.”

  Kneeling, he worked his knife under her fourth fingernail. Her entire body trembled with the exertion of trying to stay quiet. She focused on little Aagney’s sense of peace, even as she slipped in and out of consciousness. Thankfully, when he ripped off her fifth fingernail, blessed darkness wrapped around her and she didn’t return.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  W illiam awoke sluggishly. With a groan, he rolled onto his side. He’d been having the nicest dream. He’d been standing in the throne room in Sehir, dressed in elaborate finery. All of his friends and family had been sitting in pews, looking up at him. Chris and Mohan had stood to his right, while Dani and Lili had stood to his left. Flower petals had been strewn down the middle of the aisle, giving off a faint scent. But just as the doors had opened to reveal his bride, he’d awakened.

  Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he looked around. He was inside a small cell, complete with a slab of a bed, a hole in the floor to relieve himself, and a small candle in a window no bigger than his hand. Getting to his feet, he rushed to the door.

  “Anastasia!” he shouted. “Anastasia!”

  But she wasn’t by his side. He couldn’t believe Joey was here, or that he’d been keeping his sister prisoner for months. Was this really the royal castle, the ancestral home of Anastasia’s family?

  Banging across the way drew William’s attention. “Let me out!”

  He’d recognize that voice anywhere. “Dani!”

  “William?”

  Peering through the window, he could see his sister’s face pressed up against the glass. He grinned. By the Gods and Angels, it was good to see her alive. He hadn’t realized just how worried he’d been about her. And she seemed relatively unharmed, save for a few scrapes on her cheeks. She still had fight left in her.

  “Are you alright?” he called.

  “Fine! You?”

  “Fine. Just trapped.”

  She laughed. “When are you ever really trapped?”

  A loud thump sounded farther down the hall. “I’m glad we’ve established you’re both fine, but I’d really like to get out of here already!”

  William frowned; he recognized that voice, too. “Zand, is that you?”

  “Aye.”

  Hayde Zand was a prisoner here, as well? Who else was trapped in these cells? And why? What did Joey want with them all? And where was Anastasia? He knew Joey had nearly killed her some months before, back in Sehir. And William didn’t doubt that he’d try again. If they weren’t free from these cells soon, he was afraid Joey could succeed.

  “Mohan!” he called. “Are you here?”

  “Yes, love,” came the soft reply.

  “Can you get us out of here?”

  “They took all my potions.”

  William swore. The doors were solid metal; he couldn’t break through it. And there was nothing he could use in this cell as a weapon. Nothing protruded from the walls or bed, and the hole in the ground was too small for him to fit through.

  Frowning, he sorted his thoughts. Master Glude had always taught him that he could turn anything into a weapon if he tried hard enough. In fact, he’d once won a training match against one of his sister apprentices with only a pair of spoons. But what did he have here? The clothes on his back, his shoes, a sheet and pillow, his wings, and a candle.

  He supposed he could try sticking strips of the cloth into the door and lighting it on fire, trying to get the metal to expand and warp, allowing him to open the door. But there were no gaps large enough.

  There was no metal he could break off and use as a lock pick on the door.

  There were no other windows, no glass he could break.

  The hinges were on the outside of the door, so he couldn’t even try and pry those free.

  They were good and properly trapped.

  And then the door to his cell opened. He squinted in the sudden brightness, hesitantly stepping forward. He froze, however, when he saw who stood in front of him, holding a key. He had jet black swirls across his skin, and obsidian wings, but William would recognize him anywhere.

  “Durse Follant.”

  Durse chuckled. “Fitting, isn’t it?”

  William glowered, until he saw his sister over Durse’s shoulder. Pushing past Durse, he pulled his sister in an embrace. A split second later, a whip cracked across his back. He cried out, stumbling backwards.

&n
bsp; “Back in line!” Durse commanded.

  Wordlessly, William joined the others. Mohan was there, along with Dani, Lili, Gerrard, and Hayde. But so was Ericcen Ros and his two brothers, two sorcerers William didn’t recognize, and Vlad and Chris.

  “Chris?” William called.

  He lifted his head. “William?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Vlad and I arrived shortly after the fighting started. We were coming to search this city for the royal family.”

  Durse cracked his whip in the air. “Silence!”

  Cloaked guards led them forward, out into the pale moonlight. Durse patted each of them down as they exited. William found it preposterous. What could they possibly have taken from their cells? But as Durse patted him down, William felt the cool steel of a blade slide into the belt of his trousers. Had Durse given him a knife?

  He waited until they were outside to covertly check. Sure enough, the dagger his father had made for him sat tucked into the top of his trousers. Why in the world would Durse have given him a knife?

  Durse flicked his gray eyes to Dani. William followed his gaze, finding a similar blade tucked into the belt of Dani’s skirt. The others around them all had blades, too. Why would Durse give them all blades? If he was a guard, working for Joey, surely he’d want to keep them prisoner. It didn’t make any sense.

  But then Durse let out a fierce battle cry and pulled out a battle axe, and William reacted instinctively. He pulled the dagger from his belt and launched himself at the nearest guard. They grappled before William gained the upper hand. Driving the Nadmilise to the ground, William hit him with the hilt of his blade. Hayde, Durse, and Chris moved swiftly, cutting down the rest of the guards. When they were gone, Dani strode toward Durse.

  Before William could stop her, she punched him square in the face. “That was for before.”

  Durse stumbled back holding his nose. “Fair enough.”

  “What is this, Follant?” William demanded. “Why’d you help us?”

  Before he could answer, a slew of guards rounded the corner, weapons raised. William ran forward, brandishing his blade.

  Vlad darted forward, so quick he was merely a blur. Reaching the nearest guard, he sunk his fangs into the man’s neck, drinking deep. As revolting as it was to see Vlad drinking someone’s blood, William was glad Vlad was on their side.