by K. Webster
“He made a cry of some sort that alerted the rest. Then, all of their black eyes were on me. Even the small ones.”
The Damned may be lost to the madness, but they have an inherent urge to breed. But they rear up more monsters. The children are the worst. Most don’t live beyond infancy because their parents are neglectful, but some do. And as they grow, they’re more feral than the others. No memories of what it feels to be human. Horrible little creatures.
“They charged for me,” she breathes, her blue eyes glimmering brighter. “I ran. So fast. I’d wanted to die, but then, I didn’t. Simple as that. Fear chased away my anger and I ran for my life. When I imagined what it would feel like to be eaten by those things, I exploded with emotion. The beast I’d assumed was anger that lived inside me roared, Ryke. It broke free and came forth.” She holds a hand up between us. “The beast came right through my hands. Cold and malevolent. It needed to escape. So I aimed the beast at them. At the things.” Her lids blink several times before a sinister smile creeps up her face. “The beast was my gift. Cold. Diamondblades. Weapons made of ice. I lit up the night sky with brilliant blue light as I destroyed them. All of them. Even the small ones. Within a matter of minutes, I’d taken out the entire nest.”
“You found your gift, Punisher,” I say, pleased with the turn in the story. “Now tell me how you lost it.”
Elzira
I don’t hate the warmth. Not even a little bit. His heat thaws me. Has me thinking clearer than I have in some time. While he’s a terrible man with nefarious intentions with my sister, I can’t help but secretly thank him from waking me from my fog.
He may be utterly delicious to look at and smell enticing, but I know what he is. Who he is. He’s an enemy set out to destroy what’s mine. To take what’s mine. I’ll never allow that to happen.
“I still have my gift,” I lie, narrowing my eyes at him.
The maddeningly beautiful man smirks. “No, you don’t.”
“Just because I refrained from using it, doesn’t mean I don’t still have it.” Now that’s the truth. I know it lives inside me. The beast is dormant and sleeping. Weak and dying. But it’s still there.
“I suppose I believe that. Tell me why you’re so weak. When did that start? Is it a condition passed down from your mother?”
The mention of my mother has me bursting with fury. I attempt to shove his big body off mine as a growl ripples from me. “Get off me!” Before I can claw his face again, his features contort into something frightening as he pins my wrists once more.
“Claw me again and I’ll take my whip to your ass,” he snarls.
I gape at him in shock. Images of me bent over my bed with my dress pushed up my back has unwelcome heat flooding my cheeks. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I’d take great pleasure in reddening your ass, Queen.”
“You’re infuriating,” I hiss. “How do your people endure your presence?” I narrow my eyes at him. “Oh, that’s right. They don’t. They pillage and attack others so they’ll be banished to Equatoria just to get away from you.” I laugh at him. “I’d eat the kimilla too if it took me away from you.”
“Your barbs will never penetrate me,” he says with a smug look. “I applaud you for trying, though.”
I’m about to curse him some more when a sharp pain seizes my stomach. I whimper and close my eyes. These pains come more often lately. They’re followed by dizziness and weakness. Everything turns my stomach—much as it did my mother in the end—and the only thing that helps is my farsop tea and my tonics. If it weren’t for Yanna’s desperate knowledge of what stole my mother from me and her desire to make sure I don’t meet the same fate, I would’ve been dead long ago. Yanna’s nose is always in a tonic book, searching for anything to help with my condition. The billibone tonic takes away the pains in my stomach. The voxin leaf tonic gives me energy. The yellowberry tonic is known for attacking hidden diseases. When taken daily, I keep death at bay.
“I need my tonics,” I mutter. “Please. My sister would be all alone if I died.”
“She’ll have me,” he retorts, a wicked glint in his eyes.
“Not willingly,” I bite back. “Perhaps we can come to an agreement. One that suits us all. But I can’t do that from beneath the dirt.”
Before he can answer, there’s a rap at the door. For one moment, my heart flutters as I hope it’s Yanna. But then I remember she never knocks. She is my sister and she goes wherever I go. We’re two halves of a whole.
