Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Thea
George bent at the knees, dropping me unceremoniously onto the floor of the very home Nessira and I had fled from only moments ago.
It felt like an eternity ago.
An eternity had already passed since the last time I had seen her alive.
The air in the house was stale—too warm from a hearth that was burning far too intensely. Footsteps sounded all around me, punctuated with deep male laughter, but I couldn’t find the strength to push myself up and look around me.
Not when the simple act of breathing sent fiery pain throbbing through my battered body.
“What did you do to this poor girl?”
From the corner of my eye, I could see Eloise rushing from the kitchen, wiping her flour-covered hands on a small towel.
In an instant, she bowed before me and brushed sweat-drenched hair off my brow.
Actually, I wasn’t sure if the dampness of my skin was sweat, blood, or some strange combination of the two.
“Leave her be,” George commanded behind her. “There’s a warrant from the castle for her. We’re taking her back where she belongs.”
Eloise glanced at him, her lips pinched with worry.
“Please,” I mumbled, the word bringing her gentle hands back to my brow. I tried not to flinch when her skin touched mine, but her frown deepened when I couldn't stop the panicked whimper.
“Marcus!” George gestured to the man who had killed Nessira. “Bind her hands for now. Then come help me clear out the wagon. We should head out while there’s still a decent amount of light left in the day. ”
He stalked outside, his order hanging in the air.
The sound of Marcus’ boots on the wooden floor was like that of war drums promising doom.
As Marcus stepped into my line of vision, I couldn’t help but notice the similarity between him and George. They both had the same deep-set eyes and sandy-colored hair. Brothers, maybe, or cousins.
Apparently, cruelty ran in the family because he ripped my arms together, not caring about the broken bone as he wrapped rope around my wrists. I cried out, a strangled and hoarse kind of groan, but no more tears fell. They had already dried out completely.
“You could be a little gentler!” Eloise chastised.
Marcus glared down at her. “We don’t need your assistance with this, Eloise.”
With a final sneer at me, he shoved his boot against my side, pushing me out of his path. For a second my vision went dark, the flash of agony threatening to drag me unconscious. I almost wished for it. I longed for the relief sleep might bring.
The door slammed shut after him. An eerie silence was all that remained when my whimpers of pain subsided.
In that moment, I would have liked to stay strong.
I would have liked to maintain that fiery stubbornness that had once fueled all of my interactions—to be the Goddess that so many people saw when they looked at me.
But for the first time, it felt like that strength had well and truly been beaten out of me.
First, by the Dragon.
Then by Hyrax.
Now by these men.
And so, in the quiet that lingered after that door shut, I couldn’t stop the heaving sob that tore out of me.
I gasped through it, the rawness of it leaving my chest hollowed out.
Eloise sighed, rising from beside me. “What did you do wrong?”
As if it were that simple. As if I had committed some kind of crime to deserve this. If I had, if there had been some reason to warrant the bruises forming on my skin, maybe it would have helped her feel better about condoning it.
“Do you know who rules Athenia now?” I questioned, meeting her gaze. Those few words felt like tearing sand against my raw windpipe.
“The High God Hyrax rules this nation,” she intoned, tucking the towel into the waistline of her apron.
I laughed darkly, the movement shaking my bruised ribs so much that I hissed in a gasp. Her lips pursed, but she didn’t move to help me any further.
“I’m his daughter,” I explained dryly, distantly hoping the confession would affect her somehow. “That’s what I did wrong. My only crime was being born of his magic and wanting to be something different than he is.”
Eloise stared down at me, blinking rapidly a few times. “That would make you...”
Yes.
“The Goddess of the Veil is my official designation,” I fought the urge to laugh again at the ridiculousness of the conversation.
The Goddess of the Veil and the broken woman bleeding on the floor. One and the same.
A useless title for a helpless girl.
Grunting, I worked to push myself up onto my elbows, desperate for that spark of kindness she had shown me moments ago.
“Let me go,” I implored her. “Please. Let me go so I can fight back against him.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.
We stared at each other. I dared to hang onto that lingering hope.
When she took a single step forward, so much relief flooded through that my unstoppable grin split my dry lips. Quickly, I held up my arms for her to untie me, my fingers trembling as I did.
