Chapter 42 Nes
Nes
There was only the magic. The magic and its wrath. Her wrath.
Nes was lost to it.
Drowning all over again, but this time there was no water, no surface to flounder toward. Her magic was everywhere and in everything. The magic was her but was not her. A presence that had shoved her aside the second she opened the door to it.
She’d known better. And yet she’d still let it out.
Let it out because she’d wanted damage. She’d wanted hurt. She hurt. Her heart was gone, lost to the hole in her chest. There was a chasm inside her now, and she ached with the force of its emptiness.
She watched it all from a corner behind her rage. Watched as Toran was knocked to the ground, as Genna was cut, and Quint pierced through the shoulder. She let her rage take over, let it set her magic loose on the world.
Because the world had failed her.
She always knew it would. But she hadn’t expected the betrayal to feel like this.
It was the nightmare lying in wait. Only worse. Because the magic wasn’t the monster waiting in the shadows.
She was.
Nes was the one with the claws and the fangs and the trails of blood in her wake. Even as she watched, even as she felt the magic wreak havoc on the world that had betrayed her, pride welled at her power. And she grew giddy with it all.
She was all-powerful. She was the one person with magic growing inside her.
She was the Witch.
And she would not hide that truth from the world anymore.
The King had asked for proof. He would regret that request.
Then her magic began to fade. It receded. Like a scolded child, it cowered and tucked itself under her covers.
Nes opened her eyes. Saw the cavern. The blazing torches. Saw the blood and the chaos and the fear. She saw the tree last.
But it was what she felt that mattered most.
Arms. Warm and secure around her. A halo surrounding her torso. Toran’s arms.
He was gone just as quickly, his warmth stolen away. She was left with a cold heavy enough to sink beneath her skin. A cold that whispered away the pressure that had been building inside her for weeks.
She glanced down.
She was tied up. Silken silver thread wound over her arms and torso. Cracking echoed across the cavern as wood splintered and broke to pieces at her back. Fell away until it was just her and this odd, glowing thread. Until she couldn’t feel her magic anymore.
And for the first time in her life, she felt truly alone.
She tried extending her arms, testing the strength of the thread. It held firm, stretching only enough for her to flex her muscles.
Not thread. Siren hair.
She was well and truly bound.
“Well?”
The cavern walls absorbed the word and shouted it back tenfold. Well? Well? Well?
No one moved. No one spoke.
Toran was at her side, but she couldn’t read his expression. Plain, hard, with nothing behind his steady gaze.
No one else looked at her. Not directly. As if she’d become the sun and they were all afraid of getting burned.
Good. They should be.
Nes lifted her chin, squaring her shoulders in the King’s direction. “Is that damning enough for you, Your Majesty?” She spoke with enough bite to chew through concrete. Silence splashed the cavern as she waited for a response.
“Yes,” King Harkett said at last. He stood, pushing aside his guards. “I think you’ve done enough. Guards, lock all three of them up. You know where to put the Witch.”
Toran moved, reaching for her, but she jerked away. Her feet weren’t bound. “No! Suri’s innocent. I’m the Witch. Let her go!”
But the King didn’t revoke his orders.
“It’s okay, Nes,” Suri said softly as Genna gently pulled her hands behind her back and cuffed them. “Don’t worry about me.”
And then they were gone, following an injured Quint and Damari through a far doorway.
Toran’s hand hovered in midair for a second before coming down on her elbow. His touch was soothing, but when she met his eyes, she saw that same unfeeling expression.
“You should worry about yourself,” he said, so softly the walls couldn’t pick it up.
She frowned. “What?”
Toran sighed, and the breath was so weighted she wondered how he was still standing. “Don’t worry about Suri. Your future is much grimmer than hers.”
She got close, close enough that were it mere hours ago and they still in the Siren’s Hair, she would have kissed him. Now she resisted the urge to spit at him. So many of his words, of his secret smiles and gentle touches, had been lies.
“Magic or no magic, I will always protect the people I care about,” she said. “Not too long ago, you understood that.”
Not too long ago, he was one of those people. You still are, her heart whispered.
It was as if Toran heard the words she could not say.
“I told you I still loved my fiancée, and you manipulated me. Contorted my love until I was convinced I cared for you—that given the chance, I might pick you over her.” His voice dropped so low she barely made out his next words.
“I killed a fellow captain for you.” Disgust took control of his handsome features, twisting them until he blinked down at her with unadulterated hatred.
“But it was all some trick. You never cared for me.”
“That’s not true.”
He acted like he hadn’t heard her. Hatred sat firm on his face. It would not yield to her, would not surrender its hold over him with her gentle truths.
Though it hurt to do it, if this was the only card she had left to play, she’d hold fast to it. “Uphold our deal, Toran.”
She stared at him. Still and silent.
“You said it yourself: Deals can be broken.”
“Release my father.” Then, quieter, so only he could hear. “Be the upstanding man I know you are.”
He straightened. “Orlonea does not make bargains with the Witch.”
“So this is how it ends.”
There had only been two ways it could end. Two things to do when someone offered you their trust. Either you kept it or you broke it. And he’d broken hers first.
Toran yanked her forward to face the King. “I’ve fulfilled my mission,” he announced. “I’ve brought you the Witch. Now, Your Majesty, I ask for one thing in return.”
King Harkett nodded. “What is that?”
Toran turned to look at her again. His pure brown eyes were cold and callous.
“Lock her up,” he said. “And drown her at dawn.”