Chapter 48 Sorin
CHAPTER 48
SORIN
S orin breathed in deep as his magic filled his veins, his soul. He had felt his body shift back to his Fae form the moment he’d crossed the border. The elongated canines and pointed ears and the Marks that had been glamoured now adorned his chest and arms. His senses had sharpened to their full Fae glory, and the tang of Scarlett’s blood, of her life force seeping from her, had sent him into a panic he could barely control. He clutched her to his chest as he stepped through that portal of flame and into his own rooms.
He was home.
“We are safe,” he whispered into Scarlett’s hair. “You are safe. It is going to be okay.”
He laid her gently on the plush red sofa in his sitting room, dropping to his knees beside her. He pushed hair back from her too pale face. She had shifted too and her own pointed ears peeked out from under her mass of silver hair. He lifted her tunic from her abdomen and sucked in a breath. His magic was holding the wound together, but the dagger had been another shirastone one. There were black lines spiderwebbing out from the wound. He sent another wave of heat through her trembling body.
“Scarlett!”
At the sound of the mortal prince’s voice, a growl ripped from Sorin that was savage and primal.
“Shit,” a male voice muttered. Cautiously he continued, “Sorin, my friend, it’s time to fill us in.”
Sorin looked up. Callan and his guards were standing across the room. Finn and Sloan had their swords drawn and were standing in front of Callan. Sorin’s own Second had his arms crossed against his broad chest, looking as menacing as ever.
“Where is Briar? I told you to have him here,” Sorin demanded.
“He is here,” another male said softly as he entered the room. Smoke and ashes swirled around his Third like the shadows swirled around Scarlett.
“Where the fuck is Beatrix?”
“I am here, Prince,” came an older voice. A female with dark hair streaked with gray swept into the room, her violet eyes full of concern and her black dress swishing along the floor.
“Prince?” Callan blurted.
Sorin snarled again, and Rayner stepped in front of the mortals. “I would highly suggest not saying another word right now.”
Sorin’s eyes were back on Scarlett as she drew in another rattling breath. “The Healer is here. She is here, Love.”
Beatrix was beside him a moment later. “Pull your magic back, Prince,” she murmured.
As he did, blood poured from the wound, and Scarlett’s entire body tensed in pain. Sorin smoothed his hand over her forehead, stroking her hair. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Just a few more seconds.”
He could see the moment the Healer’s magic started to work. The tension in Scarlett’s face eased some, and her breathing became deeper. Steadier.
“This is deep,” Beatrix murmured. “She was stabbed with shirastone?”
“Yes. Twice,” Sorin replied, not looking at the Healer. Something was wrong. Scarlett’s eyes were changing color as he watched her. They weren’t going gold, though. Shadows weren’t swarming in them. They were turning silver. “Scarlett?”
“Where are we?” Her voice was cold and distant.
“We are at my home,” he answered.
“I’ve been to your apartment. This isn’t it.”
“My real home,” he said softly. “In the Fire Court. We crossed the border. We made it. You are safe.”
Those silver eyes narrowed on him. Amaré let out a soft coo from the perch he’d been resting on in the room. Sorin looked up, relieved to see the phoenix. “Go fetch Briar, Amaré. Quickly.”
The phoenix clicked its beak and was out the open window to carry out its orders. Scarlett was trying to sit up, and Sorin gently pressed her back, but she struggled against him. “Lay back, Love. Let Beatrix work.” She was slowly taking in the room, the elegance, the finery.
Sorin’s chambers were larger than his luxury apartment. They were in the main living area, adorned with a large dining table on one end, plush couches and chairs in the center, and a piano on the other end. His large bedroom and nearly as large private bath were through a door behind them. There was also a large study, an extra bedroom, a bedroom he’d turned into a small library, and another bath.
“You said Eliza was powerful,” she rasped slowly.
“She is.” Dread began coiling in his stomach. “Lay back, Scarlett.”
“But she is not more powerful than you.”
“No, she is not.”
“Who…who is more powerful than you in the Fire Court, Sorin?”
