Chapter Thirty-Nine

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

INNER WORLD

I don’t remember what came after. I must have lost consciousness. I woke up to hands pulling me out of my chamber, which crumbled with splintered wood and strewn stone, the walls no longer standing. Blood splattered what remained, bodies of Witch Warriors piled atop each other, shards of wood jutting out of them. Leiya was nowhere to be seen. And Olea… her body was left behind.

Two Drakkarians gripped my biceps so hard I thought they might pop. They dragged me away—away from the scene of death and destruction I’d created. Some hard metal—silver, most likely—coated their stiff leather, and I wanted to wretch away from it. I could feel their magic suppressing mine, like a damp rag on my soul.

I gritted my teeth through the gag they’d placed over my mouth. Olea is dead. I pressed my eyes shut, feeling the heat build behind them, wishing I could wake from this unending nightmare. Jana, too . At least she’d lived a full life. She’d made a choice—a sacrifice. But Olea… she was an innocent, caught in a king’s war. And perhaps, if I hadn’t given her a reason to return to my chamber, she would have made it out alive.

“I think we should take a detour, Gal,” the one on my left said gruffly. “Show this princess a true Drakkarian welcome.” He chuckled. “Besides, war is war. We are entitled to our spoils.”

My insides turned cold as the Witch who’d spoken stopped and pulled me closer to him—he stank of mold and sweat. The Witch rested the tip of his nose on my head, and drew a long inhale. “For Nebbiolon trash, she smells quite appealing.” I looked up at a wide grin, revealing a smattering of rotten teeth. Hate coursed through me and I steadied myself to fight, to break free of their unnaturally powerful grips. But I was frozen and my reaction time delayed. I could only see Olea’s limp body, ravaged, her face blank.

“No.” The single word came from the other soldier, but it rang through me like a call. It held so much familiarity, a feeling I could not place. The long hood of his cloak still covered his likeness, and though I peered toward him, he revealed nothing.

The brute huffed and just shoved me along harder. “Fine, later then.”

We reached the throne room after several minutes of silence, and I squeezed my eyes shut. Think, think, think —I knew any chance of rescue I had would rely on my ability to signal my location to the others, or to escape and rendezvous at the meeting point. But I felt weak, helpless in their grips, my magic just a whimpering stir beneath their suppression. And I was tired—bone-tired. From being mauled by bugs, fighting an army of Drakkarians, and being shot in the neck. I was tired of seeing death, of causing it.

The heavily guarded doors to the great hall swung open, and I numbly noted how the tables had been cast aside to create a large open space. They were not empty, however. Swaths of Drakkarian soldiers pinned Viri females atop or against the tables, some still taking their pleasure violently, others in a slow, drunken way. My guards shoved me forward, down to whatever waited for me at the end of the hall, but my eyes could not leave those women. I sensed their screams had died, their whimpers swallowed. They were silent, retreated into an inner world I knew we all had.

My cheeks, now streaked with tears, felt a pinch, forcing me towards the front of the room. Another Witch standing close confronted me. I blinked. He was the one from the Sk?l—who’d portaled away at the last second after I’d been shot. His fingers still gripped my chin where he’d turned me towards him.

He brought his mouth close to my ear. “You,” he whispered, his cold fingers making their way from my face down my neck. “Killed many of my friends.”

A shiver coursed through my body, but I didn’t move. I wanted to fight, yell, kick—anything to resist. But I remained frozen, slipping into that place where I knew the Viri females had gone.

“And I am going to delight in returning the favor.” His fingers found my collarbone, and he pressed down. At first softly, and then harder and harder. I could feel the bone splintering and cracking at his touch. The gag strangled my screams and though my body wanted to go limp, the guards held me firmly upright.

“Such strength in you, but also such softness…” He breathed hot on my ear. “I wonder if other areas of yours have similar qualities.” His fingers left my fractured collarbone, traveling southward, and the grip from the hooded guard tightened, as if in anticipation.

