Chapter Thirty-One
“Cut his tongue out,” Greya said, shocked.
The kit tightened his grip in Nick’s hair as he slid a knife from his belt. Nick’s heart leapt, adrenaline flooding his system. Now would be a great time for his supposed protection symbols to start doing something useful!
“I’ve heard that all from that region are ill-mannered, but to think it was this bad,” Rin scoffed.
Nick met the kit’s eyes as he moved in. With Kit, Nick had known that he didn’t want to hurt him.
From the first moment they’d met, Kit had been trying to lessen the violence of his own actions, but Nick saw plain as day that whatever resistance this kit might have once had to following violent orders, it was long gone.
“I need my tongue for spells,” Nick blurted.
“Wait,” Rin said. The kit went totally still. “Did the last one speak during the ceremony?”
“I never paid much attention if I’m being honest,” Greya said.
“Those ceremonies go on for so long… Do we really need to baptise their babies? It’s useful that they never get sick, but surely there’s someone we can set to the task?
This is why we should have hired a priestess.
Someone to do all the annoying things for us.
Aha—I always did the annoying sermons, the witch never said a word,” he concluded, looking at Nick as though he were a repulsive bug he wished to squish under his boot.
“You’ve spent ten years trying to find a capable witch.
” Nick’s voice came out strained, his head twisted back, his throat horribly exposed.
It would mean absolutely nothing to these people to maim him, probably even less to kill him if they thought him useless.
“You really want to reset that clock again? Wrinkles are starting to show.”
Greya and Rin tensed. “Secure him and leave,” Rin barked.
Nick’s head was released, and his chained arms were quickly attached to the chair. The two guards bowed and left the room. Rin glared at him as Greya fussed with his wine cup, trying to catch his reflection in the metal.
“We shouldn’t have rationed it,” Greya said, alarmed. “He’s right. I’m getting crow’s feet!”
“She never spoke at the ceremonies.” Rin ignored Greya.
“Every witch does it differently,” Nick replied.
“Will these vanish? Rin?” Greya continued to peer at his own warped reflection. “It’s been so long I can’t remember. What did he say to Desre? He’d extend her life with his blood? But he never said anything about reversing ageing!”
Rin stepped into the space just in front of Nick.
Her eyes had a golden hue in the iris, and a milky discolouration in the pupil that made it more grey than black.
She ignored Greya’s panicking. Though Nick had said what he did about wrinkles to be a dick, this close he saw that he wasn’t wrong; lines grew around Rin’s eyes and mouth.
This close she didn’t look ageless; she looked old.
But there was something wrong about it. Like a twenty-year-old had some of the life of a seventy-year-old dumped over them, and it stuck in strange ways.
“How do you know about us?” Rin asked.
Nick remembered Kit’s fear around the topic.
It was something he was petrified of discussing, even when they were no longer on the ship with Desre.
“Do you think a council of people living for centuries can go unnoticed?” Nick deflected.
“Your secret isn’t as well kept as you might think.
” He didn’t understand what the whole obsession was about.
Living for centuries? Extending your life forever?
Wouldn’t that mean watching friends die while you went on?
Going on forever without your family? It genuinely sounded like torture.
Though Nick doubted this lot cared for anything beyond themselves.
“If people knew about us, we’d be fighting off armies,” Rin said, her voice hard.
“And what do you call that thing on your doorstep?” Nick challenged. “Besides, I can’t imagine anyone wanting to join you lot in eternity. I know I’d kill myself if I had to watch your stupid brother peering at his ugly mug in wine cups every –”
Rin’s hand shot out, delivering a hard slap. Nick’s head jerked to the side, skin smarting under the blow.
“I don’t enjoy entertaining untrained mutts.” Rin stared down at Nick with a cold glint in her strange eyes. “But I will insist on being given charge of you. Keep your tongue. I’m going to make you wish you’d been born without it. Leave that down, Greya. Let’s start.”
“Shouldn’t we let him change into the ceremonial robes?” Greya asked.
