12. Vexxion
12
VEXXION
T here wasn’t anything I wanted more than to flit Tempest to a place where she could be safe.
A sanctuary where I could hold her.
Love her.
Did such a place exist in this world or beyond?
If it did, I’d find it. I’d take her there. And then we could live together in beauty and peace.
The king always had the captured Nullens brought to his suite. He took from them all, and no one voiced a word to stop him.
Some he “drained” quickly, moving onto the next before I could ease them to the floor. Others he’d tap over a series of nights, sipping tiny amounts that were just as insidious as when he guzzled their supposed power down with a few gulps.
I lulled each one and left them sleepy to ensure the king thought he’d taken most of what they had .
With new groups coming in often, he quickly moved on to the next, forgetting about the old. If he thought about it, he’d assume the Nullen didn’t have enough power to bother with again.
I’d also done this with each person claimed and collared by a lord or lady. But I couldn’t be everywhere at once. I couldn’t protect them all, and that scorched through me.
Making sure Ivenrail or any lord or lady only took enough to stun them was a delicate art that had taken too long for me to perfect. The first time I did it, when I was ten, I hadn’t been able to rise from my bed for three days. I worried I’d die from the exhaustion consuming me.
I hadn’t tried again for months, and I lived with that regret. So many had suffered because I was afraid.
Over time, I learned to slow the power he took from me, teasing enough from the Nullen that they’d be tired for a few days but never drained enough to force them into the ether. This made sure they all tasted different; it kept the king from guessing my role in this game.
And now Ivenrail was eager to drink once again.
I flitted into his living area and remained near the wall, watching as the terrified Nullens were led inside as if they were a light repast brought up from the kitchen.
He took none to his bed, saving that for the fae women he coerced, including high ladies from other courts like my mother, the wives of his lords, and random fae women working at Bledmire Court.
Crossing my arms, I leaned against the wall. I hated being here, watching him gorge himself on power. Would a day come when I could instead sit around and smile while remembering my fury falling apart in my arms? Not now. Maybe never. One little distraction could mean the difference between survival and death, not just for me, but for every person living inside this castle.
If nothing else, I’d learned how to focus.
“Only eleven,” he whined like a petulant child denied a sack of candy.
“Riders,” one of the Lieges who’d arrived with tonight’s Nullens hissed. “Many riders attack.”
“At least we’ll be able to do something about that soon, High Advisor Adwarin.”
My breath caught. What did he mean?
“Yes, we will,” the high advisor said blandly. He sat at a desk in the corner, noting details on paper, not bothering to look up. If he took a sip from a Nullen every now and then, I hadn’t seen or felt it. It surprised me, actually. He was as greedy for power as the king, and he also didn’t worry about breaking rules.
No one was this loyal, certainly not within a court ruled by a fiend. If he stole power here and there, I doubted it would be missed. He could amass it until he had enough to challenge Ivenrail for rule. There weren’t many within Bledmire Court with the potential. Me. Him. His surviving daughter, perhaps.
And one other who had not stepped inside the castle for a very long time.
Ivenrail curled his finger toward the first Nullen in the line, a child of about ten years old. “Bring it to me.”
What was the king going to do to take care of the rider “problem”? I needed to find out. Another twist in the game ?
I scanned the group who’d entered with the Lieges. Four collared Nullens lined the wall behind them, only Brodine staring forward blankly. The rest kept their eyes trained on the floor. If they paid too much attention, the king might remember they were there and make them step forward for draining.
I’d mocked Brodine for adoring Tempest. Now I felt regret that I hadn’t been here to keep him from being swallowed alive. Brodine would be dead within a week.
Would her friend feel his death, or would the tiny bit left of his awareness welcome the end with wide open arms?
“Make that little one come closer,” the king snarled at a Liege. He stomped his foot. “It’s just standing there, not obeying my command.”
The child remained stoic, staring forward blankly, though I knew she hadn’t yet been drained. In shock, most likely. Who wouldn’t be after watching dregs invade her village before grabbing her and stuffing her inside a cage? I could only imagine what she saw after that, when they took her to their cave where some of the dregs dined on the bodies of her friends and family. At least she wouldn’t remember what was coming next.
Not long after I discovered how to make the king drain me instead of someone else, I made arrangements. A spell took away their memory of this time, and someone trustworthy took them home after it was over. I doubted Ivenrail gave them one thought after they were taken from his suite.
“This one is young,” the Liege intoned. “It will not do as you ask. You must take . . .” His hissing voice slithered through the room. But he dutifully stepped forward, coming over to stand behind the child, snarling by her ear. “Go see the king. He has a surprise for you, little one.” His words husked around us, the bones of long dead corpses rattling together in a cold wind.
She gulped and took one step forward. Another.
Losing patience, Ivenrail snapped his hand out, encircling her wrist and dragging her against his knee. When her belly hit, she yelped and struggled, smacking his leg.
I sent soothing thoughts to her mind, spinning a pretty dream where she ran through a meadow, laughing. A fluffy baby chall scampered behind her, mewing, until she spun back around and swept up the tiny beast, cradling it against her chest. She sat in the deep grass with the perfume of flowers swirling around her, lowering the tiny creature to her lap to pet it.
“Good. I hate when they struggle.” The king jabbed his thumb against her forehead, and he drank.
And drank.
And drank.
As I siphoned my power through her and into him, I closed my eyes and continued the dream, sending sprites into the meadow to sing a lilting song for the child.
Here, she stared at the floor.
There, she smiled and laughed, snuggling her pet.