CHAPTER 13

AUREN TURLEY

Sunlight streaks in from the window, painting the floor green like a spread of grass. Sweat drips down my temples, my fingers curling against the stone as if I can actually grip the blades of a lawn instead.

But no, the only real gripping happening is my head between clawed hands. Because she won't let go. Won't leave.

Why won't she leave?

I try to shove her away, this woman with the striped eyes. Una. The one who makes my head pound.

I'm tired. So tired.

"Focus, Auren!"

"No!"

I thrash against her, trying to break free of her grasp, trying to dig my way out.

Holes. So many holes . They're swallowing me. Burying me. But I can't feel the ground. Only this stone floor.

I don't know where I am or why I'm being punished. I don't know lie from truth or dream from wake, but I know that everything feels wrong.

Something in my head twitches, scraping against my skull. Making me shiver and flinch. I hate it.

Hate it hate it hate it —

"Get them out!" My scream is guttural, tearing my vocal cords, my voice coming from the depths of my stomach, my fingers curled like talons. "Get them out of my head!"

Una's face flares with angry dots upon her cheeks as her grip tightens. "There's nothing in your head! I am healing you!"

"Liar!"

With a burst of strength, I shove her away, making her slam into the wall. But even without her clutching, the things in my head crawl. Like maggots through flesh.

Rolling on the ground, I grip my head, shaking it. Panting. Writhing here just like the things in my head.

She's lying. I know she is. I know it.

I'm desperate. Panicked. Terrified. Unnerved.

Get them out.

Get them out.

"GET THEM OUT!"

My scream cracks against the walls. Someone holds me down. Or maybe more than one someone, because they're so strong.

They're trying to make me feel weak.

I'm shoved up, and the back of my skull cracks against the wall. It hurts, but the pain stuns the writhing. Makes the disturbing sensations go still.

It stops. Like it wasn't happening. Like I'm just going crazy.

…Am I going crazy?

I blink, my surroundings coming into focus, and I see two men. Their appearances scrape down the hollowed-out pits of my memory.

Have I seen them before? I can't remember.

The first has eyes like granite. The other bears the loss of one.

The stony-eyed man wears a mantle lined with fur around his body and a crown upon his head. His hard face holds the carvings of anger. "Look at her!" he seethes. "Why isn't this working?"

Una shakes her head. Her face is pale. "I've been trying every day, my king. I've never encountered a mind such as hers. Her mental fortitude is the strongest I've ever come across. With the amount of magic I've used, she shouldn't just be pliable, she should be infirm by now. Nothing but a husk. But she fights me still."

Her words spin in front of my eyes. I try to grasp hold of them to wring out their meaning, but I'm spinning too. When she glances over at me, sliding those striped eyes over my face, I jolt forward and try to claw them out.

But there's an armored man I didn't notice. He slams me back, cracks my skull against the wall again.

Now the room spins too.

"You said I could use her," the king spits, making his accusation spray across the room.

My head boils in the sound, frothing out with a whine from my lips. When I get my vision to settle, I see the one-eyed man regarding me. I glare back at him.

I don't know who he is, but I loathe him with a fierceness that burns. The cuff at my ankle seems to grow a hundred pounds heavier, but it doesn't suffocate the flaming hate. That heat travels all the way down my back. Into my palms. Hot enough that it feels molten.

Looking down, I see a bead of moisture gathered in my hand. He notices it too, before I clench my fist and let my tired limb drop into my lap.

"More of a thorn than a flower, aren't you, pet?" he mocks.

I growl.

He regards me coolly before answering the king. "There is an alternative," he says before turning to someone through the open doorway behind them. "Bring her in."

Scuffling and footsteps sound, and an angry voice that scratches down the walls. Then suddenly, a woman is shoved into my cell, body splayed before she manages to catch herself.

She looks around wildly, eyes like a cornered animal, teeth bared to show off sharp fangs. The top of her left ear has been cut off completely, and there's dried blood caked there. I press against the wall to get away from her, and as soon as I do, her attention snaps to me.

Her body goes still, eyes widening, face losing the snarl. "Auren!"

She tries to come toward me, only to be violently kicked by the armored man who dragged her in. She goes sprawling on the ground, clutching her gut, auburn hair plastered against her sweat-slicked face, the orange tips limp and dirty. When the guard steps away, she forces herself up, coughing up a hack of pain.

Her clustered lids unfurl, eyes of swirling red and orange locking onto me. "Auren, please …"

The pleading in her voice and her tearstained gaze stab at me, opening invisible wounds. The longer I sit here watching her, not moving, the more misery drags down her face.

