Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Images rolled through Merrill’s mind like a movie. Most , he didn’t recognize. He knew what his captors were doing. They were trying to make him go mad. Just as two of the Kings had done after being tortured during the Fae Wars .
And there was nothing he could do to stop it.
He tried. For a time, he held on to… He couldn’t remember her name anymore. He could barely recall his. How much longer before that, too, was gone? It wasn’t as if he would remember any of this.
Why had he even wandered around this cursed realm? What had taken him from the others? It must have been important, but he no longer recalled the reason. With every slice of skin and every drop of blood spilled, he was becoming something else. He had hidden it away, feared it. But even that was no more. He welcomed what he was becoming because the torture would be over.
As much as he sought the blessed oblivion, it no longer cradled him as it once had. Previously , it had taken him to that void where he felt nothing, and his mind was still. Now , it only brought him halfway, leaving him aware of the blood welling from his lacerations before skating down his skin to drip into the earth and the stinging of his flesh from being sliced and gored.
A quick, feminine inhale pierced through his musings. The sound was out of place in the camp. The women warriors would never make such a dainty, shocked sound. For just a moment, a face began to take shape in his mind. Thick , wavy, midnight locks that were cool to the touch. Stormy gray eyes.
He recognized her, but just as her visage came into focus, it faded like smoke, leaving him to drift half-conscious on the agony of his injuries. There wasn’t much of him left. The next time they tortured him might be his last. He yearned for the end now, just as he had once longed for peace. Anything to stop the pain.
A cool blade pressed against the base of his neck above his spine. He waited for a taunt or two, but his captors never spoke. They let their weapons speak for them.
And they had a lot to say.
Merrill winced as the edge of the dagger pierced his skin, sinking all the way to the bone. There was a prick of pain, then wetness as warm blood oozed from the wound. Then came the flare of heat, followed by the stinging and burning. His flesh and muscles sizzled, and his body tensed, but there was no getting away from the agony. He tried to hold back the scream, but it burst from him, echoing around the forest as the blade carved a line down the middle of his spine.