“Enter,” Ryke barks, releasing me so he can sit up.
A man enters carrying a tray. Another one follows behind him. Their curious stares find mine. One of the men’s gaze lingers at my breasts. I yank the covers over me to keep him from staring.
“Where are Jorshi and Fayden?” Ryke demands, prowling over to the two men.
“Meeting with Danser,” the one with curious eyes states.
Ryke’s jaw clenches as he glowers down at him. “How do I know this food is safe for consumption, Gorten?”
Gorten jerks his head to the doorway. A short, pudgy man with a red face waddles in.
“You must always trust in Yashka,” the short man says. “You know this.”
Ryke visibly relaxes. “I trust this meal is fit for a queen?”
Yashka gasps as though Ryke has struck him. “I beg your pardon, your highness? Do you dare insult the finest chef in all the lands?”
Gorten and the other man stiffen. As though they’re afraid of Ryke’s wrath. But apparently Yashka has freedom to speak freely with Ryke because his king simply chuckles.
“My apologies, Yashka,” Ryke says. “We look forward to your meal.”
Ryke dismisses the three of them. As soon as they’re gone, I sit up and attempt to stand. The room moves in a slow circle around me.
“I’m n-not eating t-that,” I tell him, pressing my hand to my stomach as another pain slices through me. “It’s probably dripping in poison.”
Ryke lifts the lid of something savory and picks up a piece of meat. He tosses it into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously, and sucks the grease off his fingers. “I’m still alive.”
“Unfortunately,” I grumble.
He plucks another piece of meat from the plate and saunters over to me. His free hand grips my hip as he holds up the steaming meat. “Eat.”
The pains are becoming too much. I need my tonics. Hot tears flood my eyes. I’m going to die a painful death like that of my mother. Yanna will be all alone. Ryke will scoop her up and there’s no telling what he’ll do with her. Rape her? Force her to carry his children? The thought has bile rising up my throat.
“Eat,” he barks out, his voice no longer playful like before. “You’re wasting away, Dead Queen. This chicken has more meat on its bones than you do.”
Shaking my head, I press my lips together. There’s no way I can eat. Not right now. Not when I feel like the pains are going to make me vomit instead.
He grabs my throat and squeezes. I cry out in shock. The moment my mouth opens, he shoves the meat inside. Salty goodness hits my tongue and I nearly moan from the taste. How long has it been since I’ve eaten anything this delicious?
Years.
And for good reason.
Heavy foods worsen my condition.
I whimper and gag on the food. His grip on my throat loosens as his lips near mine. Hot breath tickles me as he speaks.
“Swallow, Elzira.”
I manage to choke the food down. My stomach clenches violently. Tears roll down my cheeks. The beast within me rattles its cage somewhere in the depths of my soul. Kill him. Kill him for humiliating you. For exposing our weakness.
Instead of killing him, I sit on the edge of the bed, trying desperately to free my beast. Nothing. Ryke walks over to the table and then he’s back with a plate filled with all sorts of treats.
It’s a mess. The food touches. It’s all rammed against each other, juices from one delicacy mixing with others. It’s revolting to look at. Completely unlike the
nice, neat rows of pastries or breads I’m used to consuming. He uses a fork to scoop up something light brown and crispy. The pains in my stomach are back, but instead of being disgusted by the food he presents me, it’s as though my stomach yearns for it. Begs for it.
“You need this,” he utters softly, his amber eyes boring into me. “That’s your truth. It’s written all over your protruding bones and pale flesh.”
I get a whiff of what he offers and I nearly let out a sob. Defeated, I open my mouth and let the Truth Seeker king feed me. Bite after bite. Each food more decadent than the last. My stomach roils and protests, but the pains lessen. When I shake my head after nearly consuming the entire plate, he doesn’t force more on me. He simply refills the plate and devours his own breakfast. Once he’s finished, he sits back down beside me.
“You’ll eat like a queen now,” he tells me fiercely, his amber orbs flaring as though he expects me to challenge him.