She paused.
She looked at my bound hands, then to the door Marcus had left through. Her lips turned down in a frown, sympathy sparking in her eyes as she stumbled backwards. As she fled from the room, I swore I heard her mutter some semblance of an apology.
As if that would ease the disappointment of her leaving me at their mercy.
Eloise didn’t return.
Eventually, I stopped expecting her to.
I laid on the ground for a long moment after she left, praying naively—like a child—that someone, anyone, would come rushing in to save me.
I knew, on some level, though, that no one would.
The only person who had been my ally in all of this was now dead. Her body was being torn apart by the monsters I helped release into this realm.
That image, horrific as it was, was fortifying in some strange way.
Nessira had died trying to free me from these men. She had died trying to ensure that I made it safely to Clay. Her last words had been a plea that I save this realm.
So, I needed to get up off the ground because I could not allow her to die in vain.
My body felt broken and weak. Exhaustion burned in my eyes. It took a few deep breaths before I could bring myself to tug at the robe binding my wrists. The pain was unspeakable, even that tiny movement sending radiating bursts of agony down my body.
I frowned down at the sight of my mangled arm. My wrist was completely brutalized. Even if the most talented healer in the country tended to it, I was certain it would never heal right again.
What I was about to do certainly would not improve the healing process.
The bindings weren’t unbearably tight, but they had shifted the amateur splint on my wrist, leaving the broken fragments of bone grinding against one another. Given the unnatural angle of my wrist, I was almost positive that I could rip it out.
But it would be one of the most painful things I’d ever experienced.
My stomach railed against me, protesting before I’d even moved and I grasped for lingering sparks of anger and stubbornness.
I focused on the sound of George’s laughter growing closer.
I replayed the image of Nessira’s neck snapping in my mind.
There wasn’t enough time to be careful or to worry about how badly it would hurt. I had to simply—
I yanked.
It was torture. Agony exploded through me. With nothing else in my mouth, I bit down on my tongue so hard that the salty tang of blood flooded my mouth as my vision turned completely, blindingly white.
Oh. my. Gods.
The rope loosened enough that I slipped my hand free with a muffled cry.
For a moment, I lingered on the ground, unable to even think against the burning pain.
Then that laugh sounded again. Closer than before.
The world came slamming back into focus, a newfound rush of strength and urgency flowing through me. I was on my feet instantly, vision tunneling on the door. I stumbled towards it with awkward, unbalanced steps. With my good hand, I wrapped my fingers around the handle and ripped it open.
Only to see a towering frame and slimy grin.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Marcus’s smile only grew as he stepped over the threshold.
I swallowed my scream.
The sound of my boots scuffing on the floor as I backed away seemed piercing, but Marcus only watched my retreat with sly amusement. With just two long strides, he was upon me, fisting his fingers in my hair and yanking. I squealed, latching onto his hand even as I tried to kick at his kneecaps.
“You might be more trouble than you’re worth,” he snarled, throwing me forward.
I tripped, arms reaching out instinctively to break my fall, but before I reached the ground, my head crashed down into the corner of the hearth and rebounded back. Stars burst through my vision, momentarily blocking any ability to think or move as I fell weightlessly to the ground.
For a moment there was only silence and darkness.
And it was oddly peaceful.
Then I slowly became aware of Marcus’s laughter.
Groaning, I rolled onto my stomach and tried to breathe through the sudden waves of nausea.
“What’s it going to take for you to just stop fighting?”
Weapon. I needed a weapon.
He reached down, wrapping a hand around my ankle and pulling me back towards him.
My fingernails scraped against the floor, leaving tiny divots behind.
Blood dripped down my forehead and into my eye, giving the room a scarlet hue.
I blinked against it, hands scrambling for something to grasp onto as I felt him preparing to lower himself on top of me.
I stretched for the fire poker, desperately pulling my arm farther and farther until...
A victorious roar erupted as I wrapped my fingers around it, grime covering my skin. It took every ounce of strength left in my battered body to turn and jam it towards his throat.
One thrust was all it took.
I shoved my hatred, pain, and rage into a single thrust and let the fire poker pierce through his throat. And then it wasn’t just my own sticky blood that covered me.