Chapter 14 #2
She twisted to find his jaw set and his gaze hard. But he didn’t look at her, instead focusing on some spot at the back of the tent.
The commander advanced slowly toward Yella, who was still on the ground. He stopped in front of her, crouching down and whispering, “Up, girl.”
When she didn’t move, he barked, “Now.”
Finally, she lifted her tearstained face to look at him, but she did not stand. Instead, she moved her arm from where it had been curled in her lap, placing the curved dagger on the grass floor with a trembling hand.
The commander snatched it up immediately, eyes narrowed as he demanded, “Who sent you?”
Yella swallowed, her throat bobbing with the movement. “My cousin is Misean,” she rasped. “A bastard. She escaped over the border two seasons ago.”
“Her name?” the commander asked, his voice suddenly a strange, deathly calm.
Yella only stared at him, eyes wide and face pale. The commander glanced back at Vane, who nodded once then let go of Soren. She stumbled back slightly at the sudden loss of his presence.
Vane strode purposefully towards Yella, chin lowered and hand on the sword pommel at his hip. She shrank back when he knelt in front of her.
“The magic,” he said in a clipped voice. “Is the boy’s claim true?”
Soren felt the air leave her lungs as Yella lifted a shaking hand to point at her.
“It’s impossible, isn’t it?” she whispered. “But I could feel my heart slowing. It was her… It was Soren.”
Vane’s hard expression did not shift, and still, he did not look at Soren. Commander Eton was staring at her now, though, eyes wide in disbelief, along with most of the others in the tent.
“Death magic,” someone whispered.
The spell broke eventually when the commander took a sharp breath and barked, “Mise, with me. Vane, take care of the traitor.”
Soren’s heart beat rapidly, and all she wanted to do was run.
She felt like the child who had been caught by her mother after a terrible act.
But unlike then, there was no one to protect her, and she had little choice but to follow the commander out of the tent.
As she left, she could hear Yella struggling and pleading with Vane.
A few seconds later, Vane dragged Yella out of the tent, her still fighting against his hold, even though it was no use.
As he pulled her past Soren, Yella grabbed her arm roughly and hissed in her ear, “Vane is not who you think he is. Be careful, Soren.”
She mouthed something just before Vane pulled her around the corner and out of sight, but Soren couldn’t decipher it.
The words were too foreign and oddly shaped.
She didn’t have much time to consider it as Commander Eton dragged her by her hair across camp through the mud.
Eyes followed them as they went, and Soren wrangled the urge to let the darkness still building inside her out.
It was as if it had gotten a taste of freedom and now wanted more.
She kept it in check, even as they reached the commander’s tent and he threw her inside. Glowing gas lamps flickered as she hit the ground, pain vibrating up her spine.
“What are you hiding?” he growled, towering over her.
She shook her head. “I didn’t know,” she gasped.
It was a lie, one she had been telling herself for years now. She was not evil, even if the beckoning death swelling inside her begged differently.
The commander’s heavy-booted foot struck her side, and the sharp pain of the blow knocked the breath out of her.
“You’re lying,” he snarled before kicking her again.
She coughed, the pain blurring reason as she struggled to find an answer.
She had never considered the power she held to be a gift.
It was a shameful secret. ‘Death magic’, someone had just called it, and they were right.
But what would the commander—and the king, for that matter—do now that they knew what she could do?
Commander Eton kicked her again, and her ribs ached with the force. But even as he hit her again, fear and shame kept her mouth sealed shut.
Finally, he stopped, sighing harshly. He leaned down next to her and lifted her face with calloused fingers. She flinched at his touch.
“Who else knows about this?” he murmured, his voice unnervingly soft in the face of all the violence he had just inflicted.
She shook her head and rasped, “No one…alive.”
“Because you killed them?”
Lowering her chin, she said in a low voice, “No. Because you did. Although, I’m no pup anymore, am I, Commander Eton?”
His expression clouded momentarily, but she saw the shift the moment he remembered. A cruel smile spread slowly across his face, twisting his features.
“Ah, how could I forget?” He brushed a strand of her hair back, and she stiffened. “I do remember thinking it strange, a Misean bitch with hair like the moon. I brushed it off at the time as some defect of birth.”
She remained silent, staring at him, hate burning in her chest, tempting her to unlock the cage within her. But even now, she tamped it down.
He sighed heavily through his nose then grabbed her roughly, hauling her up as he stood. She fought his grip, but he held her firm.
“You know,” he said, nose to nose with her, his breath clouding the chilled air. “Your family could have saved themselves if they’d sold you out. We might have given them their lives at least in exchange for the knowledge of what you are.”
“And what am I?” she dared, holding his gaze.
He smiled slowly again. “A weapon.”
Her mind emptied for a few seconds, catching up with the meaning behind his words. When it did, terror flooded her at the realization of what he wanted.
“Don’t worry. I won’t kill you,” he said, finally releasing her.
She stumbled back, and he chuckled, shaking his head.
“King Johannas will not be pleased his newest pet is Misean, but beggars can’t be choosers in a world so dry of this kind of power.”
“There are others?”
Commander Eton snorted. “Hardly.”
“Who—”
“You will never be cleared to know that kind of information. But if you agree to help us, I’ll elevate your rank and speed up your training.”
A shiver raced down her spine. There was a price to be paid here.
“What else?” she pushed, her breath coming in thin gasps as she shivered.
His answering smile was wicked. “Of course, you want to know what we truly ask in return. Don’t worry—there is a much more tempting prize waiting for you should you succeed.”
She paused, curling her hands into fists. She could try to run or fight this, but in the end, she supposed she was farther gone than she had hoped, because she merely whispered, “I’m listening.”