Not about this. I’m oddly comforted by the way he fed me and secretly pleased he chased away the pains that only the billibone usually does.
“I want to see Yanna.” I lift my chin in the regal way I’ve perfected over the years. “I want you to fetch her or take me to her. I need to assure her I am well. She worries herself ill over my well-being. You’ll do this for me, Volc.”
A smile tugs at his lips. “Perhaps.”
Arching a brow, I suck in a sharp breath. “Perhaps? As if it’s contingent on something. Out with it, fire maker.”
“Ahh, she’s not just beauty, she’s brains too,” he says with an obnoxiously victorious glint in his eyes. “I will allow you to see your sister once you’ve signed a treaty allowing me to enter Norta Layke for my passage to the Hidden Lands.”
“Is that all?” I mutter. “Just the measly thing you’ve turned my life upside down for. Why, sure, Volc. Grab me a dagger so I may cut my palm and make a blood oath to you.” I smile sweetly at him.
His jaw clenches. “Another barb. You must think me ignorant. That I’m some brawny, dimwitted king who will allow a clever, dying queen to play her way to what she wants.” He toys with a strand of my hair. “Why is your hair blue in some places?”
Shame replaces my irritation at him. I jerk the strands from his grip and frown to see the ash has been rubbed off. There will be ash in the fireplace. I can cover up the blue.
Strong fingers bite into my jaw, stealing my attention. I’m forced to stare into the fiery heat of King Bloodsun’s eyes. “I wasn’t insulting you,” he growls. “I simply wanted to know why. But considering your response, you don’t know why. You try to cover it.” His thumb runs along my jaw gently. “I’ll discover what’s causing this.”
“Why?” I spit out. “Why, of all things are you worried about my hair?”
“Blue hair. It’s not natural.” His dark brows furl together and a strand of black hair falls into his face. The urge to push it back is strong. Ridiculous, but strong. “It could be a symptom of your illness. I’ll have Mazon look into it.”
“Mazon?”
“He is my physician.”
The last physician who looked at me told me I was incurable. I’d remembered the fear in his eyes. I suppose telling a queen she’s going to die is a frightening thing. Cavon, in his fury on my behalf, cut his throat. Then, he proceeded to find five more physicians, all of which told me the same thing.
“I don’t need a physician to tell me what I already know.” I start to stand, but his hot hand encircles my wrist. The heat of his fires is barely restrained beneath his flesh. It makes me wonder just how hot he gets.
“You’ll do it because I command it,” he growls, his thumb running along my pulse on my wrist. “Understood?” He rises to his feet and then pushes down on my shoulders so I’m sitting once more. “I have to speak to Danser. You’re to stay in this room while I’m gone.”
“And if I don’t?” I challenge, anger surging up inside me.
He smiles. “Then I’ll hunt you down. I will find you. And then I’ll fuck you into submission, frigid queen.”
My fury sends a burst of strength through me as I swipe my nails for his face again. The beast inside me screeches as diamondblades freeze along my fingers and extend into glistening spikes past my fingertips. Ryke barely manages to grip my wrist and stop me before I rip his face off.
Instead of burning me to death on the spot, his eyes widen and he flashes me a beautiful smile.
“There she is. The Punisher isn’t dead yet.” Heat burns at my wrist but not to the point of pain. Water runs down my hand as the diamondblades melt and then hit the floor, shattering. Ryke brings his lips to my middle finger that just held a sharp blade and licks the tip. A jolt of excitement ripples through me straight to my core. “We can play more later. I have business to attend to first.”
He’s gone without another word. I consider sneaking out, chasing after him. I’d love to run a diamondblade through the base of his skull. But better yet, I could set out to find Yanna. He would hunt me down. Another thrill shoots through me. Energy thrums through me and I feel invigorated. For the first time in years, I feel alive.
Is it him?
The enemy can’t be my savior.
Impossible.
Looking down at my hand, I notice my fingers aren’t as blue. I’m warmer than usual thanks to the fire that burns lowly in the fireplace and the heat he seems to radiate.
I attempt to summon my gift.
