by Sara Page
As we near the room where we’ll be dining, I feel that tug, something reeling me in by my very core. My gut instinct is to pull back, to go the other way, but Warrick is firmly leading me forward.
“Ameia,” King Zar sighs with delight as we pass through two tall stone doors.
The dining room is enormous, though much of the décor is the same as the rest of the palace. Black walls, dull floors. The torches jump, their flames glowing brighter as we enter. In the center of the room is a long table, the goblets and cutlery sparkling beneath the glow of a ruby chandelier.
“Thank you for joining me,” King Zar says as he rises from his chair at the head of the table.
I’m grateful for having Warrick to hold on to because there’s no getting used to the sight of Striker’s father. My eyes strain, my very soul recoils, and my mind struggles to make sense of the wailing shadows.
King Zar grins at me with wicked delight as if he knows and is pleased by my revulsion. Pulling out the chair besides his, he invites me to, “Please, have a seat, my dear.”
I don’t want to, I don’t, and Warrick must sense my reluctance because he stops by digging in his heels. Hesitating, he makes a sound deep in his throat.
“Now, now Warrick,” King Zar says with mocking reproach. “I’ve been more than generous and shared her with you. You’ve had your turn, now it’s mine. Bring her forward.”
Once more Warrick is leading me forward. My grip tightens around his bicep but as we reach the chair he carefully and gently pries off my fingers. With a gentle push, he urges me to sit down.
I don’t know what I expected. Protection, perhaps? Warrick offering himself as a shield? Warrick only seems somewhat reluctant as he steps to the side and allows King Zar to push in my chair.
“You look radiant tonight,” King Zar purrs into my ear.
My teeth clench together as I fight back a shudder of revulsion.
King Zar laughs with amusement and returns to his chair. “Warrick, Vis, do sit down. Join us.”
Warrick takes the seat to my left, and Vis takes the seat beside him. We’re the only ones seated at the table.
“I hope you’re hungry, my dear,” King Zar says, leaning in his seat towards me. “I’ve had this feast especially prepared for you.”
I lean back in my own chair as far as I possibly can but there will never be enough distance between us.
Servants appear, Ravagers clothed in dark suits, bearing trays of steaming food that they place before us. I don’t remember the last time I ate but my stomach is so twisted I have no appetite. I don’t think I could choke down a bite even if I was starving.
One servant leans over my side, meaning to fill my goblet from a dark bottle.
“No, you fool, she’s pregnant,” King Zar hisses and everything in the room stops. Everyone stills in their position as if they’re frozen.
The servant beside me immediately starts to quake with fear, and I feel the greatest urge to defend him. “It’s quite alright,” I say softly, and push my goblet towards Warrick. “I suspected it was wine and have no taste for it.”
“It is not alright,” King Zar says, eyes flashing so bright they’re blinding. I gasp and look away, momentarily blinded. But I can hear his shadows wailing and screeching as if they’re experiencing some new agony.
The air moves and I sense him rising from his chair like a storm cloud forming over us.
“Come,” he orders, and though I know the order wasn’t meant for me I have the strongest desire to go to him.
Everything that happens next happens so fast I’m not exactly sure if it truly happened. I could very well be going crazy and it could all be my imagination.
After all, the true horror is believing it’s real.
There’s a blood-curdling scream. A loud crack. I whip my head around to see a pile of clothing falling to the floor.
But there’s no sign of the servant that was wearing them. Just this strange smell in the air and a pile of clothes on the floor. It’s like he never existed, he wasn’t ever here…
I’m not sure what happened but I know something happened. My heart is pounding behind my ribs and I feel my fingers twitching with a surge of adrenaline. I want to run; I want to flee this place. I just want to wake up from this fucking nightmare.
“Please,” King Zar grins as he takes his seat again. “Continue.”
I look down at my plate of food and all I want to do is vomit.
Another servant rushes forward, scoops up the pile of clothes and runs off with it.
“Eat, Ameia,” King Zar insists, bringing his own spoon to his mouth.
I resist wondering where the food he eats actually goes. I push at the food on my plate with my fork but not much else. The food appears to be normal enough. The first course is some kind of red meat with vegetables.
This is Striker’s father? Was he truly created by this… abomination?
“Did you sleep well?” the King asks, his voice calm and nonirritating to the ear as if he’s making polite conversation.
“I did,” I reply and stab a carrot. I slept remarkably well considering I was sandwiched between two strange Ravagers in a strange bed.
“I apologize for your accommodations not being to your liking. I assure you the issue is being remedied as we speak. I hope you will find your new room up to your standards.”
This all feels so surreal. I don’t know what to do but fall back on my ingrained politeness. I nod my head and squash the carrot with my fork. “I’m sure I will, thank you.”
“Eat,” he insists again.
I shake my head and drop my fork to the plate. “I’m sorry, I’m not hungry. I don’t feel well.”
I realize my mistake as soon as the words pass my lips. Why did I just do that? Why can’t I just submit?
Unable to lift my eyes up far enough to see his reaction, I stare at his chest, at the shadows. For the moment they’re calm and unmoving.
