Chapter 46
Forty-Six
E verinne was dead on her feet.
She was still breathing. At least, her chest rose and fell, and there was a constant thump—the beating of her heart.
But bleeding skies, she was so weary. Fatigue drained her to the point of delirium, where she was lost between reality and the edge of her own mind.
She wandered through the bleak fog, her thoughts nothing more than the soft flutter of butterfly wings, flitting in and out of the darkness, then vanishing forever.
Time did not exist in this place.
Only the impenetrable dark.
Hours may have passed, or perhaps it was only mere seconds.
Everinne had no way of knowing. She gazed into the pitch, unable to discern if her eyes were open or closed, for the darkness was everywhere.
Dense and heavy, it absorbed all sound, all feeling.
Her body was numb, and when she lifted her hand in front of her own face, she saw nothing.
Here, she was made of shadow. She melded with the darkness, she let it bleed into her bones until they were one and the same.
Sleep tugged at her, its lulling presence remaining just out of reach. So, she drifted in a fever state, maniacal yet lucid. Rational yet disoriented.
A masculine voice sounded, its rough baritone a scrape against her mind.
“Looks like someone paid for your freedom.”
She knew that voice, feared that voice.
Jarek.
“A pity,” he mumbled, and she shrank into the pitch as his breath skated past her ear. “I rather liked it when you weren’t able to escape me.”
His open palm pressed into the small of her back, shoving her forward, and searing light blinded her from every direction.
She threw her hands over her face, shielding her eyes against the harsh glow.
The suffocating darkness faded, leaving her exposed and bare.
Peering through the slits of her fingers, blinking slowly, Everinne gradually recognized her new surroundings.
She was in the palace—the throne room. A decadent chandelier of twisted gold hung from the vast ceiling, the quivering lights of faerie fire engulfing the space in a soft glow yet giving no warmth.
Long draperies of black and gold brocade framed the sculpted windows, where glistening snow piled upon the sills.
The inky sky beyond gave no hint of the hour, whether dawn was on the horizon or if the moon had yet to rise.
Everinne lowered her hands and found herself on the dais beside the throne.
The kralv to her right, Jarek to her left.
She had no idea how she’d gotten there, or what kind of polluted magic Jarek had used to bring her to the palace, but she stood between them in nothing but that revealing black lace bodysuit that molded to every curve of her flesh.
She wrapped her arms around her chest, hugging herself in the hopes of maintaining some sense of decency.
Before her were numerous guards, most of them stationed in pairs.
They barricaded the entrances to the throne room, and six of them formed a strict line behind three kneeling figures, all with black burlap sacks thrown over their heads to hide their identity.
One of them, a female from the sound of her weeping, shook and trembled, her small frame rattling like the panes of a window during winter’s coldest night.
The figure in the middle, likely a male given his haughty posture, was reclining on his knees, as though he was already resigned to his fate.
It was the third one, however, where Everinne’s gaze lingered.
For of the three, he was the only one chained in iron, obviously the only one capable of posing some kind of threat.
The bond wavered, such a feeble recognition, it was hardly noticeable. A quiet murmur of hearts, nothing more. If Atlas was in the palace, she could barely sense him.
Her heart plummeted into her stomach.
Atlas wasn’t here. The bond was stronger when she was trapped in the Mystic Obscura, when she could’ve sworn he was just on the other side of that dressing room door.
He probably had no idea she’d been returned to the palace.
And now, Kralv Oldrich had bought her freedom with the intention to keep using her to inflict more pain.
Unless…
“Everinne, my dear.” Kralv Oldrich rapped his knuckles on the glossy arm of his throne, where a ferocious wolf with molten silver eyes was engraved into the ebony wood.
His dark gaze raked over her and he smiled, slow and methodical.
“How lovely it is to see you again. I hear you’ve gotten yourself into quite the predicament. ”
She faltered beneath his unnerving gaze and stole a quick glance over her shoulder, only to find Jarek staring at her, his expression one of cold calculation.
He rolled his neck, the crack of bones splintering through the room, and when he flexed his hands, the skulls decorating his fingers gleamed with diabolic energy.
Everinne looked back to the kralv, lounging upon his throne with lackadaisical authority. “I…I’m not sure what you mean, Your Imperial Majesty.”
“Blood magic?” He gestured vaguely in Jarek’s direction. “I would’ve thought you were smarter than that to get caught in something so treacherous.”
“Yes, well.” She shifted on her feet, angling herself toward Kralv Oldrich and away from Jarek’s penetrating gaze. The palace would always be safer than the Mystic Obscura. “It would appear I made a grave error.”
“Quite so.” The kralv stood then, his beastly frame towering over Everinne, and she suppressed a shiver.
He closed the distance between them in one stride, and it took everything in her power not to shrink away, not to show fear.
“I’m going to make you a deal, Everinne.
In exchange for your freedom from the blood oath, you will use your magic on one of these innocent souls. ”
He tossed his arm out toward the three hooded figures surrounded by guards.
All the blood drained from Everinne’s face, and she stumbled back a step.
“What?” she asked, breathless.
“And to make it even more interesting,” the kralv continued, fully aware she heard him correctly the first time, “I’ll let you pick which one.”
“No. I can’t.” Everinne shook her head, refusal and determination rolling her shoulders back, filling her with fire. “I won’t.”
