Nothing.
He waited… they waited, for a sign—for tiredness to come, or even just blacking out. How was one supposed to feel when dying? The room and atmosphere between them remained as it was a minute ago, with the same cobwebbed scent and the dimness of the evening.
“I suppose a day was too short after all,” Constance said, part relieved, part stressed. “I’ll need to put more research into this.” She pursed her lips. “I’m almost certain that there’s something blocking me.”
He was about to embrace and comfort her when yelling and a huge commotion started outside. His dragon stirred inside, demanding their mate be protected.
Greta swung the door open. “She’s here! Goddess damn the both of you. What are you doing skulking around in this dark place? Run!”
“Who’s here?” Constance asked.
“The Dragon Mother, you dirty peach. Get your knickers out of this—”
Greta’s body was flung into and across the room.
Constance jolted, wanting to sprint to the old woman, but Rayse held her back. She couldn’t blindly rush into danger like that. She’d get herself killed.
“I’m all right,” Greta said, picking herself off the ground. “I have more balls than all of the warriors here combined. Little good they did protecting us.” Greta adjusted her scarves and made sure her glasses sat on her nose correctly.
“The warriors?” Rayse asked. What had happened to them? He’d only spent a week or two training them, but he’d known some of the men personally, and cared for their well-being.
Greta dusted the fabric of her dress. “Some of them tried to fight the goddess, bless them. The rest of them got rounded up like a bunch of quivering numb-nuts.”
Constance stiffened beneath Rayse’s grip. He looked at her, then redirected his gaze to where she was staring. Her mouth was agape. The Dragon Mother entered her chambers, as proud and radiant as ever, but also as chilling as the icy winds of the north.
“Thought you’d try and escape through death, I suppose?” the Mother said. “Tough luck, little birds. You’ve tried that before. Don’t you remember failing miserably every time? I almost lost once. That wasn’t pleasant. Luckily, I don’t get fooled twice.”
Constance reached for her beads. She muttered a spell and hurtled of death-imbued smoke at Aesryn.
The Mother waved, and the pillar of fog vanished. “Like I said. The same trick doesn’t work on me more than once.”
Constance began another spell. Rayse called to his dragon, preparing to shift, but the Mother had done something to cage his dragon. It was locked up in in the chains of his mind, whimpering as whatever the goddess was doing kept it subdued.
Aesryn spread her fingertips and reached out. Tendrils, reminding Rayse of the legs of a spider, wove from her hand and toward he and Constance. He dodged left, but the spell readjusted in a split second and held him down. The magic tore him away from Constance, and even forced him to silence himself as he tried to cry out for his mate.
“I really hate seeing the two of you together,” Aesryn said. “That’s the price I have to pay to live. Pity.”
Constance glared at the Dragon Mother. He’d never seen his mate this filled with disgust and anger.
He struggled against the tendrils. It couldn’t end like this. He’d been ready for death. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a better outcome than being captured by the Mother.
This was it.
They were going to be harvested.
He wanted to beg and cry for mercy. But he couldn’t, not with the Dragon Mother’s magic suppressing him. Even if he could, that would be futile. The only purpose that would serve would be to entertain the bitch. He searched himself for reasons to find hope. That was, perhaps, too challenging. The situation felt too bleak. In face of such a force, they could only die. Death was their last opportunity to rebel, and even that had been taken from them.
The Dragon Mother gestured for Constance’s soul beads.
“You won’t need those anymore,” Aesryn said, slipping the souls into her pocket. “And you must think that our games have finally ended.” She kissed Constance on the cheek. The action was almost loving, in a bone-chilling fashion. “It’s not, my dear sister. I’ll have to watch you suffer more. See, time is on our side. I only get to meet you once every thousand years, for a short time span. Then I’ll have to wait forever to see you again. Why waste our precious time together?” She craned her neck toward Rayse. “Isn’t that right, dear Edrienne?”
“No,” Constance said. “No, please.”
