Chapter 46
Alora
Alora’s vision swam, pain throbbing behind her eyes.
Her ears rang and she winced at the ache in the back of her head.
By the Seven above, where was she? The light all around her was blinding.
She was dreadfully cold and she couldn’t move.
It took a minute for her sight to clear enough to squint at the strange gold markings above her.
Panic clawed its way up her throat when Alora remembered her abduction.
She jerked but was tied down on a stone slab with her limbs bound tight by cords of magic. Alora tried to call out, but her voice broke, weak and useless. Any attempt to jerk free caused the enchanted bindings to constrict more, biting into her skin like living thorns.
Rune! She called for him down the bond, but her voice bounced off a barrier. The bond was foggy and far away, as if it had been drawn out of her reach. Rune…
The glowing wards crudely carved into the stone wall and ceiling hummed, glowing so bright every inch of it repelled the dark.
They had locked her within a warded dungeon Rune couldn’t reach.
And her ring was gone.
Eldrik had taken her back to Argyle, and there was only one thing he wanted.
Alora looked down at the glowing markings on her skin and froze. She’d been stripped to her undergarments, leaving her bare against the chilly air.
Her heartbeat raced at the sound of that familiar derisive laugh.
She turned her head up, spotting Eldrik sitting by a desk littered with glowing potions, strange artifacts and parchment.
He leaned back in his high-back chair, drinking from a strange white bowl.
Her father’s crown sat skewed on his brow above his pointed ears.
“Ah, at last,” Eldrik susurrated, voice virulent as poison, “I was beginning to think I had struck you too hard.”
Alora gritted her teeth, choosing anger over fear. “I am bride to the God of Shadows,” she said tightly. “King of the Netherworld. Touch me and he will—”
“Steal you away again?” Eldrik mused. Chuckling, he rose to his feet with a flourish, gold cape flaring around his legs as he approached. “I’m afraid that will not happen. All power has limits, even that of kings.”
Eldrik’s blue eyes gleamed as he brought the white bowl to his lips again as he drank.
It wasn’t a bowl—but a skull.
Her stomach dropped with revulsion, churning into horror when she recognized the nick crossing the left temple.
Laurent.
A sob caught in her throat. “You profane, wretched craven!”
Eldrik’s grin sharpened, delighted. “Thirsty, princess?”
She barely got a breath before he grabbed her jaw, forcing her mouth open. The wine hit her tongue, bitter and metallic. She screamed and thrashed as he tipped the skull higher, liquid choking her. She turned her head, gagging.
Eldrik’s laughter cut short when a deep rumble went through the castle. He looked up at the ceiling warily. It shook again like a beast ramming against the gates.
Rune.
It was her turn to faintly smile. “He will kill you.”
Eldrik laughed, setting down Laurent’s skull on his desk. “Your demon lord has been attempting to break in here all night, but unfortunately for him… we have taken precautions.”
He snapped his fingers.
The glyphs pulsated with harsh white light. Sun sigils. Purified wards carved by Summer Court magic and sealed with royal blood.
“Your beacons have been altered,” Eldrik said, examining the glow with pride. “Wards of light over every entrance to this castle. He cannot cross them. Nor can your pet.”
Alora froze.
The bond ached in her chest like a fist against her heart. She reached, desperate, and hit a wall. Nothing but dull smog.
Thunder rattled the walls. Not from outside. From beneath, as if a force was battering the foundation. The castle violently shook and the attacks immediately stopped.
What spells did Eldrik use that were powerful enough to keep out a god and a Vareth. No, it wasn’t merely that. Rune could have brought the castle down, but he would never risk harming her.
Alora closed her wet eyes, throat tight with dread and longing. She could almost sense Rune outside, seething with rage, pacing, feral and restless.
“Oh, I have never seen a more pitiable god.” Eldrik laughed. “He is desperate for his bride, but you were mine first and I will have what I deserve.”
His gaze swept eagerly over her body, but there was nothing lustful about it.
His eyes gleamed with a manic awe, like an obsessed man at last seeing what he so frenziedly sought.
Eldrik lingered on the markings etched into her skin, his finger tracing the delicate, ancient lines of magic that glowed faintly beneath her collarbone.
Alora recoiled. “Don’t touch me!”
“I have waited too long,” Eldrik murmured. “Oh, I can feel the magic in your veins. Such delicious divine power.”
His fingers twitched at his sides, as if aching to carve it out of her. The kind of thrill that came from knowing something forbidden was within reach.
