Chapter 41
It finally happened. Kathreen’s little assassin tried to kill me tonight. He almost succeeded too. He caught me crossing the border into Zo and ran me through with a dagger before slinking off into the night. Dagen is gone, out defending our borders. As I bled out, the only available person I trusted was Preysee. Coco found her, projected her voice to her. Preysee came and helped me back to the infirmary. Guess I’m stuck here until my abdomen is healed. I’m sure Kathreen will be delighted to know I made it home safe.
When my eyes open to bright-white glo stones dangling from the ceiling, red walls, and the smell of antiseptic, I know I’m in the Zem infirmary. My head feels like it met a mining train at full speed, but the gashes from the infantry’s sword must not be as deep as I thought they were, because when I sit up, they don’t bother me as much as I expected them to. I know it’s not the work of an enchanted salve because the Zems would never waste something like that on me. For a fleeting moment, I sense something changing inside me. I feel it, and I don’t linger on what it could be.
“This proves my theory about how thick your skull is,” Sorren’s deep voice comes from behind me. “You headbutted an infantry soldier.” He scoffs.
I turn my throbbing head slowly until I see Sorren, in his spiked armor, leaned up against the red wall.
“Yeah, I did. And I hope his head feels worse than mine.”
His jaw flexes. “You held back.”
“You think I like losing?” I grip the edge of the cot.
“You knocked him out too. You tied.”
“Same thing.”
A snarl tugs his lip, showing pointed canines. “You’re hiding from your power like a coward.”
I swing my legs over the side about to jump off the cot but stop when the room spins. “I used my vessel—”
He bridges the distance between us in two quick strides and jabs his finger into my chest. “Not your vessel power. Yours.”
“I have no pow—”
He slams an armored fist down on the metal cot beside me. “He’s losing the battle with his bonded spirit!” Shadows sweep the corners of the room like snakes as they always seem to do around him. “Your father is possessed. And once his spirit takes full control over him, you will have to end him.” His eyes bore into mine as he jabs his finger at my chest again. “You have to stop hiding from what you are.”
I swallow, an ache of knowing creeping through me. But I shove it down like I have been for the past ten years, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He snarls, “Don’t. Lie.”
I’m about to tell him what he can stick and where he can stick it when his hand shoots the gap between us, grabbing my neck. He crushes my airway and raises me off the cot with one arm.
Like pressing a button.
Instant. Fucking. Rage.
I kick my feet, but they meet air. I claw at his arm, but it doesn’t faze the death sentence in his eyes.
“I do this for your own good,” he says. There’s a river of deep, sad resolve behind his gaze. “Use your power or die, because you’ll die anyway if you can’t face who you are.”
I reach for my daggers, but they’re gone. His grip is a vice, and I’m helpless against him.
A thought bleeds into my mind like warm, golden liquid, webbing through my consciousness. I’ve had thoughts like this before, but never this strong. Once it touches my mind, the truth burns to be spoken, but I can’t breathe.
Black spots close in around me until only parts of Sorren’s elegant, violent face waver in sight. Gold still shimmers behind my eyes, still showing me a glimpse of him, and somehow, I know it”s in the future. When he loosens his grip, I use my inhalation of air to speak. “She will love you anyway.”
His face remains the same, but not.
Somewhere behind his hard expression, something cracks.
His hand trembles around my throat before he drops me to the floor beside the cot. As quickly and vibrantly as the thought surged through my mind, it’s gone, leaving my body alive in its wake.
His lips fall into a dangerous line, the muscle in his neck flexing. “Not that power.”
I rasp, “I don’t have pow—”
He crouches next to me, his eyes a green flame. “Don’t lie. To me or yourself.” His voice is low. “What will it take for you to try?”
I narrow my eyes. “I am trying.”
He shakes his head. “No. You’re afraid.”
I climb to my feet and face him. “I am not afraid of shit.”
“You may not be afraid of pain. You may not be afraid of suffering. But you are afraid of power.”
I glare at him.
His face darkens. “What will motivate you to try?” I remain silent, my chest heaving from adrenaline.
“If you don’t tell me what will motivate you, besides your own survival—because that’s obviously not enough for you—I will cultivate my own motivation tactic, and I promise you, Princess, you’ll hate me for it.”
When I get home to my room, still caked with dried blood, I find myself torn between dropping face first into my sheets, sliding neck deep into my bath, or reading until my face is plastered in drool. I’m trying not to think about Sorren’s words, what he meant by them, or the signs that’ve been there this whole time. The signs that my father is becoming possessed.
When I’m nestled deep in the bubbly water, and I’ve been staring at the same passage in The King of Kings for who knows how long, effectively prolonging my nightmares, his cool voice seeps into my bathing chamber.
“Unless things have changed drastically since I died, you must turn pages to read books.”
I rub my eyes, trying to refocus. “What if my Mark is osmosis?”
He hovers over to my priceless perfumes, lined up on my black vanity. “It’s not. Besides, your bond spirit isn’t here to use your Mark anyway.”