“Lay back, Scarlett,” he said quietly again. “Let Beatrix—”
He felt the cold creep along his legs first. He looked down and saw ice forming along the floor, starting at Scarlett and working its way out, its radius growing. He placed a hand on the floor, palm down, and willed heat through it, trying to slow the spread, but his magic was tapped out. He could feel her power— strong, unyielding, and limitless. His own magic danced alongside hers, but the shadows wouldn’t let it get any closer.
“Cyrus and Rayner, get them the hell out of here,” he said, gritting his teeth at the effort to hold back her magic.
“Sorin—” Cyrus said again.
“She nearly froze my blood along with an entire damn beach yesterday,” Sorin snarled. “Get them out, Cyrus.”
“We are not leaving our prince alone in here with power like that. Not after you’ve finally returned home—”
Darkness exploded.
It rippled out from Scarlett in an endless wave of shadows. They were all thrown back from her. He heard crashes as some were shoved into tables and thrown against walls. He could see nothing through the thick dark. Shields of flame sprung up from Cyrus.
“Find the mortals and get them out, Cyrus,” Sorin yelled into the dark.
“No,” came the answering growl.
“It is not a request. It is an order from your Prince,” Sorin snarled. “If a mortal prince is killed here, Talwyn will have my ass.”
The shadows and darkness were sucked from the room as quickly as they had appeared. Rayner was next to Beatrix, a shield of smoke and ash around the Healer. Her violet eyes were looking curiously from Sorin to Scarlett. Finn and Sloan had shoved Callan back against a wall. Sorin couldn’t even see Callan’s face. Cyrus was stalking towards Sorin, his sword drawn and his gaze fixed on Scarlett, who was…
Who was on her feet, her silver eyes luminous now. Flames and ice swirled around her, and her shadows slithered along the floor like snakes.
“Do not take one step closer,” Sorin gritted out to Cyrus, who froze mid-step. Her wound was still visible, still steadily trickling blood, but more shadows were converging there, too, seeming to form a dark dressing.
“Scarlett,” he said slowly, as if trying not to frighten a child, “I know you have questions. I know you are upset.” The ice on the floor spread quicker, spiderwebbing out and up objects around the room.
The door swung open as Briar appeared, panting. Amaré had done his job well, and judging by the little spots of blood on Briar’s face and arms, had pecked at him to pick up his pace. But the arrival of yet another stranger had startled Scarlett. Daggers of ice were at the throats of everyone present, halted only by Briar’s reflexes and years of training.
“Sorin, I am going to need some direction here,” Briar said from the doorway, his hands raised to keep the daggers at bay.
“Right now, I need everyone to just keep their godsdamn mouths shut,” Sorin snapped. “No one move and no one speak, and when I give a fucking order, I need it followed. Is that clear, Cyrus?”
He saw a muscle in his Second’s jaw flex, but he answered gruffly, “Yes, Prince.”
Sorin took a deep breath then slowly raised his hand and wrapped it around the ice dagger at his throat, wrenching it from the air and tossing it to the floor where it shattered. He took slow steps towards Scarlett, and when he was close enough to reach out and touch her, her shadows lunged for him, tight cords wrapping around his arms, winding up to his throat.
“Hey, Love,” he said softly. Those silver eyes that had been sweeping over the room, the people, everything, settled back onto him, and what radiated from them squeezed something in his chest so tightly he nearly vomited right there.
Hatred. Pure and undiluted hatred.
“Ask it, Scarlett. I can handle it. I can take what you need to say to me.”
“You do not answer to the Fire Prince because…”
“Because I am the Prince of Fire,” he finished for her.
“You would not turn me over to him because you already had me,” she whispered. Her shadows released him and recoiled back into her, nearly nonexistent, as if the shadows had receded to the place she was quickly retreating into in her soul. The place she went to endure the punishments of the Assassin Lord. The place she went to not feel when Mikale had his hands on her. The place she went to keep memories of pain and loss and grief at bay.
“Cyrus and Rayner, get the mortals out. Take them to a guest suite. I need Beatrix and Briar to stay.”
Cyrus and Rayner did as ordered, ushering Callan and his guards out the door and closing it behind them.
Slowly, Sorin raised his palms to her shield that still swirled around her, and he sucked the life from the flames, extinguishing them. The ice daggers that hung in mid-air dropped as Briar used his own magic. He went to take a step farther into the room, but Sorin said coolly, calmly, “The floor.” Briar looked down to see the ice covering the floor.
