47. Reznyk
Chapter 47
Reznyk
NIGHTMARE STEEL
“ W hat about the woman?” a voice growls from the darkness.
I open my eyes. Pale moonlight shifts through slats of wood. The world is shaking all around me, creaking and pitching to the thunder of hooves. My wrists burn under nightmare steel manacles, and my shoulder throbs around the nightmare steel arrow embedded in my flesh.
The carriage. I tug at the manacles, sending a bolt of pain through my shoulder that’s so sharp it makes me gasp. The dull panic of the horses flows through my magic. They’re obeying the commands of the carriage driver, but only barely. It wouldn’t take much to get them to panic completely.
I reach for my magic and find only a dim flicker. In nightmare steel, I can’t even conjure a simple illusion. Not even one wolf.
“Should I go back to finish her?”
I freeze. That’s the man who shot me, the carriage driver with a crossbow between his legs that was loaded with a nightmare steel arrow. The trap Lenore warned me about. The one I walked straight into.
And he’s talking about Lenore. I feel cold.
“No,” Fyrris replies. “It’s not worth the risk. These damn horses could turn us over. Let the wolves finish her.”
His voice is strangely muted. It takes me a moment to realize he’s leaning through the window in the front of the carriage, speaking to the driver. And I’m crumpled on the floor, my head hitting the underside of the seat every time the carriage jostles.
I try to speak, but my voice comes out a garbled moan. I close my eyes, gathering my strength. My shoulder feels hot and wet; not a good sign. If I could just pull the arrow out.
I lift my hands slowly. The nightmare steel manacles are heavy, and moving them makes me feel like I’m going to be sick. Waves of pain wash over me as my shoulder screams.
When my hand closes around the nightmare steel arrow in my shoulder, I gag. Bile rises in the back of my throat, hot and bitter. Nightmare steel burns my palms. Magic screams inside of me, pulling back, trying to drag me away.
I force my fingers to close around the steel shaft. I feel like I’m on fire, everything screaming, everything burning. When I yank on the arrow, the pain is so intense that my vision flashes white, then crimson. The taste of blood fills my mouth.
I pull harder. Barbs on the arrow drag through my flesh, searing skin and magic. A sound comes out of my mouth, but it’s nothing human, nothing I’ve ever heard before. There’s a low, wet pop, a sound like mud or shit, and the arrow is free. It clatters to the carriage floor, leaving me shivering.
“What in the hells are you doing?” Fyrris mutters above me.
My eyes flutter open. The world swims around me, pale moonlight and the luminous glow of bright white Exemplar robes. Like the Towers, white against the night sky.
There was a time when I thought that meant something. The Towers were a beacon, a place where I could become a different person.
But they just made me more of a monster.
Fyrris frowns at me as his hand dips into his white robes. There’s something odd about that expression on his face, something I haven’t seen on Fyrris before. Plenty of other people, of course. Lots of people were afraid of me. But Fyrris?—
Fyrris pulls a silver chain out of his robe. The surge of trapped magic batters the air, its angry churn hissing against my skin. I try to pull away as he drags the chain toward me, its trapped magic howling for release.
The chain hits my arm. It’s hot, then cold, as the imprisoned magic inside bleeds into my body only to beat helplessly against the nightmare steel. Fyrris’s lips twist into a scowl. He’s pushing magic through the chain, but whatever is inside of me is pushing back.
“Damnit,” Fyrris growls.
The chain drops to the floor of the carriage, emptied of magic. The air smells burnt. My gut heaves as I gag on something that tastes like blood. I’m shaking now, trembling so violently my head hits the underside of the seat and I can’t stop myself.
Fyrris pulls another silver chain from his robes. Magic arcs through the air between us, briefly illuminating the dim interior of the carriage.
“You bastard,” I growl as Fyrris leans over me. “You stinking son of a?—”
Fyrris presses the silver chain against my cheek. Magic screams through my skin, burning as it escapes the chain. Sleep magic, some dim, distant part of me realizes.
And then the world goes dark.