She stared at him, her chest heaving. “You never wanted to marry me…”
“Marriage. Such a sordid custom. I never had any interest in that or your dilapidated kingdom. My plan was always to return to Arthal wielding the sun’s divine flame. Even if I have to peel it out of you.”
Alora’s heartbeat thundered in her ears, and she glanced down at the glowing white markings moving beneath her skin.
She was made by the power of the old and the new.
But Eldrick was after the sun’s flame.
And he would take her apart to get it.
“I have the perfect spell to draw out your divinity.” His wide, excited eyes fixed on her with an eerie smile. “One last step, then it will be mine.”
Sweat beaded on her forehead, her heart racing with fear at the madness on his face.
Eldrik paused when they heard footsteps in the hall. Someone was coming. She turned her head as it opened and her stomach sank.
Delphi stepped inside, cobalt gown trailing behind her like silk blue petals. She wore no veiled headdress this time, leaving her pointed ears exposed. Her face was unreadable.
Two Calveron guards closely escorted her.
Her violet eyes remained carefully on the wall without sparing Alora a glance. “You called for me, sire?”
Alora’s chest heaved with a sharp breath, shock and betrayal searing into her like a hot iron. But there had never been any kinship between them.
“Yes.” Eldrik smiled, sharp as a snake. “Come here.”
Hesitating, the Queen Dowager elegantly strode forward and bowed her head to him. Alora tried to catch Delphi’s gaze, her breath holding to hope. But Delphi refused to look at her, her throat bobbing.
He made a come-hither motion, clicking his tongue.
Delphi’s hand slightly trembled before she held it out to him. Eldrik drew out a knife and sliced her palm. She winced and he turned her palm over. Blood welled bright red and spilled on the stones at their feet.
He grinned when the wards there flared with life. “She truly is of your blood.”
They’ve never gotten along, but Delphi was all the hope she had left.
“Godmother…” Alora whimpered faintly, pleading. “Please.”
A flush of shame colored Delphi’s face before fixing her expression with indifference.
Even after learning the truth from Zinnia, knowing Delphi was her aunt, and still betrayed her made Alora’s chest cave in. Tears rolled down her temples.
Eldrik chuckled as he lifted her hand and dragged his dagger across her palm. “She cannot help you, princess. No one can.”
He let her blood drip on the ground, and the charge of magic crackled in the air as the wards blazed.
Alora raged, kicking and writhing. She strained against the bindings angrily. They flickered a moment then dug their thorns in deep, making her scream.
Eldrik smirked. “She’s stronger than I expected.”
“She’s stubborn,” Delphi replied impassively. “Like her mother.”
“Why would you help him?” Alora screamed. “Do you know what he means to do with my power?”
The Queen’s gaze flicked away. “Give him what he wants, and he will leave Argyle in peace. Do it for your people. It won’t be as painful if you don’t resist. This is for the good of all.”
Then she turned and quickly strode away.
The heavy door shut behind her, echoing in Alora’s head.
Eldrik stroked her cheek, chuckling. “You should be honored. To know your flame will help me conquer Arthal.” He leaned closer. “But Delphi was wrong about one thing. This will hurt.”
Eldrik picked up four onyx crystals from the desk behind him, each glowing with molten red fissures. He placed each one on her limbs, ankles and wrists and her body went heavy.
Cold fear sank through her chest.
Now she truly couldn’t move.
Then the burn seared her to the bone. Alora shrieked and writhed, trying to remove them, but the burning crystals were fused in place, smoking on her skin.
Eldrik laid out the parchment on the stone slab above her head, then he read it aloud. Alora’s heart shuddered at the strange words. The language slithered, vowels bending backward on themselves, malevolent and sharp.
Hellspeech.
Where did he get this spell?
Eldrik lifted a thin blade and murmured. “Hold still.”
“No, stop, please!”
The first shallow cut landed above her breasts. Alora bit her tongue, forcing herself not to scream as he slowly carved a symbol on her flesh, continuing to chant. The array in the ground pulsated red. The pain stung, but it was measured. Precise. And she knew he was only getting started.
Rune will come. He will come.
“The fae can survive a siphon,” Eldrik said as he worked. “But you, oh, who knows what will be left of you once I have drawn all that magic out. You are held by more than the light.”
Tears rolled down Alora’s temples and she shook, feeling her body go cold as more blood continued to leak down her torso and over the edge of the table.. Her spilled blood had fueled the ritual circle beneath the table. Something dark and frightening filled the atmosphere.
Her terror doubled.
“Please!” she cried. “I’ll do anything. Please don’t take any more!”