“Why? We’re not holding a ceremony. It’s just us.” Rin strode to the door, which opened just as she reached it. “Bring him.”
The guards released Nick from the chair and marched him into the main hall.
Nick’s legs seemed to grow heavier with every step he took down the centre aisle, bringing the familiar silhouette at the altar closer and closer.
Desre wore a golden dress and a veil that draped over her hair, making the wavy dark strands look like water weeds.
The veins in her neck pulsed green; her skin was a deathly white.
“Always dressing as the bride,” Rin muttered under her breath.
“She was his bride,” Greya pointed out.
“Only because she used her magic on him!” Rin snapped. “He liked me first.”
Nick put their bickering out of his mind.
Desre’s hands rested upon the circular altar.
She turned to them, meeting Nick’s eyes.
The muscles in her cheeks fluttered, as if she were barely holding in a roar.
It was the only part that moved; the rest of her was rigid.
Nick felt her anger. Felt it in every breath he took, and every fearful beat of his heart.
They stopped at the bottom of half a dozen steps. The two kits escorting Nick bowed, and he was forced to do the same. His heart thumped hard, the courage to kick out like he had only minutes ago deserting him.
“We’re not holding a public ceremony. You can remove the veil,” Rin said, and her voice, though not friendly, had lost its acidic edge. As if she was wary of turning a biting tone of voice against Desre.
The click of heels echoed in the great hall, and feet in delicate white sandals entered the edge of Nick’s vision.
The kit tightened his grip in his hair, ensuring Nick couldn’t even tilt his head to get a better look at Desre.
Not that he wanted to. His brain trudged as he struggled to think of a plan. A way to get through this alive.
Alive, he knew, meant showing he could do what they wanted. Alive meant biting his tongue. And that, Nick didn’t think he could do. Knowing what this woman had done to Kit filled him with a hatred so intense he couldn’t think past it.
Nick felt Desre’s attention shift away from him as if she’d been physically touching him. At his side, Rin tensed. “You are meant to be organising our defence,” Desre said.
“They’ll come, and they’ll die. What defence is needed?” Rin replied, but her voice sank even more, losing not just its energy but its power too. “If we’re lucky, your husband will come first, and you can have him organise the defence. Against his own army! Hah.”
“Valor is no fool. He knows he cannot come before me.”
“They’re all fools,” Rin said. “You’re just in a bad mood because they’ve stolen your toy. Again. You really should keep a better eye on him. Or keep a hand on him. Seems to me the moment you’re not touching your men, they run away as fast as they’re able.”
“Rin, darling, that’s taking things too far…” Greya cautioned.
“Go organise our defence,” Desre said. “Now.”
Rin’s anger simmered. Wordlessly, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the hall. Desre turned to Greya. “You’ve walked him through what he’s to do?” she checked.
“Er, no. Hadn’t got to that yet. He started talking, you see. I wanted to cut out his tongue, but he claims he needs it for the spell. And then Rin insisted that we bring him straight here to get rid of my crow’s feet as soon as –”
“Do shut up,” Desre said. “Stand upright.”
Nick’s back muscles shivered in relief as the kit released the pressure on the back of his head.
He found himself eye level with Desre; she stood on the middle step leading to the dais, only an arm’s length away.
He met her eyes. Her terrifying anger. Every thought of his own safety vanished; he thought only of Kit as a little boy, dragged here and forced to watch as his parents were killed in front of him.
“Your nose is crooked,” Nick said.
Nick’s sternum took another blow. Same spot. Same strength. He groaned, starting to crumple, but they didn’t let him, forcing him upright. He bit into his pain, taking it by the teeth. He sneered at Desre. He wasn’t going to back down from her, not an inch; consequences be damned.
Her black eyes stared back, full of hate. Nick bet there’d never been anything in her but the poisonous emotion. He bet she was born rotten to the core.
Desre climbed the half dozen steps to the altar.
“Aridia was once blessed by a god. Healthy children. Lush fields. Wealth.” She settled her hands upon the edge of the altar, looking past it to the large stained-glass window that dominated the far wall.