He pushes back, chair scraping against the floor. “Come here.”
Oh, shit. Did I piss him off? Is he going to do to me what he did to the servant? Is he going to make me disappear?
I make a sound of distress and Warrick jumps up from his chair.
“Sit back down, Warrick,” King Zar orders.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize with a whimper. “I’ll eat, I’m sorry.” I pick up my fork and shove the smashed carrot into my mouth. The carrot has no flavor, it’s like ashes in my mouth, ashes in my throat.
“Sit down, Warrick,” he orders, voice sounding more mechanical, grating against the ear with authority.
Warrick grunts and positions himself between us, using his body as a shield. He’s huge, a solid wall of black muscle between me and King Zar.
The King rises from his chair and I’m no longer afraid he’s going to make me disappear—I’m afraid he’s going to make Warrick disappear.
Without thought, I jump up and throw myself in front of Warrick.
“No, please…” I spread my arms wide.
I don’t even know what I’m doing. I can hardly protect Warrick. Even with my arms spread out wide I feel tiny in comparison.
“Please, Ameia?” King Zar asks, his voice softening, somehow sounding even more menacing. He glides forward until he’s looming over me. I feel like if he wanted to he could just step on me and squash me out of existence. I crane my neck all the way back to look up at him, and damn does it hurt. “You wish me to spare him?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice breathless. I’m so afraid, so chilled by what’s happening, my lungs want to cling together—it’s hard to take in air. I started all of this and now all I want to do is end it.
“What will you give me in return?” His mouth spreads wide in what could be considered a grin, technically.
Dammit all. If only I had something to bargain with. “I don’t know. I don’t have anything to offer…”
Warrick makes a sound behind me and I feel him grabbing me by the hips but I shake him off and pu
sh at his hands.
“You have much to offer, my dear.” King Zar holds his hand out to me. “Come to me.”
I take a step forward and Warrick immediately yanks me back.
King Zar laughs, the sound echoing all around us like a thousand laughs.
I twist around and glare at Warrick. “Let me go.”
He shakes his horned head, refusing, “No.”
King Zar’s laughter dies away and a stunned silence settles over the room.
“Warrick,” I whisper and grab at his hands. I can’t lose him, I can’t. He’s my only way out of here, and perhaps… I like him.
“No, Ameia,” Warrick says firmly and pulls me into his body.
Half of me wants to cry because he’s spoken a new word, and the other half wants to rage because it could be his last.
I push at his chest, arching away from him. “You have to let me go.”
“Do as she asks,” King Zar warns, no longer sounding amused by the situation.
“Warrick…” Vis says, rising from his chair, adding his voice to the mix.
Warrick shakes his head, his hold on me tightening. Crushing. “Mine.”
“She’s not yours,” King Zar corrects him. “She hasn’t accepted you.”
“Ameia….” Warrick pleads, sounding tortured. I know what the plea in his voice means… and for his sake I’m choosing to ignore it.
He wants me to accept him. He wants me to make our bond permanent.
“Warrick, please release me,” I beg softly then on impulse I lift up on my tiptoes and press a soft kiss against his lips.
Warrick’s muscles tighten under my hands, a suffocating vice, and then he relaxes—kissing me back. I’m not playing fair but I’m playing the only hand that I have left. I don’t know how long we kiss; time always seems to slow when we touch like this. Only when I feel Warrick trying to deepen the kiss do I pull back.
Our eyes meet, his full of all the things he wants to say but can’t, mine pleading that he trust me.
Please trust me. Let me get us out of this.
His hands release me and I take a stumbling step back.
“Thank you,” I sigh with relief and turn, walking to King Zar and placing my hand in his.
Cold, so cold is the hand that squeezes my hand.
King Zar leads me to his chair at the head of the table, takes his seat and pulls me down to his lap.
All my senses seem to revolt at once, crying out in protest. This closeness, this position makes my skin crawl. My stomach clenches once more and I want to vomit. He’s hard beneath me, too hard, too solid.
I can feel his shadows moving. I can feel them touching me, rubbing against me. Tickling my back.
He breathes against my neck.
“Send him to the pit,” King Zar orders.
A group of guards peel away from the exit and head for Warrick.
Vis curses loudly.
“What… Why?” I cry out.
What the fuck is the pit?
“Don’t worry, my dear,” the King says. “Warrick knows this is the price of insolence.”
Warrick just stands in place, staring at me, completely passive. Careless of the guards approaching him. Like he knew it would come to this. He knew this would happen.
I feel like I abandoned him.
I can’t just let this happen, I have to do something to try to stop it. I try to stand but the King’s claws sink into my sides as he yanks me back down. “Now, now, Ameia. I thought we had an agreement.”
I agreed to something when I accepted the King’s hand, I just don’t know what but definitely not this.
“Are you going to hurt him?” I ask, my throat wanting to take the words back, afraid that I’m planting the idea.
“Don’t worry about him, my dear,” the King insists. “You need to worry about yourself and our babies.”
The way he says our babies sends chills down my spine. They’re my babies, mine. I won’t share them with him.
“What is the pit?” I ask, feeling utterly and completely impotent as the guards surround Warrick.