He didn’t comprehend why his mate suddenly showed so much fear. Before now, she had been wary of the Dragon Mother, but still too stubborn to let her emotions be apparent.
The Dragon Mother stalked toward him and forced her fingers between his, intertwining them. “Do you love me, Edrienne?”
He reeled with revulsion but couldn’t pry his touch away because of the tendrils holding him down. Her hand felt like a wriggling lizard in his. “Go fuck yourself,” he spat.
A stinging sparked in his side.
“Let’s try again.” She placed her mouth on his. He tried to pull his head back, but her magic kept him locked in position.
And then all he could taste was sweetness.
Aesryn tasted like a meadow of strawberries and lilac flowers. She was his everything in that instant.
She drew away, leaving him hungry. His dragon freed itself from its cage. Lust surged through him. He felt himself straining to have more of Aesryn. The tendrils fell from his arms, releasing him.
“Do you love me?” Aesryn asked, beaming. She was the sun to him.
“Yes.” He captured her in an embrace, not wanting to live a second without her. “With all my heart.”
“That’s a good boy.” She turned toward Constance and hooked an arm around him. Pride that he could be the goddess’s favorite surged through him.
Constance was crying. His dragon was confused at that. It loved and wanted her, too. He almost parted himself from the Dragon Mother to go to his mate. He ought to stop her sobbing and make her happy again.
But then he had to choose what was important, and the Dragon Mother encapsulated his world.
“Please…” Constance whimpered. She clearly felt terrible, and that made his heart ache, too.
“Oh, sister,” Aesryn said. “This is just a fraction of what I felt years ago. You don’t even begin to understand. Don’t you think you deserve this?”
“I understand,” Constance said. “I’m sorry. I apologize for what I did. But please… let him go.”
“It’s too late.” Aesryn flicked her wrist, and Constance fell unconscious. Rayse’s first instinct was to rush to her, but the fog was compelling him to stay with the woman he truly loved.
“Now, Edrienne.” The Dragon Mother turned her attention to him. “Tell me what you’d like to do for me.”
“Anything,” he said. “I’d do anything for you.”
She circled her arms around him and tiptoed to plant a kiss on his jaw. “That’s what I like to hear.”
Constance was in a haze.
She felt her hands being bound behind her back. A sticky mess stained her cheeks. She dug through her memories, recalling what had happened when she was last awake.
Her recollection returned to her in a surge of disgust.
The Mother had her hands all over Rayse like some kind of crawling insect. It made Constance nauseated. And Rayse… he looked like he loved the Mother. He was staring down at Aesryn the same way he gazed at Constance in the throes of their lust.
That look was supposed to be reserved for her, and only her.
She wanted to puke. The Mother had taken his lips, as if she owned him. The goddess didn’t love Rayse. She was playing with him like a toy, using him to fuel the drama and pain she needed to stir in Constance’s heart.
A ball of anger heated in Constance like hellfire’s flames. If she could tear the lungs of the Mother out, she would do so in
a heartbeat. She had a rule for not taking the lives of others, but for Aesryn, she would make an exception. That fury and bloodlust scared her, but she wanted to embrace it.
But against the omnipotent goddess, Constance was nothing but a plaything.
She blinked her eyes open, her vision blurry. The cool of metal circled her ankle. She focused and glanced down. She tried to sense magic, but couldn’t. The legcuff around her was re-forged dragon stone. It was beautiful, with intricate scale patterns, gold details, and the shape of wings twirling around its form. A round, beadlike element, which contained a small keyhole, was in the center of the decorations. It looked like it was made by a master craftsman, but despite its beauty, Constance hated the damned object. It was meant to suppress her powers. She wanted to tear it from her skin.
Her hearing cleared, and she heard the rutting sound of muffled pleasure playing in the background.
It sounded like…
…like Rayse. And another woman.
She couldn’t believe it.