Moonlight shone through the coloured glass in beams of gold and blue.
“It was a generous blessing, but a limited one. I have been the keeper of this blessing for many years, preserving it. Sharing it. Protecting it.”
Greya carted a silver tray holding two clear glasses and a silver ladle to her side. She raised a finger, and Nick was urged up the steps towards them. The moment he reached the top step, he realised the odd circular altar was no altar at all.
It was a well.
The outer layer was constructed with pristine white stone blocks with grey veins.
The inner layer was grey stone, crusted with algae and moss, patchy and crumbling.
The water level came to a foot below the top stones, and the light didn’t pierce far enough for Nick to see the bottom.
There was a shadow in the gloom, something golden.
Desre stared into the well, as if she could see the bottom clearly and whatever lay there captivated her.
“The kits were a race of thieves before I joined their midst, hardly able to focus on any task long enough to build anything or make anything of themselves. Before me, the only stone structure in Aridia was this well… He found their race fascinating. He’d sit on the stones, and I’d tell him all about them.
” She smiled as if recalling fond memories.
But as she stared at the shape in the gloom of the water’s depths, the smile faded.
“Not that a pack of animals was enough to keep a god’s attention…
Water is given to farmers who have proven their loyalty.
Newborns are baptised here, so long as their family proves their worth. ”
Nick could only assume ‘loyalty’ meant total obedience to the council and nothing else.
“So the crops are failing because you stopped letting them use this water. People are starving because you”—Nick reasoned it out—“didn’t know if you could find another witch to replace it, and you didn’t want to let anyone but yourselves benefit from it. ”
“We’ve hardly benefited either!” Greya said, as if he’d suffered a great wrong.
“The minute we realised witches weren’t as powerful as they used to be, we only took the absolute minimum of draughts.
We don’t want to upset the balance of the—the concentration ratio, erm, why was it again? ” He looked at Desre for an answer.
“The water level cannot drop any further,” Desire replied.
If Greya wanted her to elaborate, it didn’t show. Desre took the silver ladle and dipped it into the well water. She carefully poured it into a glass and then lifted it. Greya gazed enviously at the full glass as she walked past him. She came to stand in front of Nick.
Particles like flakes of small gold were suspended in the water, catching the light as they floated in a lazy, circular current.
“Our last witch could perform this spell once a day. You’ll do the same.”
“I can’t think of a single reason why you would think I’d obey you.” Nick smiled, and though he knew he was a bruised and wretched thing to look at, he didn’t care. “Your little trick doesn’t work on me, remember?”
Greya snapped to attention. “What do you mean it doesn’t work?”
Desre held out the glass. “Hold this.”
Greya took it with the utmost reverence, cradling it with both hands.
“Your knife.” Desre gestured to the kit at Nick’s side, and he handed over his silver blade, hilt first.
Nick raised his chin and stared her down. He wasn’t afraid, not of her. He refused the emotion outright. He wanted her to see that he thought nothing of her. Wanted her to see that she wasn’t as powerful as she thought.
“Hold out his right arm. Twist the elbow up.”
Nick’s eyes widened. He wrenched a step back but was caught, grappled onto his knees. Hard, impossibly strong hands held him still.
Desre smiled. “I waited until I was here to check our notes, but I was right in my suspicions. You don’t need all of these to do what I want.
And fortunately, you left behind a broken slate telling me exactly what spell shielded you.
” She pressed the blade against Nick’s skin, above the symbol that had burned whenever she tried to use her power on him.
With an easy yank, razor-sharp silver parted muscle, skin, and non-permanent ink.
Nick stared in horror at the symbol, now split apart by a deep gash.
He had only a second to register its destruction before blood flowed from his arm and hid the ruin.
With a careless flick of her wrist, Desre threw the knife away.
It skidded across the stone floor, staining the white marble with drops of blood.
“Let’s see how sharp your tongue is now, shall we?”
Icy dread curled through Nick as she laid her hand over his bleeding arm.