Chapter 24
Iyana
Drip…drip…drip.
Everything was easier if she separated her mind from her body. She would have thought she’d hallucinated Emmeric’s last visit—gods knew she’d had plenty of those, plus strange dreams—except she now had more of the numbing draught. It helped to quiet the worst of the pain, but her body still ached. And she couldn’t trust Emmeric’s story of Altair being here. She wouldn’t let herself hope too much, because that would only lead to disappointment. Altair had let her down before. She would no longer rely on him to save her.
It may have been two days since Emmeric visited, but she had no way of knowing. They fed her so infrequently, not that she ate what they did give her, and she hadn’t seen sunlight in what felt like a year, although it might have only been a few hours. Azazel’s sessions were worsening, becoming more frantic. Typically, he played with his food before eating, but the past couple of times he’d been desperate for answers. Wounds in various stages of healing testified to the acceleration of his methods.
Emmeric had told her he hoped she was a good actress. The truth was, she didn’t need to act. While the draught lessened the severe pain, she still felt every bite of the whip, the pressure of the knives, the heat of the fire.
Drip…drip…drip.
She wrapped herself tightly in the cloak that still smelled faintly of lemons, helping to ground her, keep her sane. How was she to truly know if the cloak even existed? Had Emmeric been here at all? Maybe she was lying naked in her cell, sniffing something that wasn’t real. It was good Imo and her parents weren’t here to see her this way. It was bad enough that Emmeric had seen her in such a state, if he even had. She’d had dreams of him. Confusing ones. Dreams where Emmeric wrapped her in his arms, promised she’d be safe, and she believed him. The dreams were peaceful. Altair had appeared in her dreams also, sweeping her off her feet like the first day they met, and flying her away. She’d trail her fingers through the clouds, bursts of light following in their wake, the cool water and fresh air healing her wounds. They would fly into the stars, he’d pull her close, and they’d stay there forever, content, happy.
Her parents visited occasionally. When she saw her mother, it was like looking in a mirror—she couldn’t be much older than Iyana was. Smooth, golden skin, light brown eyes, the softest dark hair drifting through her fingers like silk. Her father was darker skinned with short curly hair, but eyes of an earthy green. She would’ve loved to have inherited her father’s eyes. The two of them always smiled at her, her mother stroking her hair, her father holding her hand. In temporary bouts of lucidity, Iyana recognized that her parents weren’t actually there, but she wanted to live in the fantasy. Perhaps Altea had taken pity on her, sending her parents from the Everlands for brief visits.
Or her brain was clinging to sanity by its fingertips, scrambling at the cliff face for purchase, trying to grab anything to pull itself up. Early on, it had been food, but that rope had quickly slipped through her fingers. Her parents were like a tree branch growing fortuitously out the side of the cliff, its roots strong, able to withstand any storm. But the tree had been there for ages, the bark was brittle, and the longer Iyana held on, the creaking grew louder, and she knew the tree would eventually break under her weight.
Drip…drip…drip.
She wouldn’t survive much more, but she vowed she’d die before she told Uther anything, and she would see it through. There wasn’t much she could give to her friends (was Emmeric a friend? was Altair?), but she would save them from the wrath of a monster. At a recent session, Uther was present as a silent observer. Azazel had given her something—some drug—Iyana wasn’t conscious enough to determine what the contents were. Bitter liquid coated her throat as Azazel had pinched her nose closed, forcing her to swallow. She supposed the desired results would be to loosen her lips, in which it was successful, but not in the way they were hoping. Instead, Azazel’s face elongated, whiskers sprouting from around a twitching nose. Beady eyes became beadier still, turning red, and yellowed teeth sharpened into razors. White fur grew out of his skin until he had fully transformed into a human sized rat. The rat-man had said I don’t think it’s working sire, and she glanced over to the emperor leaning casually against the wall.