“Enough!” a voice bellowed from in front of us—a figure upon the banquet dais. The warrior’s hand retreated.

The room seemed to still as the speaker rose. He didn’t bother drawing back his hood to address me. I could see nothing of him nor identify any unique characteristics save for the scraggly beard that tipped out from his chin, and the gleaming ruby that adorned his pinky.

“Ahhh, at last. The infamous Terragnata. We hoped you would join us. We’ve been waiting, oh so patiently,” he sang, his voice booming against the stone walls, gesturing to the figures next to him.

And then I saw her. The queen sat at the table he had just sauntered from, the one we’d dined at together many times in the past few weeks. Her eyes were closed, her face pale and taut. Her normally shining dirty blonde hair was ashen. One cloaked Witch flanked her, tattooed but unshaven—a stark contrast to the shaved warriors that fought in the hall.

I set my jaw, drawing every ounce of strength I had left. “I can’t imagine what you were waiting for,” I said, my voice not much above a whisper. “I have nothing to offer you.”

“Oh, my dear, but that is very much not the case. You are everything we have been waiting for. You are the key! And you are even more… so much more,” his voice crooned, my skin crawling in reaction.

“Well, I would be happy to help in any way I can,” I bit out. My face turned hot as I thought about the women enslaved all around me. “But you have to let her go,” I said, nodding to Neferti. “In fact, you have to let all of them go.” My last request fell to a firm, but barely audible whisper. I shook with rage now, and I feared speaking at a normal level would reveal that.

The Witch raised his head slightly, appraising me. “What would you want with an old crone set on your demise? Did she not send you away, banish you to live amongst the mortal?”

“What would you want with an old crone if I am the key?” I growled, still not knowing what that meant. The heat inside me grew, blocking out any doubts or questions.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Young girl, you are so very at the beginning of your lifespan. Yet bold! Is it your lack of experience that makes you so? For you have had little time to know true sorrow, true failure.” The Witch leaned forward, the swirling patterns of ink on his cheeks glinting in the light. “Tell me, dear child, do you even know who you are? What you are?”

The Witch laughed out loud at his humorless question, a guttural, menacing sound. The warriors still standing joined in until the hall became a chorus of mocking.

“No, you don’t. She never told you. You are the key to restoring the balance destroyed by the first Rexi of Nebbiolo. If your mother ,” he drawled the word, as if to emphasize the irony of it, “wishes to see her people survive, she needs to do only one thing. Settle an old debt. With your life.”

His words sent a jolt of betrayal through me that confirmed my suspicions about my mother. But it didn’t compare at all to the overwhelming exhaustion that weighed on my bones. Olea. Jana. My mother. My father. My brothers. These women—all around me. Suffering, suffering. Too much suffering. Because of me. Because of me .

“I, however, want to protect you, to keep you safe. Which is why we came here—to save you from a king who plotted your death. And a queen who would sacrifice you for her own gain.”

I no longer listened; I felt my inner world trying to swallow me whole—into a protective cocoon—into the abyss of dissociation. Before the Drakkarian could say another word, the palace stone floors shifted and exploded with water.

Water burst through the pipes that, unbeknownst to me, ran beneath the tile floor. A myriad of liquid volcanoes had erupted, inspired by my trick to woo the crowd before the Sk?l. This time, it was not to please the guests. It was a tactical weapon, a beast with dozens of tentacles—individually drowning the Drakkarian warriors. Some spelled to cast the Water off, and some physically fought the element.

And then Fae rushed in—not from the grand doors—no, from shadowed alcoves, trapdoors, and floor grates. There were not many, maybe less than fifty, but enough to cause a serious distraction alongside the water. They must have been hiding, crouching in the unknown spaces of the palace, waiting to make their final stand.