Her eyes adjusted to the bed before her. It was covered with a satin curtain, but she could still make the shadows out well enough. The Dragon Mother was on top of Rayse, giving him pleasure. The two shadowed figures were moving up and down, grinding against each other. He moaned like he’d never done with Constance.
She wanted to throw up.
“I think she’s awake,” she heard the Mother say.
Constance saw red. The Mother brushed the curtain aside and stepped out, clothed in only a see-through silk garment. Aesryn was the most beautiful and ugliest thing Constance had ever seen.
“I’ll kill you,” Constance muttered.
“Ah, will you? Like the other countless times you’ve promised?”
She couldn’t bear to look, but forced herself to. Rayse was bound by two slivers of tendrils, trapped on the bed like a slave.
His eyes continued to trail after the Dragon Mother.
Constance had an inkling of which spell the Mother had used: Luvka artalgo isinlia vor mohrils.
As long as she was close to Rayse, the Mother could steal his affections for Constance and take some for herself. It faked his emotions. Aesryn had written it in her grimoire. But the Mother didn’t have to use such a complicated spell. There were simpler ones that intoxicated the victim and made him or her love the magic user, enslaving him.
No, the Mother only used Luvka artalgo to torment Constance, to make her watch what the goddess could so easily steal from her. She felt like her heart would explode in agony. She would rather have died than face this fate.
She wanted to claw the eyes of Aesryn out. Rayse belonged to her. Hers.
“How many lives?” she asked.
The Mother knelt down, studying Constance like she was some specimen.
“That spell,” she continued. “The cost… It’s blasphemous.”
“They don’t matter.” The Mother kissed her, leaving a sour taste tainting her lips. “Dear sister, don’t try to act like you care.”
“We’ll find a way to win,” Constance said. She bit her tongue hard and tasted the coppery blood on it. Maybe if she could take her own life through physical means, the Dragon Mother wouldn’t be able to have her way.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Aesryn said. “If you bite your tongue and die, then I won’t be able to have my harvest. I will have a healer by your side at all times. You can’t win. I’ve lived through so many of your pathetic ploys. I’m always so many steps ahead.”
Constance blinked back her tears.
“Why are you resisting, still? Give in to the darkness.” The Mother pushed a palm at Constance’s chest. “Do you feel it, sister? You’re just like me. This is how I felt when you took all that I loved from me. Why do you always act like the better person? You’re no better than I am. In fact, you’re far worse. These voices… they should belong to you. All of them. The screaming and shrieking. You should be the one hearing them and not me.”
Constance could hear them, but likely not as loudly as the Mother did. They grew progressively more numerous and angry each time she took another sentient soul. The Mother had taken so many that Constance couldn’t imagine how terrible the voices in the goddess’s head were. “I’m not the same,” Constance said, and spat at the Mother’s feet.
A low chuckle rumbled from the goddess’s chest. She smiled, the curve of her lips looking like a crooked scythe, then curled her fingertips. Fiery burning started from Constance’s toes and spiked upward. She let out a cry and fell to her side.
She wanted to claw at her chest, but her hands were bound. It was difficult to breathe, and she wheezed for air.
“Know your place,” the Mother said.
“Go to hell,” Constance said through gritted teeth. The pain continued to torment her. She forced her eyelids open and saw Rayse meeting her gaze. He had an apologetic look on his face. She knew that Luvka artalgo didn’t allow him to forget his memories. When the Mother left him, did he sense guilt? Did he worry that he’d betrayed Constance?
Or maybe he’d eventually truly love Aesryn.
Constance pushed that terrible thought away. She trusted Rayse enough to know that he’d never fall for such a sick creature. They were both trapped birds, under the control of a snake. The pain spiraled out of control. She told herself she couldn’t give the Mother the pleasure of watching her suffer, but couldn’t hold back her anguish and released a sharp cry.
The pain stopped soon after, leaving behind a throbbing ache and a deep sensation of pure, unadulterated fear.
“Try something like that again,” the Mother said, “and I’ll make you experience that for a whole day.” The goddess stood and turned around.