“Choose me.” Atlas’s pleading voice was a soft murmur through the walls of her mind, like a mountain stream whose song was silenced by frost.
Her gaze latched onto the three captives kneeling across from the dais. “Atlas?”
The one chained in iron flinched and her heart stopped.
That was why the bond felt distorted and muted. Atlas was locked in cold iron.
Rage ravaged her.
“Atlas!” Everinne jolted forward, but the kralv’s hand captured her shoulder and hauled her backward, his grip fierce enough to grind her bones to dust. She tried to twist away from him, to break loose of his hold, but the more she struggled, the more he increased the pressure, until her knees almost buckled out from underneath her.
“You’re running out of time, Everinne.” Kralv Oldrich’s threat grated on her nerves. “Unless you’d rather I choose for you?”
“No!” She knew what he was implying, knew the warped intention of his mind. He wanted her to hurt Atlas, wanted her to inflict her devastating magic upon his own son.
And she was fucking sick of it.
Everinne could put an end to this madness.
She could overpower the kralv, she could be stronger, unleash the full might of her magic so that claws of pain tore into his veil of fear.
It was a dangerous, treasonous thought, and she welcomed it.
Relished in it. Her power was born of darkness, an endless well of pain and violence.
When those wisps of violet and midnight poured from her, bones of the living wept, tears of suffering turned to ash, and the sweet silence of death lingered in her wake.
Her magic was exactly as High Priestess Rozalie had claimed, a blessing to those in need of protection, a curse to those who deserved a fate worse than death.
Again, Atlas’s pained voice entered her mind, a caress to her senses. “It’s either myself, Veros, or some unfortunate maid my father wants to punish for not coming to his bed.”
Everinne’s heartstrings snapped.
Kralv Oldrich had her brother, too, and she swore then he would know her wrath.
“So, choose me, Wildheart. Whatever you throw at me, I can take.”
“No,” she whispered, then faced the kralv. Glaring up at him, she held her ground. “No. I refuse. There must be another way.”
Jarek grabbed the back of her neck, ripping her away from the kralv’s cruel grasp.
“Oh, there’s another way.” He inhaled deeply, snaking an arm around her waist, his fingers dipping below her navel. “And it involves me claiming you while your precious mate watches.”
Fear licked up Everinne’s spine, and from across the throne room, Atlas roared.
He thrashed and fought, surging forward to reach her, the black sack slipping from his head to reveal golden green eyes laced with fury.
He was feral with rage, baring his teeth like he was a caged beast ready to rip out Jarek’s throat.
Veros struggled alongside him, his hood falling away as he lurched toward the dais.
“Damn that boy and his temper,” Oldrich muttered, snapping his fingers so the guards pounced, restraining Atlas further. The kralv whirled on them, jabbing a finger into Jarek’s chest. “You, however, will remove your hands from her at once. We had a deal.”
Everinne’s mouth fell open in shock, but Jarek released her.
“I want what I was promised,” he spat.
“And you’ll have it.” Oldrich raised one hand, his steely gaze narrowing on Everinne. “But not until I ensure she’s thoroughly broken.”
A demonic kind of growl, a primitive snarl, erupted from Jarek. “She is mine to break.”
“NO!” Everinne screamed, power erupting from her as her magic awoke, flooding her veins.
She was as fearless as the night, for when the forest’s dark heart had shown its teeth, she flashed a vicious smile of her own.
“I will never bend to you, or any male, ever again. I am not a puppet. I am not a pawn. But I will be the last thing you see before you die.”
Swirls of violet and black swarmed the throne room.
In the distance, she heard Atlas and Veros calling for her, begging for her to stop. But she did not listen. She would never let another rule her, own her, ever again.
“You dare defy me?” Kralv Oldrich boomed, his thunderous voice echoing up into the vaulted ceiling.
“I will never stop defying you,” Everinne hissed, taking one menacing step toward him. “I will fight you, every day, until I have nothing left.”
“Then I shall be forced to break your will.” The kralv crossed his arms and his lips twisted into a smug smile. “And your mate will suffer the consequences of your transgressions.”
Everinne released her caged power. Slashes of violence lashed out, snapping and gnashing like the jaws of a ferocious monster.
It swirled around her, dense and heinous, a frenzied wall of pain and suffering.
This time, the agony would be sweet. She would delight in the kralv’s screams, marvel in the way his mind would shatter at her hands, watch as he crumpled into a husk of a body at her feet.
Kralv Oldrich was a poison, a disease plaguing his own kingdom. And Everinne was going to purge it.
Except his screams never reached her ears.
Instead, it was Jarek who stepped through the intense cruelty of her magic, his honey-colored eyes gleaming with desire, a sadistic smile tugging at his lips.
“Your lust for death is most enchanting, temny feya .” Jarek grabbed her arm with one hand, then pressed his skull ring into her shoulder, searing the metal into the same place he marked her once before. “You performed so well tonight. Take a bow.”
Everinne screamed as the skull burned into her skin, as pulsing heat spread through her, charring her lungs, scalding her throat.
Beads of sweat slid down her back and her knees softened.
Darkness clouded the outskirts of her vision, slowly consuming all color and light until there was nothing left.
She swayed, lightheaded and dazed, her body toppling into Jarek’s arms.
“Atlas.”
She reached for her mate one final time before the bond, and the rest of the world, went silent.