His already imposing figure grew and grew until he was almost touching the ceiling; broad arms with hands large enough to crush her head like an egg. Horns sprouted from his white hair, spiraling higher until they scraped the top of the room, screeching against the roof every time he moved. Iyana felt the noise in her teeth; her bones. His eyes turned from their normal icy-blue to pure white, no pupil to be seen. Even the clasp of his cape, the one she’d noticed her first day, had grown in size. The edges seemed to pulse, and shadows snaked out from the golden heirloom, searching, searching. The anatomical heart at the center came alive, beating. With each lub dub, lub dub, the shadows lengthened. They were hungry, out of place. They didn’t belong there. Iyana watched them sniff her out, moving closer, closer. She thrashed at the table, manacles gouging into her wrists and ankles, not feeling any of the pain. Yet the blood sent the shadows into a frenzy, and they speared into her chest. Her lips finally loosened, and she screamed. Screamed. Screamed. Until her lungs ran out of oxygen, and she slept.
Iyana spent the next couple of days (hours? weeks?) in a haze. Her parents were there, she was alone, Emmeric was there, Altair was there, she was alone.
Drip…drip…drip.
Azazel continued their sessions. Mercifully, Uther did not return, but that was when Azazel became more frantic. Frenetic. At one point, he’d held her underwater in the ice-cold tub, the same one she’d started in. How long ago? A lifetime. The freezing temperatures squeezed at her lungs; she wanted to breathe, it would be so simple. Open her mouth, breathe the water in, float gently down the river into Altea’s welcoming arms. So easy to let death in. How fragile humans were. Her body’s survival instinct would insist on holding her breath as long as possible. Three times Iyana had decided to drown herself, escape, be free, jump off the cliff with a smile on her face and peace in her heart, but Azazel always yanked her back from the precipice. Large, gulping breaths of air, because her body demanded it, and back under she’d go. He stopped once he realized she’d rather drown, sending her back to the cell, soaking wet. She had heard of hypothermia, studied it, but it didn’t happen in the heat of the desert. She remembered it was bad when the shivering stopped. When had the shivering stopped? Was it because she was dying, or was her magic working on its own to keep her alive? Gods, Iyana hoped she was dying. Since Azazel, she hadn’t been able to reach her magic. That little woman made of fire was nowhere to be found. It was rather lonely.
Astalle.She sighed, sinking into the comfortable hallucination of Altair. The loneliness wasn’t so bad when she thought about him. Daydreamed what her life could have been if she weren’t destined to rot in this cell.
“Astalle.”
Wait.
Iyana rolled over carefully, slowly, her entire body simultaneously numb and on fire. Hair was plastered to her face, and it took some effort to clear her vision. Altair stood outside her jail cell, resplendent, a soft glow surrounding him like a halo. Looking down on her, his face twisted in pain, anger, and pity, his golden eyes glowing brightly. Her dreams weren’t usually like this—he didn’t appear in her cell; they only flew away somewhere. Together. But, then again, Emmeric had been outside her cell, and she was unsure if he was real or imagined.
Nothing seemed real anymore. Only the pain. Only the cold.
Altair placed his hand on the lock to her cell. The metal heated, turning from red to orange to white. Iyana felt the warmth. The lock popped free, clattering to the floor, and then Altair was there next to her. Brushing her hair back from her brow and behind her ear. Gently, so gently. Like she was a newborn rabbit, needing to be cared for with the lightest touch possible.
“Oh, my star…” he said, softly. “I’m so sorry.” He slid his arms underneath her neck and knees, lifting her slowly, cradling her against his warm chest. A whimper escaped her. Altair’s brow furrowed, lips pressed into a hard line, eyes kindling with anger. Little sparks of gold separated from his surrounding halo. She followed them with her gaze. Little fireflies.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” she rasped, her voice hoarse from screaming and disuse. Altair chuckled, the lines on his face easing, the golden sparks brushing against her body, suffusing her with warmth. She sighed.
“Iyana,” Altair choked out, his eyes now glowing stars, “tell me who did this to you.”
“Why?”
“So I can dismember him. Slowly.”
This was so unlike any of her previous dreams with Altair. He’d never commented on her wounds before. Come to think of it, she’d never been wounded or in pain during her dreams. “Is this real?”
