9. Chapter 9

After another quick wash, rinsing cum and blood off my thighs, I was thoroughly invigorated. With every move, with every twitch of muscle while I put on my tunic and trousers, I luxuriated in the aches spread across my body.

The throbbing, dull pains in my core.

The reddish bruises marbling my limbs, my hips, and my neck.

The pinprick bite marks surrounding my nipples.

A blaze of carnal hunger raced through me. Oh, how naturally we had become what we were always meant to be:

One being, tied by the tether of our devotion, bleeding the same blood, breathing the same air, shuddering the same pleasure.

Yet that brief connection was not enough to sate years of longing. I wanted more, and I saw the same need in their eyes.

But there was no time left.

As promised, Cyn had brought back my weaponry while I slept, most gore wiped away. Even my shoes were still intact apart from a snapped lace. As Cyn and Eli washed and dressed, too, I replaced it with a length of string.

Leaving the cellar with my brothers at my sides, my dagger in my boot, and my bow across my back, I felt invincible.

Cyn walked ahead of us into the church, a swagger in his step and a whistled tune on his lips as if he was out on a casual stroll.

"What about your ghouls?" I asked, but Elias shook his head.

"As we cross from area to area, the wards will dispel any existing summons, severing my magic's connection. Another measure to put prey at a further disadvantage. I will have to depend on new materials in the other chambers and cast my spells anew."

My chin dipped in affirmation and I bit a chunk from the stale bread in my hand, the dry crust jabbing into my palate as I chewed.

"I'm sorry we don't have anything else. Malachar keeps us on a short leash, gives barely enough food to survive," Elias said with disdain, eyes flaring. "And even then, we get table scraps. He knows how fond Demons are of indulgence and keeping us hungry makes our fiends especially aggressive."

"The prick never liked us anyway," Cyn yelled from the chancel, venom in his tone. "Everyone else got a chamber built to their exact specification and plenty of food, but we got this heap of shit. Disobedient dogs belong in the dirt, Malachar said. Apparently, we don't deserve anything better, just because we dared to fight back." He banged his fist on the altar, the bowls and trinkets on it chiming.

I frowned as I swallowed, imagining a broad-headed arrow anchoring itself in Malachar's stomach. If I got to decide, the bastard would die a slow, agonizing death, his own innards poisoning him with bile. A shot to the gut could take days to claim its victim, and I would treat his wounds just enough for him to enjoy the harrowing entirety of his well-deserved sentence.

"You have not lost one bit of your fire, Myna," Elias said, and I blinked, snapping out of my violent fantasies.

"Is that a compliment?" I quipped.

"It's more than that. It's adulation," he answered, smiling. "It's wise you stopped wearing your heart on your sleeve as you did when we were young. But in moments like these, when you scowl and grit your teeth, I can see the inferno of the Hells still burning behind those sage-colored eyes. If you so desired, you could set the entire world ablaze. You have grown into a capable, impressive woman, little sister. We are proud of you. Cyn feels the same, but you know he's not the kind of man to waste breath on flowery words."

"Damn, you should have seen her kick me in the nose when I had her tied up!" Cyn bellowed. "I was impressed. Usually, all I get is whimpering and pleading. But not our little Hellspark. Never been prouder!"

"Thank you." I flushed, catching my lip between my teeth. "And you two … you're like the Creators descended onto the mortal plane, their strengths and powers bequeathed upon you both."

Eli let out a laugh. "That's what Malachar said when he chose the fiends we would host. A Blood Demon for Cyn. A Gravewhisperer Demon for me. He told us we'd be just like our Gods. That we should be grateful for the might he would bestow upon us."

My eyes widened, and I twisted the toe of my boot on the ground. "I-I'm sorry! My intention was to express my admiration! I didn't mean to offend you." I shoved the last piece of bread into my mouth to shut myself up.

"You didn't." Cynthian smirked, fishing a key from his pocket. "That's the one good thing about all of this shit. I hate this fucker inside me. Hate how he screeches at me. Hate how he drowns out my thoughts when he demands blood. But when I fight …" He used the key to tap the whip and cleaver at his belt, metal meeting bone, then blade. "When I fight, I feel like Zerian himself. Like nothing can stop me. And Eli—"

"I have come to enjoy my powers," Elias said, unstrapping a flask from his belt, offering it to me. "When I command the dead, when I use the necromantic magic flowing through my veins and sparking at my fingertips, it's almost as if I can hear Dianya's voice singing to me."

I took the bottle and unscrewed it, taking a few measured sips of water before handing it back to Elias. He inclined his head as he tied it in its former place while we rounded the altar. Cyn stood by a hatch in the floor, a lock at one side. In my earlier panic, I had completely overlooked it.

"When Malachar tortured us, when he cut us to see how fast we would heal, when he made us fight one another because he found it amusing, Cyn and I found respite in each other. We couldn't have survived without the other," Eli said as he framed Cyn's face with both hands, and they exchanged a soft kiss. "But we didn't forget you. We spoke of you every day. Every day we hoped against hope, Myna. We hoped to see you again. We hoped one day, we would get to use these powers to protect you. One day, they would be a blessing, not a curse. And now, the time has come."