A lump clogs my throat at the hopelessness as she starts to sob. I try to speak, but my tongue is too heavy. My mind too trampled.

Why is she crying?

Why do I want to cry too?

"What's the point of this, Cull?" the king demands.

"This one has glamour magic. She used it at my estate."

"And?"

Cull—the one-eyed man—kneels down next to the crying woman and whispers something in her ear. She shakes her head frantically, but he says more and then snaps his finger.

Pain.

I scream, completely caught off guard from the sudden, intense break. I look down at my dangling wrist, and my ears ring, vision tunneling. I pitch forward, vomit spewing from my mouth.

Someone is yelling.

Just when I think I'll pass out, the pain suddenly vanishes. My vision returns in shards. Slicing together. I glance down at my wrist, but…it's fine.

Wasn't it broken?

But no…it's not, and there is no pain. None save for the aching in my skull, so it wasn't broken at all.

It must've just been in my head. In this dream.

I don't know what's real. I don't know what's happening.

Sharp bile clings to my lips, and I breathe hard as black dots pop before my blurry eyes.

"Do it now."

I didn't realize the one-eyed man was still speaking. I didn't hear. The woman's body shakes as she scoots forward, and then she gently takes my hand. I feel her tight grip pinch into my skin, feel something smooth press into my palm.

Her chin quivers. "I'm so sorry," she whispers.

I'm not sure why, but I want to tell her it's okay, even though I don't think it is.

I open my mouth, but something on her cheek flickers. Shimmers. She closes her eyes, even as tears still fall from them, and I stare, shocked, as she changes . Like a bucket of water being poured over her head, the change washes over her. Amber and orange hair fading, skin brightening, lips going burnished.

Right before my eyes, the woman before me disappears, and instead, I'm staring at… me .

I blink and blink, but the vision doesn't go away. A stem of panic nearly sprouts up, but it can't find the ground to take root. Hollow confusion and spinning distress is all I have.

But wait…maybe it's not another woman? Maybe it's a reflection of me?

I feel my face burrow into a frown.

What's real? What's now?

"Here's the answer, King Carrick. A perfect stand-in."

The king stares at my reflection. "Fine. Bring her."

His voice echoes and my back scrapes against the wall behind me. One blink, my reflection is there, the next, it's gone. She's gone.

Or am I?

I close my eyes and shake my head, rocking back and forth as I clasp my hands over my ears.

It's dark inside my head. But I can't fear the dark. I'm the light.

"I'm the light," I whisper, the words peeling past cracked lips. "I'm the light. I'm the light."

A sob chokes me.

I have to be the light, so I can break through this dark.

When I open my eyes again, there are no guards, no king, no striped-eyed woman. No reflection. But I jolt when I see the one-eyed man crouching in front of me.

Staring.

The room hums with unsettling silence, thickening as I watch his startlingly black eye. It's so at odds with the bright red cloth at his throat.

Looking at him makes pinpricks of heat stab through my hands. Makes my palms go slick.

I open my fingers on my left hand instinctively, and his gaze drops. We both see the beaded moisture gathered there.

The man hums. "A few drops. But you shouldn't even be able to do that in your state. Not with the dampener put on you."

I don't know what that means.

The back of my neck prickles, and I raise my hand and scratch the spot. There's a scab there. It feels hardened. Patchy. His gaze homes in on my movement, and his hand lifts. I flinch away, but his fingertip presses over the spot, the touch making me shudder. I don't like the way he's looking at me, don't like the way his expression sharpens with excitement.

"Thank you for confirming so fully," he says.

I smack his hand away.

He smirks. "I should have known you'd be strong."

His voice grates. Shreds me to pieces like frazzled thread. I drop my sight to the floor so I can see the spread of deep green instead of his black gaze.

"You're still broken though, aren't you, pet?"

My spine stiffens.

"Doesn't matter. You're the perfect bait."

Bait, like worms on a hook. The worms that you find inside the soil. Digging down, feeding off the very matter it tunnels through…

My neck cricks with an uncomfortable feeling. Something shifts in my head.

He stands, footsteps dragging across the stone floor as he leaves. My muscles unclench only after the cell door clicks shut, and I let out a shaky breath.

Now that I'm alone, I open my right hand that was still clenched shut. I glance at the small beads of runny liquid gold gathered against my palm. Notice the dark lines that run through every droplet.