I decide to try the next page and turn it over, smiling. It should scare me that he’s been watching me so closely, but it doesn’t.
His presence lingers beside the shelf of perfumes and oils, a smile peeking through his midnight voice, “Although, I am curious as to why your Mark doesn’t work on me. You used it at the Winter Rave, but you looked the same to me as you do right now.”
I lift my eyes to find him. “Maybe it does not work on spirits.”
A soft chuckle. “Then why does it work on Liha?”
“How do you know that?”
He tilts his dark, airy head. “I have my ways.”
Heat flushes through my cheeks. If my Mark doesn’t alter my appearance for him . . .
“How did you know I was using my Mark if it didn’t work on you?” I breathe.
“I told you. I have my ways.”
“You are really good at avoiding direct questions, you know.”
My Mark has never not worked on anyone.
Another dark chuckle. There’s a heavy pause and when he speaks again his voice has an edge to it. “Are we going to talk about the preliminaries?”
“No.” I’m not in the mood.
I move to adjust myself, but pain surges from everywhere. I hiss and find myself comparing this pain to my father’s punishments, and I don’t know what’s worse: having so many slices in the same spot or having every inch of me sliced to ribbons. The whip replays over in my mind, and I know it’s worse, maybe less painful than this, but worse.
Ice crackles in the distance. “I would not allow you to be whipped,” he growls, the sudden change in his tone and sudden plunge in temperature jarring me. “And even if I was powerless to stop it, I would never let you face it alone.”
When I don’t say anything, still stunned by his intensity and sudden change in topic, he says, “I can protect you if you let me in, Nizzara.”
Sorren is right. I am afraid. Afraid of power. But that’s not the only thing stopping me. “I will not betray Liha.”
No matter how much I enjoy Dae’s company, that’s what it would be. A betrayal. I know her, and it would be.
When I sit up out of the thick, cooled bubbles to pull myself out, he groans and disappears.
I’m tugging a robe down off the wall hook when Preysee rushes in, apologizing profusely for being late. I wave off her apologies, assuring her I can draw my own bath.
She squeaks at the red slices all over my skin and rushes to grab the enchanted healing salve she”s learned to keep on hand.
“Any word from Palko’s wife?”
Preysee bows her head. “No, my lady.”
She uncorks the oil and begins tending to my sliced flesh. How has his wife not come yet? It’s nearing the date for executions. Once I’m oiled up, Liha pops into my shield.
“Where have you been?”
“The usual.” Her voice sounds tired.
Once the enchanted salve starts working, I find myself suddenly restless. Despite my valiant attempt at not thinking about anything Sorren said, that’s all I’ve thought about. Especially the part about me being afraid.
I don’t want to be afraid.
I stop Preysee from grabbing my hairbrush and surprise Liha by summoning a dress, moving it on myself, flicking the water from my hair and pinning it up into a bun before I leave for the coves.
“I wouldn’t go to the coves tonight,” Liha says.
Yes, her voice sounds exhausted. She knows I”ve been thinking about the book in Soriah’s private quarters.
“I have the right to see it.”
For once, she seems too tired to argue.
I open my door and my guards pave the way toward the coves until we reach the main floor. I find my father pacing in the hallway, his fists clenched, his neck and jaw flexing and unflexing.
His head snaps to me. “Nizzara. Go back to your room.” His eyes flicker from hard to soft to hard again.
I square my shoulders, my hands clenching at my sides. “I am going to the coves.”
My guards stiffen.
“Take her back,” he instructs my night guards, and my heart gives a tug when they hesitate. I always liked my night guards best, but their silver vessels kick in and they begin to shuffle into a reverse formation.
“No,” I say.
“Turn around. And go back.” A dark shadow washes over his face. I shrug off the nudge from a guard. I will not be afraid.
“No.”
This word seems to snap some layer of control and his black eyes solidify. “Very well. Come with me, and I will teach you why you do not disobey me.” His words are suddenly more slurred, and I wonder if all this time it wasn’t the wine slurring his words, but his spirit. Father spins and stalks ahead to his chambers.
“Be strong, my Nizzara.” Liha whispers before fading out of my shield.
A tightness climbs my throat. She’s leaving me again.
I’m trailing my night guards through the Hall of Kings when Dae brushes my shield. “You do not have to go alone,” he says.
I pinch my eyes closed. “I do,” I whisper.
“Liha allows you to suffer alone. What kind of friendship is that?” he growls low and deep.
I open my eyes. He’s in a more fluid state. His cold encases me like a blanket wrapped around me. “I won’t betray her.”
This answer seems to stun him.
We approach father’s doors to his bedchamber when he adds, “I cannot go past this point, unless I’m in your shield.” He actually sounds as if he’s in pain.
“I know.”
He does not utter another word, but his presence remains in the hall, along with the guards. I descend into the dungeon as Dae’s icy darkness rages through the castle behind me.