“It’s where I send the disobedient and unfaithful to reflect on their mistakes. You asked me to spare him and I have spared him. Now, please, my dear, relax. You’ve had enough stress.”
“How long must he stay there?”
King Zar sighs, ready to move on from the subject. “I’ll release him tomorrow, if it will put you at ease.”
The guards lead Warrick out of the room, through the tall doors, but even surrounded by a group of ten Ravagers he stands an entire head and shoulders above them. And I bet he could take them on, all of them… if he wanted… yet he doesn’t.
The King reaches around me to his plate on the table and uses his claws to thinly slice the meat. Stabbing a thin slice of meat with the claw on his forefinger, he brings it to my mouth, obviously expecting me to eat it.
I turn my face away and the King makes the scariest sound of displeasure. “Eat, Ameia, or I’ll make you.”
I don’t know why I look to Vis, deep down I know he won’t protect me, but I do.
King Zar chuckles and voices what I already fear. “He won’t protect you.”
Vis has retaken his seat and he’s turned to the side, facing us. Watching me. His mouth is twisted with displeasure and his eyes are full of hatred. Such hatred. I don’t know what I did to deserve such abhorrence but there’s no confusing what it is.
Does he blame me for what happened to Warrick? If he does, I can’t even blame him.
I blame myself too.
“Look at them all, Ameia. They hate you. If it wasn’t for my protection, they’d rip you to pieces.”
I look to the other guards, my eyes sweeping over the room. I’m so used to being surrounded by Ravagers, I never bothered to look closely at them. Each set of red eyes that looks back at me is indeed full of detestation. Unmistakable loathing. How did I not notice that? They all hate me. Every single one of them.
“Why?” I gasp.
When I was onboard the ships with Beast and Striker all the other Ravagers were always polite and respectful. Perhaps even a bit reverent. I suppose it’s something I’ve always taken for granted.
“Eat,” the King insists again, pressing the meat to my lips.
I open my mouth and the King makes a sound of pleasure as he pushes the meat in. I immediately want to spit the meat out but force myself to chew it and swallow.
“You represent everything they cannot have,” the King explains as he stabs another piece of meat with his claw.
The meat presses against my lips and I open.
“They are the rejected.”
Even Vis?
As if he can read my mind the King confirms, “Every single one of them, save for Warrick. Rejected by their Callings, they come here to die but I have accepted them. I have given them a reason to live.”
Chew and swallow, the King continues to feed me meat until there is no meat left.
“What is the reason?” I ask before he presses a goblet of water to my lips.
He makes me drink the water before he answers.
Setting the goblet down, he twists me around on his lap until I’m facing him. Bent forward, as if he’s cradling me with his body, his face looms in front of my face.
And is that… it couldn’t be… but I swear the shadow rippling across his shoulders looks just like the servant that disappeared…
“Revenge.”
Chapter Twelve
“Escort her to her room. She’s your responsibility for the night. Do you understand?” King Zar asks.
I feel myself moving, as if I’m being passed from one pair of hands to the next. Did I lose consciousness?
“I understand,” Vis says.
“If something happens to her, it will be your head.”
Two arms cradle me, and not wishing to look upon King Zar’s terrible visage again, I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend to still be unconscious.
But knowing that Vis i
s holding me, knowing he hates me, makes it hard to relax.
A cold claw strokes against my cheek and I almost jerk back.
“Rest well, Ameia. You will need it.”
I’m jostled a little as we begin to move, but I relax in earnest as more and more distance is put between us and the dining room.
It’s not until we begin to climb a staircase do I dare to peek my eyes open. “Thank you,” I whisper softly.
Vis’ eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. “You’re welcome.”
It’s hard to hold his gaze, not because the glow hurts my eyes but because of all the anger boiling inside of it.
“I’m sorry,” I feel the need to apologize.
“For what?”
“For what happened to Warrick.”
Vis snorts and his lips thin.
“For what happened to you,” I add.
He sneers at me as he asks, “You don’t know what happened to me. How can you be sorry for it?”
I shake my head, feeling the bite of his words but persisting, “I didn’t mean to offend you. I only meant to…”
“Do you feel pity for me, princess?”
Is that what I feel? Pity? It must be.
He stops, head bending down, nose almost against my nose as he attempts to glare me into submission.
“Don’t waste your pity on me. I didn’t ask for it. I don’t want it.”
I meet his glare, feeling a flash of annoyance that he’d tell me what to do, that he’d tell me what to feel. “It’s my pity and I’ll do what I want with it.”
Vis’ face freezes, stunned, speechless.
Guess he wasn’t expecting me to bite back.
But then he tips back his head and laughs. And it’s such a tortured, haunting laugh that whatever brief flash of pride I felt for sticking up for myself disappears and I’m left feeling nothing but disturbed by his reaction.
Shaking his head, he starts walking once more.
“You can put me down. I can walk.”
Vis smirks. “Perhaps I don’t want to.”
He can’t mean that, he must be messing with me…
Yet there’s this dark glint in his eyes. This mixture of hate and desire that steals all my breath.