But my gaze settles on the ring I'm holding—a ring too big for my fingers. There's dried blood on the top, but I scrape it off with my finger. Flakes of red peel away, and beneath it, I see an emblem of a bird. Its wing is bent and crooked.

Broken .

A shard of a vision abruptly slices down the center of my skull, bleeding out through my eyes. I see this exact symbol—hundreds of different versions, laid upon a rubbled road. I see the symbols again, down a city street, on posts and shop windows.

I've seen this before. Many times.

A cold sweat breaks out over me, making my stomach roil. My head starts to pound, the memory going blurred and dark, but then I see her. The woman with the orange-tipped hair. She's smiling at me. Wearing a charm with this exact emblem dangling from her pointed ear. The top of that same ear now hacked off…

Stabbing pain punctures through my eye socket, making me cry out as the memory slips away. I pant, stomach twisting. For several moments, all I can do is breathe deeply, trying not to vomit, though there's already a puddle of it on the floor that I don't have memory of.

The confusion immediately spurs my fury. I want out of this place. I want to remember. I want to get rid of these things in my head that writhe .

An abrupt smack against my cell makes me jolt, and I stiffen as the slider at the bottom of the door shoves open so the guard can push a tray of food in.

I don't think, I just pounce.

The slot is only about ten inches wide, but I leap in front of it, arms squeezing through the opening. Whatever magic is embedded into the cuff at my ankle weighs on me, making me feel heavy and impeded, but I ignore its burdensome weight.

The tray clatters beneath my elbows, soup spilling and soaking my sleeves as my hands snatch at the guard's leg. He makes a noise of surprise as I grip him by the ankle and pull as hard as I can.

He's unprepared for my attack, so I knock him off balance and he goes falling back. Pebbled armor cracks against the stone floor, and a pained grunt whooshes out of him. I sacrifice my sight, shoving my head against the door to allow my arm a longer reach.

My hand grapples for the weapon at his hip as I reach as far as I can, victory surging through me when I find the pommel. My fingers wrap around it and I pull, teeth gritted as I yank it out of the hilt. Shoving backwards, I haul it toward me, getting it halfway through the gap in the door.

But the guard is up, his foot suddenly slamming down on my arm and pinning me in place. My teeth clench together in pain as he shoves all his weight down on my limb, threatening to grind my bone to dust, but I don't let go.

Spewing curses on the other side of the door, the guard moves, weight shifting, and then he snatches at the sword.

"No!" I scream, trying to pull it with all my might.

He's breathing hard, and I feel his meaty hands come down, and he bends my fingers back so violently that they nearly snap.

I cry out as the sword is dragged out of my grip, and before I can move, he lifts his foot up and slams it down on my arm so hard I see stars. When he lifts again, I snatch my limb back in. I scramble to sit up, fingers and arm throbbing, breath panting.

"You Turley bitch! I ought to come in there and beat you within an inch of your fucking life!"

I glare at the opening, staring holes into his legs. "Come in and try it, asshole!"

"I hope you fucking rot in there!" he curses before the opening at the door slams shut. I hear another insult tossed my way, and then he stomps off.

Inwardly cursing myself for not being quick enough, I grit my teeth as I flex my fingers. I was so close to having that damn weapon.

Pushing to my feet, I start to pace. Five steps is all I get from one wall to the other before I have to spin around and go the other way. Back and forth, my anger and anxiousness grow.

I feel caged. And that feeling…it makes me want to crawl through my own skin. Makes me want to rage.

The guard's words echo. I hope you fucking rot in there.

A burst of fury carries me across the room, and I snatch up the food tray. Everything left on it goes flying as I slam it against the door again and again and again. Every hit wrought with a furious scream.

The tray does nothing against the door of course, not even a scuff on the stone. I toss it away with disgust, looking around wildly for whatever else I can destroy, needing to get out this pressurizing ire.

Eyes locking on the crust of bread, I snatch it up, ready to crush it between my fists, to throw it against the wall, but before I can chuck it, the bread… molds . It grows green with fuzz and then blackens, shrinking, eating away at itself.

Shocked, I let it drop to the ground, and it falls into disintegrated pieces.

Heart pounding, I crouch down, staring at it. What the hell?

I look down at my open palm. Look at the black lines moving through the gold like veins of marble.

I hope you fucking rot in there.

Rot. This is rot . I'm not sure exactly how I know this, but I do.

I watch as the liquid gold and black lines soak back beneath my skin, fading away. I sit down on the floor, staring at the moldy bread, and my mind starts to spin with the sprout of an idea.

And that idea, rooted in rot, starts to bloom .