The Mother was still so radiant despite her disgusting viciousness. Aesryn’s every pore was a work of art. The goddess looked nothing like she had in those visions she had sent Constance, and had morphed into someone who looked completely different.
How had the Mother removed those burn marks? Perhaps Constance could use the same method…
Then again, that was the least of her worries.
Aesryn climbed on top of Rayse. The curtains remained open, revealing the entire gut-wrenching image of them in that lewd position. He was still staring at Constance with that apologetic look. The Mother grinned, and tipped his gaze away from Constance and toward her.
Constance dug her fingernails into her palm.
Aesryn gyrated her hips and threw her head back, letting out a deep moan. The witch repeatedly called out, “Edrienne,” and Rayse responded with the love that belonged to Constance.
They went at it for a whole night.
Constance watched, never tearing her eyes away, promising herself that she wouldn’t let Aesryn get away with this.
17
If Constance still had tears to cry, she couldn’t find them.
The cold marble floor had formed calluses on her knees. She had been kneeling too long.
The torture had gone on endlessly, until finally the Mother decided that she’d had enough fun and crawled away from Rayse. They’d been adventurous in their lovemaking, and Rayse had taken the goddess in ways he’d never even done with Constance.
By the end of it, her heart had been shredded, and all she could find were tatters.
“I’m tired,” the goddess said. “Jaerhel, bring Adriana back to her quarters.”
Constance sat up, hearing that familiar name.
The Mother let the blanket fall from her body as she padded away. “I’ve prepared proper living conditions for you this time. I’m not completely heartless. I believe we do share history together.”
Constance felt her mouth dry up as she saw her friend step forward. “Jaerhel? You too?” Had she lost it all to Aesryn?
He didn’t say anything. Instead, he hooked his arm in her elbow and forced her to her feet. He wasn’t gentle with her, and she felt like her skin might bruise from how rough he was being. He was clad in the Mother’s uniform, the same dark purpl
e she’d seen most of the drakin in. They’d spent so many years fighting them off, and now he was one of them.
“Please don’t tell me that you’ve joined her,” she said, her voice hoarse.
He pushed her toward the entrance of the Mother’s chambers. Constance didn’t want to leave Rayse behind, and turned to look at her mate one last time. Jaerhel kneed Constance’s leg, almost making her trip over her dress.
The giant door slammed behind them. Iciness coursed through her, despite the fire of her resolve struggling to stay alive. They tapped their way onward, until she saw a strange room barred with metal gates. It wasn’t the dungeons, unlike her stay here sixty years ago, but it wasn’t anything to rejoice over, either.
It was a small room, which reminded her of her closet in the Everstone mansion, graced with a small bed and not much space to walk in. The walls were a drab brown, and she wouldn’t be surprised if she found some mice as living companions.
“Jaerhel?” she said. “Why are you doing this?”
He didn’t respond.
Jaerhel fished for some keys around his belt. She eyed them like a starved beggar. He used his other hand to take out a dagger. Her heart constricted from fear. Jaerhel wouldn’t really hurt her, would he?
“Jaerhel, please, we’ve been through years together.”
He didn’t hurt her. Instead, he cut through the ropes which bound her hands. She used the opportunity to slam backward. It probably hurt her more than it did him, but it was enough to distract him as she slipped a key from him.
She kept the key clasped tightly in her fist.
He let out a groan, more of annoyance than pain, and jostled her to face the cell. He unlocked her quarters and shoved her in. He hadn’t been delicate, and her face met the hard welcome of the brick wall.
Her old friend then shut the gate on her and fell back into his guard position. He wasn’t alone. The Mother had promised a healer and hadn’t lied, and there was another guard next to him. The healer sat on a wooden stool, while Jaerhel and his companion stood. They checked back every so often.
Exhaustion swept over her. How long had she been in that kneeling pose, in front of the Dragon Mother? Her eyes stung from all those tears and were probably red with dryness.
Fractured Souls (Soul of a Dragon Book 3) Page 15