One Water spear came for the ugly Drakkarian that held me, and immediately his grip dropped, as did the spell suppressing my magic. I lashed out at the proverbial chains and felt a whisper of my power trying to sneak through a blocked wall. It was so close I could see it—smell it, even—just not grasp it.

My joints remained locked, my mind growing more and more distant from my body. The other Drakkarian dragged me towards the exit, dodging the dangerous Water magic at every step and splashing through the debris. Though I could not see him, I knew Fayzien fought somewhere close. His magic would not kill me—he’d missed too many chances at this point. He wanted me alive. He wanted the queen alive.

My head jerked to the front of the room—where she’d been sitting before. The Rexi struggled to pull away from her guards, her movements whipping with such haphazard violence I knew she fought to prevent them from portaling her away.

My mother’s lifeless face flashed in my mind again, sending a physical pang of regret through my gut. I’d stayed frozen when she needed me. Even if this mother wanted me dead, even if she’d been the reason the woman who’d raised me left this world… I had to act.

I turned towards the soldier who still gripped me and made to remove his hood. If I was going to battle another Drakkarian, I would look into their eyes. I brought my chained arm up to his face and he swerved back, startled—nervous even. I tried again, and he repeated the action, his stance even more defensive than before. I tried once more, this time yanking the arm he’d gripped towards me. But he pushed me back, turning away as I clipped the edge of his hood with my fingers. I could not see his face as my momentum carried me to the ground.

When I looked up, he vanished. I blinked, water dripping from my eyelashes. The strangeness of the interaction dropped to the wayside—I needed to find Neferti.

In the fray, I could no longer see her, could not see if she still battled on the pseudo-dais. C’mon, Terra. No time for hesitation. So I searched for a weapon—perhaps a felled warrior’s sword.

In the chaos, I could see nothing but water and blood.

Until—a flash of green. Peeking out from under a ripped cloak.

My fingers knew as soon as I made contact. Ezren’s dagger had somehow made its way back to me.

I clasped my still chained hands around it, not worrying about how—only thanking the gods for their gift.

“For Gemilane, for the Fae. For Olea,” I whispered, letting a tear slip down my face.

And then I twirled and slashed, cutting through the wall of bodies like I’d done it thousands of times before—even with my hands bound. I only engaged when necessary, moving towards the table of the crown. And though I tried to withhold any lethal strikes, I fell into the hum of battle. But I did not ponder a single thought; my blade was a hand slicing through the mist, acting on instinct and training alone.

Water streamed down my face from the exploding geysers around us. Pandemonium surged, and it took me several seconds to register my surroundings. But then I saw her. The queen still fought her captors—not allowing them to get a solid grip on her. I knew she’d tire in seconds, not minutes.

A moment later, my dagger cut through air, striking down the warriors before they registered what was upon them. My gaze lingered on the bloodstains decorating the queen’s skirts for a heartbeat, which was a mistake, for a Witch appeared next to me, grasped my hair, and slammed my head into the banquet table.

In the same motion, he yelled, “Sedric!”

I pushed myself up from the table and turned, dagger raised and clasped between my bound hands. But a Witch appeared behind the queen, shoving her into me. I had no time to react, or if I did, I was not prepared to seize it while still tied, for my blade sank into the queen’s chest.

My mouth fell ajar and her eyes flickered in surprise. For all the evil and plotting I had smelled on her before, I saw only helplessness then. The world moved at a snail’s pace, such slow motion, and I saw not only the Rexi at the tip of my blade, but Jana, a soft smile on her lips. And she changed again—into Olea, death on her face, a horrifying emptiness in her eyes. Then I saw my mother’s hair, peeking out from our floorboards, as the life escaped from her in front of me.

Before I could register what happened, before I could say a word or scream at the irony of her fate, the Witch that had shoved her into me pulled her back, my dagger slipping out from her chest.

The image of our last resentful interaction, just before the Sk?l, flashed between my eyes.

Blood spurted from her wound, and she opened her mouth to speak.

But then, he portaled.

And she was gone.