“Yes, my love. This is real.” He placed a feather-light kiss on Iyana’s brow, trembling lips lingering against her skin. She stroked his cheek with her thumb. Despite the pain it caused, she needed to touch him, calm him. Reassure him she was alive. Not whole, but alive. Altair closed his eyes, letting out a deep exhale. When he opened them again, they had returned to their normal molten-gold coloring.
“Altair!” came a shout from down the hall. “Hurry your ass up!” It sounded like Emmeric, but that couldn’t be right…he was working with them, torturing her. It had to be a trick. But she was still wrapped in his lemon-scented cloak, so perhaps she’d wrongly judged Emmeric this entire time. The noise of the dungeon suddenly made itself apparent to her, and she wondered how she hadn’t noticed it before. The clamoring; the banging on the bars. People had seen what Altair had done and were asking for aid.
“Altair,” she said, “we need to help them.”
He shook his head. “We don’t have time. And I don’t have enough magic to open every cell.”
“We need to try,” Iyana insisted.
“We can help them by getting you out of here. We’ll come back for them, my star, I promise.” Iyana had no option but to acquiesce, even though she knew it for the empty promise it was. What would she do about it, anyway? She was a broken woman without access to her magic.
“Altair!” Emmeric shouted again.
Altair finally moved out of the cell, his strides long and confident, Iyana safely ensconced in his arms. The first cell they passed, a young woman around Iyana’s age reached her arm towards them, her face pressed against the bars. She was also naked, emaciated, skin almost translucent from lack of sunlight.
The woman made eye contact with Iyana. “Please,” she begged. But Altair continued, not breaking stride, not even glancing at the young woman who could so easily be Iyana in any other situation. Iyana burrowed into Altair to avoid seeing anyone else they were unable to help. But she couldn’t block out the cries, the pleading.
Then they were out, the heavy metal door clanging shut behind them, the sound making Iyana wince. It was never a good sign when that door opened and closed, and usually meant pain was on its way. Instead, the guards were unconscious. Emmeric was standing there, hand on the sword on his hip, his other sword strapped to his back. Dressed in black instead of Holygazer green. He looked fierce, determined. He gave her a cursory glance, eyes flashing, then turned on his heel to walk down the hall.
“If you see the man responsible for your pain,” Altair said, “you point him out to me.”
Emmeric said over his shoulder, “The deal was whoever saw him first gets to kill him.”
“And I want her to tell me so I can see him first,” Altair growled.
“Altair,” Iyana said. “Please, let’s just go. I want to go.” His face softened as he glanced down at her.
“We’re getting you free, my star.”
Emmeric halted in front of them, pushing his back against the wall. Torches flickered, creating dancing shadows on the wall. Iyana remembered the shadows produced by Uther’s broach and shuddered. Altair tucked her in closer, also staying against the wall. Hiding in the darkness, their black clothing helping to blend them in. Footsteps sounded from around the corner. Emmeric put a finger to his lips, urging them all to be quiet. Altair rolled his eyes.
The steps inched closer, shadow elongating. The person rounded the corner, much smaller than their shadow suggested, and Iyana stiffened. Before she said anything, before Altair could move, Emmeric had his sword against Azazel’s throat.
Emmeric smiled wickedly. “I saw him first, Altair.”
Azazel whimpered, shaking like the rat he was. “What—what is going on?” Then he saw Iyana in Altair’s arms, noticed the way Altair had an other-worldly glow about him, and Iyana saw the puzzle pieces click into place. “You—” he said to Altair.
Emmeric drew his sword across Azazel’s throat with just enough pressure to draw a thin line of blood, a hiss of pain cutting off what Azazel was about to say. Iyana watched the drop of blood slide lazily down his neck, underneath his shirt. Altair swore under his breath.
“I trust you remember the way out?” Emmeric asked Altair, who nodded.
“Sullane,” Altair said, “make it hurt.”
“Oh, I plan to,” he said in a tone Iyana had thought him incapable of. Murder dripped from each word. Azazel whimpered, and she smelled pungent ammonia. The torture master had soiled his breeches, a wet spot spreading, dripping out of the pants’ leg. Not so tough now when he couldn’t hide behind his tools with a defenseless woman strapped to a table.