Despite this man in our palace and my sister in his grip, I am not afraid of him. I’m afraid of what I might lose because of him.
Yanna.
A mixture of pain, fury, and terror swirls through me.
My fingertips glow blue, empowering me. I cut my hand through the air, sending diamondblades slinging from my fingers. All five of them stab into the stone floors with incredible force. I stare down at them in awe.
I’m still marveling over the sudden appearance of my gift, when a soft rap on the door startles me.
Yanna!
I rush over to the door and sling it open. The man from earlier, Gorten, smiles at me. He has a spice caught between his front two teeth. It makes me cringe.
“I met with your sister,” he whispers, chancing a look over his shoulder.
“If you hurt her, I will cut your heart out and personally feed it to The Damned,” I hiss, summoning my cold. I feel it surging through my veins like my own blood.
His eyes widen. “Your highness, I am disobeying my king to help your sister.”
“Pardon,” I choke out, shocked at his words.
“This morning, I went to see her. She is well. But she was rather persistent.”
“Persistent about what?”
“This,” he says, holding out a familiar pouch. “I was instructed not to look inside. That she’d know and that you’d know. That between the two of you, I’d meet an untimely, bloody death.” He smirks as though that amuses him. “I’m not here to intercept a message between a queen and her sister. I just want you to know my loyalties aren’t with King Bloodsun.”
I still at his treasonous words. “Is that so?”
His lips quirk on one side. “Your sister was rather persuasive.” He brings his fingers to his nose and sniffs them. “She said if I do your bidding, that you’ll offer me far more than my king ever could. I’m growing tired of marching to wars with the mad. I’m tired of hunts for lands that are hidden. I want to hole up in a castle and protect beautiful women who are in dire need of protecting.”
Traitorous snake.
“You touched my sister?” My tone is cold and cruel. “No one touches my sister.”
His eyes glint in a challenging way as he wiggles his finger in the air. “I did.”
A burst of cold fury explodes through me as I swing my arm through the air. Five diamondblades glint in the morning sun streaming in through the window. My blades slice through his wrist effortlessly.
He gapes at me in horror as his hand slides off his wrist and hits the floor with a
thud. Blood, bright crimson and thick, spurts from his severed arm. With a flick of my wrist, I loosen my soiled diamondblades, allowing them to clatter to the floor.
He eyes the hand at his feet.
“Pick it up,” I urge, my tone icy.
“Y-Your highness,” he whines.
“Pick. It. Up.”
He sobs as he picks up his severed hand.
“Throw it into the fire,” I instruct.
“N-No,” he begs. “Please. Mazon can reattach it.”
“Throw it into the fire before I take your other hand too. And your tongue for disobeying me.”
He howls in part pain and stubbornness before tossing it across the room. I walk over to it and kick the hand into the fire. The flames crackle and hiss while the scent of charred flesh hits my nostrils.
“Leave my sight, snake.”
Ryke
After checking on my men and taunting Green a little, I sought out Danser. He’d secured young Yanna in a maid’s quarters deep beneath the floors of the castle. I knock on the door and Danser opens it, his features impassive.
“Danser,” I greet.
“Your majesty.”
He grants me access. One quick look at the sparse arrangements and I see she’s being treated well. A tray with food sits on the table. The princess sits in the bed reading. I sniff the air and shoot Danser a questioning look.
“She admits to nothing,” he utters, leaning in close. “But after she sent Yashka on a tirade about what the queen was and wasn’t allowed to eat, I stepped out to speak to him privately. I left Gorten to watch over her.”
“Gorten, hmmm. And her virtue is still intact?”
“I smelled it too. The scent of a woman.” He grits his teeth. “She claims he didn’t touch her. He must have had his fingers up one of the maid’s dresses and left the smell in here.”
“And you believe this?”
“Why would she protect Gorten of all men? She hates our people.” He rubs at his temple. “Believe me, she’s made that fact known every hour on the hour.”
Yanna’s head turns and she glowers our way. I clutch Danser’s shoulder. “Give me a moment with the princess.”