"I'm gonna tear that asshole Malachar to bloody shreds," Cynthian snarled. He shoved the key into the lock as if he meant to punch it. "If it's the last thing I'll fucking do. He will suffer for everything he did to us. For separating us."

"We've never been granted the easy paths, never been given the kind choices," I said, smiling at them. "But together, we will overcome this, too. Then we can build the life we wanted. Zeridia will yet learn to fear us, I know it."

"The chain of oppression chokes before it breaks," Elias said, absentmindedly running a hand along his collar. "Creators preserve us and fill our hearts with courage. I hope our breath lasts long enough."

We climbed down a rickety ladder ending in a hallway. There was absolutely nothing in the upward-sloping, winding corridor. Gray bricks enclosed us, the claustrophobic space barely wide enough for my brothers to move without their shoulders touching the walls.

Cyn walked ahead of me and Elias at my back. The same little lights which had illuminated the barrel during our tryst darted around us, re-summoned with a sweeping gesture of Eli's hand.

Cyn had stopped whistling, one hand clutching the cleaver at his belt, the other balled into a fist at his side. Behind me, I heard the clacking of Eli's morbid prayer beads, words of faith mumbled in rhythm with the even thudding of his steps.

Eerie tension crept over my skin. We had no idea what awaited us.

Would we lose each other again so soon, death's strike forever severing the threads connecting our hearts?

Finally, before I could sink further into my glum thoughts, there was a door at the far end of the hallway, promising freedom—or disaster.

"Your dramatic reunion and adorable escape have made me a bigger profit than in the entire year," a disembodied, nasal voice drawled, and all three of us stopped dead in our tracks. "My auditorium has never been fuller. I've had to make my guests pay by the hour, so everyone gets a fair chance to place their bets."

I knew that voice. I recognized it even through the metallic echo and crackling distortion. It belonged to the same piece of shit who had caused all our misery. The same man who'd lured me into this trap.

Malachar Nihalyth.

My head whipped around, but we were alone. No way he would come down here to stop us himself.

Malachar possessed no magic and was the opposite of a warrior—short, pot-bellied, his body slowed by age and gluttony. But he possessed a keen, callous sense for business and over the years, his scheming had paid off in coin. With it, he hired muscle and extraordinary mages, more than making up for his own shortcomings. They were the only reason he hadn't been dethroned.

"The wards," Elias whispered, his hand dropping on my shoulder. "He's speaking through them. They're here, too."

"What do you want, asshole?" Cyn shouted, yanking his cleaver free, shaking it at the air.

Malachar tsked. "Always so needlessly hostile, boy. I want to offer you a deal."

"Fuck your deal and fuck you!" Cyn slammed the hilt of his blade into the wall. "We're gonna get out of here and you'll regret the damn day you messed with the three orphans!"

A prickle crawled along my arms.

The Three Orphans.

I hadn't heard that moniker in years. What seemed like a lifetime ago, the people of Hedonfel graced us with this nickname.

The word orphans had always been accompanied by that certain expression twisting their faces, a deceitful facade of pity and sadness with a truthful hint of thank-fuck-that-isn't-my-fate. Not that anyone ever extended a helping hand to us. Their compassion was an empty gesture.

It seemed folks feared hardship like a contagious disease, a fatal infection spreading to their own lives if they dared to mingle with anyone less fortunate.

Malachar laughed, the sound a wheeze.

"Ignore him, Cyn," Eli urged, shuffling me forward, closer to Cyn, to lay a tender hand on his side. "It doesn't matter what he has to say."

"You shouldn't be so arrogant, Elias. You forget who holds the power here. I'm the only one whose words matter in my House of Grief. But I suppose you could use a reminder," Malachar said. "Activate the collar spells."

The last sentence clearly wasn't meant for us, his voice fading as if he turned away from whatever magical artifact he was using to project his voice.

At first, nothing happened.

Suddenly, the collars around my brothers' necks lit up in a flash of red. My stomach roiled as I looked at the glowing runes covering the metal, but I couldn't make sense of them before they faded once more.

Cyn kicked the wall. "Shithead! Wait until I get you!"

"We knew what would happen, Cyn. We talked about this earlier, remember?" Eli said, practiced calm in his tone, but our brother only growled in response.

"What the Hells is going on?" I asked.

"I'll clarify in a moment," Eli whispered, squeezing my shoulder as he straightened, and took a deep breath. "Say your piece, Malachar."

"How pleasant! You're finally smart enough to listen." His derisive chuckle drifted around us. "Here is my offer: If you make it through all chambers and collect the other keys from your rivals' dead bodies … If you reach the surface before the poison freezes your insides …"

The hairs on my arms stood, my mind reeling.

Poison.

That's what the collars were for.

Cyn and Eli were going to die.

"If you fulfill those criteria, I'll let you out. Your sweet little sister, as well," Malachar continued, malicious glee thickening each word. "And of course, I'll give you the antidote, too."

"Filthy liar!" Cyn burst out again. "I don't believe a fucking word from that rotten throat of yours. I can't wait to rip it out!"

"Is that all?" Eli asked, standing completely still. Had it not been for the eyes on his chest darting, rolling, and blinking, I wouldn't have guessed how furious he was.

"I hate to think what horrible things will happen to your darling sister if you both die." Malachar tutted. "Tick-tock goes the clock, boys. Get going. I'll speak to you again soon … if you survive."