Altair continued walking down the dark corridor. A cry sounded out behind them and abruptly cut short. Iyana couldn’t find it in herself to feel guilt for Azazel’s fate. The further they walked, more torches appeared on the walls, and the smell of fresh air reached her nose. Inhaling deeply, Iyana realized she’d never thought she would be outside again. That she would die in the dungeon. On that cold metal table. Altair seemed concerned, his head swiveling in every direction, but she had no energy to ask why. They soon found themselves in the stables. Talon was there, also in black, his long red hair hidden under a hood. He beamed at her, and she responded with a weak smile. It was all she could muster, but she was actually happy to see him. When Talon had become a friend, she wasn’t sure, but she’d missed his laughter and jokes.
“Hey, Smalls,” Tal said. Looking behind them, his brow furrowed. “Where is Emmeric?”
“Azazel,” Iyana whispered. Talon’s eyes widened.
“He should be along shortly,” Altair said. The next few minutes were spent getting Iyana wrapped into another cloak, on top of Emmeric’s, and she began to feel warm for the first time in…well, a while. Her fingers and toes tingled as the heat returned to her body. Altair handed her gently to Talon while he mounted a large black horse.
“I’m happy you’re alive,” Talon whispered, handing her up to Altair. She cried out softly; there was no good way for her to get on a horse without jostling any of her injuries.
“I’m sorry, my star,” Altair whispered against her temple. He situated her in front of him, her back pressed to his chest, winding a muscular arm around her waist. She laid her head back against his shoulder. Sleep was about to claim her when Emmeric returned. The coppery tang of blood followed him, filling the small space. He climbed atop his own horse, finding Iyana’s gaze in the dark.
“He won’t hurt you again,” he said softly, a promise in his voice. Splatters of blood on his face emphatically punctuated the vow.
They filed out of the stables and left the castle grounds, encountering nobody. The gates weren’t even manned. A festival was happening in the city—yelling, singing, and loud music played. A different band on every corner created a great cacophony Iyana wished she could shut out. Aromas of fried foods wafted over them, simultaneously making her hungry and nauseous.
Altair pulled his horse even with Emmeric’s, who had been leading the way through Athusia. “Something is wrong…there should be more guards. We didn’t see any on our way out.”
“Maybe they’re all at the festival?” Talon ventured.
“Maybe…” said Emmeric. “But why would all of them be given leave? Unless—” he broke off.
“Unless?” Altair growled.
“I, uh, ran into Prince Zane the other day, while I was bringing her the numbing draught. He saw it.”
“What the fuck, Sullane!” Altair exploded. “Why wouldn’t you have mentioned this sooner?”
“Because,” Emmeric said, defensively, “he gave it back to me and told me ‘you didn’t see me.’”
“Could he have helped us?” Talon asked.
“Maybe?” Emmeric said, then sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t see why he would, though. Or how he could have known our plans.”
“Well,” Talon said, “if he did, we’ll need to send him a gift basket. A token of our appreciation.”
“Tal…”
“What?” Talon shrugged. “He may not be as bad as we thought. Maybe he did actually help.”
They casually trod through different areas of the autumn equinox festival, not raising attention to their party. Once they reached the outer ring of Athusia, the crowds had thinned, the music faded, and the lights were extinguished other than the almost-full moon and shining stars.
Alarm bells rang across the city.
The horses picked up into a gallop. Pain lanced through Iyana’s entire body. She was on fire, pins poking everywhere. Her healing lashes broke open again, trickling blood down the small of her back. A sob stuck in her throat, and that hurt too; she wasn’t able to release it.
Then Altair placed his warm hand over her forehead, his magic flooding through her, and sweet, merciful darkness took her.
She lay in a heap, shrouded in darkness. Her bones were broken, her skin flayed, her mind confused. It was obvious her body had been through some trauma, but the pain was distant. An echo. She was content to lie still in the dark, waiting for her body to heal. Or waiting to die.
A warm hand brushed her hair back. Fingers continued to stroke her hair lovingly.
“I’m here, Mouse. You’re going to be okay.”
Emmeric. He placed a tender kiss on her forehead.
“I’ve got you. You can sleep, Mouse. You’re safe.”
Her body drifted away on a breeze, and she slept.