Sorin reached up and took Scarlett’s face between his hands. He held her silver eyes. Flames appeared, hovering in the air, surrounding both of them, and he let them burn, too drained to do anything about them anyway. “Love,” he whispered, “I can help you.” But there was no recognition in her eyes. None of the arrogance or the cleverness. Not a hint of the affection he would sometimes glimpse when she told him she hated him.
No. All he saw was hollowness. Emptiness.
Brokenness.
Briar was slowly crouching, reaching for the floor. He had summoned him here for this very reason. While Sorin could counter her fire element, Briar’s elemental magic was water and, in turn, ice. Briar Drayce, Prince of the Water Court. When Briar’s hand touched the floor, his eyes widened, darting to Sorin, clearly startled at the magic he was working so hard to undo. Sorin didn’t dare take his eyes from Scarlett, though. He wasn’t sure he’d even be able to reach her where she had gone.
“Scarlett, all you have to do is answer yes or no. Do you have any control over your magic right now?” he asked gently. Two tears escaped from her eyes, and at his question, her flames turned blue, then glaringly white. They became flames so cold they burned.
“I have control over nothing,” she whispered, her voice as hollow as her eyes. Those eyes were slowly dimming, slowly returning to their icy blue, the glow all but faded. “I have so many masters there is nothing left for me to control.”
“That’s not true, Love,” Sorin said, his chest fracturing at the rawness of her voice. “I told you the Fire Prince will not cage you. I will not allow it. I have never lied to you.”
An empty sounding laugh escaped her lips, and the helplessness of that sound had Sorin swallowing thickly. She slowly brought her hand up and placed it against his own cheek, and damn it all, he leaned into her touch. But he stilled at the words she whispered next. “You, Prince of Fire, are the cruelest master of them all.”
All of it vanished. The flames. The ice. The shadows. All of it disappeared as Scarlett collapsed down onto the couch. Beatrix rushed forward, lifting her tunic where the black webbing from the wound was nearing her heart.
“I need to put her to sleep, Prince,” the Healer murmured. “She needs to be unconscious for this.”
“Wait,” Sorin said, thrusting out a hand to stop her. “There is more you need to know. There is more she needs to know.” He pushed Scarlett’s hair back and turned her head, forcing her gaze to his. She seemed to look through him, though. “Scarlett, as your magic awakens, it is going to be uncontrollable. Worse than it is now. Your body will go through a withdrawal of the tonic that has kept it at bay. Beatrix can help you through it. She can help you sleep through all of it.”
It would be a powerful spell to put Scarlett into a dream state, but it was the only thing Sorin could think to do. It would drain Beatrix’s magical reserves, and he didn’t know how Scarlett’s power would manifest as it woke from a nineteen year slumber.
“You can sleep through the pain while your body heals, and I will be here the whole time. I swear I will not leave you alone,” he said.
“Because you wouldn’t want me escaping from my cage now, would you?” Scarlett whispered bitterly.
“Look at that. Some emotion,” he said softly, stroking her cheek.
“Here’s an emotion for you, Prince of Fire. I hate you. Every broken and shredded piece of me hates your very existence.” There was no affection in her tone. No brief glimpse of tenderness or teasing.
“I know,” he replied. “I know you do, but I will still come for you. I will still fight my way into your darkness to help you find the stars, and when you see them again, I will hold true to my word. I will help you kill the Fire Prince if that is what you desire.”
Scarlett didn’t say another word. She just turned her head away from him.
Sorin motioned Beatrix to come forward, and the Healer pressed a hand to Scarlett’s cheek. She went lax on the couch, her eyes fluttering closed. Sorin scooped her up and carried her to his room. Briar and Beatrix followed him and stood back while he laid her gently upon his bed, the shadows swirling lightly around her. Her silver hair splayed on the pillows as Beatrix stepped forward and once again began tending to the wound where she’d been stabbed.
“What now?” Briar asked when Sorin stepped back to his side to give Beatrix room to work.
“Now we wait,” Sorin said.
“For what?”
“For the stars to come out.”