16. Chapter 15
Chapter 15
M y eyes flash open and I recognize the Fae Lord of Mor’Thravar hovering above me, his teeth grit, his eyes fierce and furious as the moonlight strikes him across the face.
“I said get up. Now ,” Modok growls, pushing the blade deeper against my neck, so deep I’m too afraid to gulp. “And do not waste your energy calling for help.” Modok twists his fingers and I notice the air around us shimmer, as if we’re surrounded by a transparent wall. “No one can hear you within my boundary.”
He rips off the covers, and my hands move to hide the curves of my body, clearly outlined through the thin fabric of my nightdress. Modok’s gaze skims over me, and a deviant grin tugs the corner of his mouth. The feeling of his vile eyes upon me makes me want to lash out, ire swelling in my belly. But I am reminded of the knife at my throat, and how easy it would be for him to kill me. Tonight will not be the end of my story.
I slide up from the bed, mindful of the closeness of his blade. It is then I see we are not alone. Four of his men wander the room, rifling through my things. Their filthy hands are in my jewelry box, and flinging dresses from the wardrobe, taking whatever they want and stuffing it into black sacks. Modok notices my grimace as I watch them.
“For our troubles,” he sniggers. “Baev’kalath has so much, and we so little. But we will take all we can from them tonight.” My breath hitches when he drags his blade down my neck and rests it just above my breasts. “Starting with their precious human whore.”
The sound of his men’s laughter fuels my rage. Of all the things I despise, feeling helpless is the one I loathe most, and I will not be some timid lamb waiting to be slaughtered.
“You know what the prince will do to you if you kill me,” I say through grit teeth. “He will tear you limb from limb and burn your miserable house to ash.”
His eyes narrow with a knowing glare, and I realize Daed had threatened him similarly during the banquet. In a place I should not have been, during a conversation I should not have heard.
“I do not fear Daedalus,” Modok mutters, his upper lip twitching.
I grin defiantly. “Yes, you do. That is why you have snuck into his wife’s chambers in the dead of night like a coward instead of facing him.”
Modok snarls, closing the space between us, his heavy breath beating down on my face. “Maybe I won’t kill you,” he says, sliding the point of his blade lower down my chest. “Maybe I fly you back to Mor’Thravar and demand a ransom. Let us see how much Kaelus and his pathetic excuse for a Mordorin son will pay for their princess.”
Modok jerks his blade, slicing effortlessly through the ribbon of my nightdress. My body stiffens as the flimsy fabric falls open down the middle of my chest, exposing the sides of my breasts. Modok’s eyes widen, his teeth scraping against his bottom lip.
“Who knows? It could take weeks, even months, for them to come for you. Mor’Thravar is a remote and formidable fortress.” The point of his blade finds the shivering flesh of my breast, toying with the thin layer of fabric that keeps my dignity intact. “We would need to find something to amuse ourselves while we wait.”
My face twists with disgust. “Touch me and it will be the last thing you do.”
Modok laughs. “Why should the prince have all the fun?”
His men stop ransacking and instead stop depravedly to watch their lord. Modok steps closer, stinking of sweat and wine, and when his body presses to mine, the rough leather of his tunic scraping my skin, my stomach churns. “I’ve never had a human before,” he growls.
The knife does not concern me anymore. Only my wrath for this Fae filth who thinks I will allow him to treat me this way. To scare me. To defile me. To think I will be compliant while he treats me like I’m nothing.
My knee lunges forward, striking him hard in his groin.
Modok’s eyes roll in his head as he keels over, grasping his crotch before stumbling backwards.
“And you won’t have a human tonight,” I spit.
Modok sucks in air as his men stand in silent disbelief. “You’ll die for that.”
“Are you going to keep threatening me or are you actually going to do something?”
The lightness of the laugh that follows mingled with my condescending grin is motivation enough for Modok to stand up straight, shrugging away any lingering pain I inflicted.
“You’re right,” he says. “No more threats.”
Modok charges for me, so agile and swift that I can not avoid his lunging hand when it grabs the back of the neck and throws me across the room. I manage to stay on my feet before crashing against the dresser, the hard wooden edge slamming into my lower back. I grimace, the pain searing through my muscles. Modok twists his dagger in his hand then charges across the room, this time grabbing me by my hair and pulling so hard I cry out. But no one can hear me.
Through wincing eyes, I see the shimmering veil of the Mor’Thravar barrier spell holding strong.
Modok’s grip tightens in my hair, yanking my head back so sharply that a gasp escapes my lips before I can stop it. The pain shoots through my scalp, and I feel the hot sting of tears welling up, but I refuse to let them fall. My breath catches as he brings the blade to my throat, the cold steel pressing against my skin. I can feel the point of the dagger, sharp and unforgiving, as it slides along my neck. The pressure increases, and I know he’s not bluffing.
“Is this better?” he snarls, his stinking, hot breath dampening my cheek. “Is this how human girls like to be treated?”
My body burns with rage, my eyes glare at him with cold defiance, and I hiss through my teeth before spitting in Modok’s face. The Fae lord flushes with anger as his mouth curls and when he presses his dagger harder, a thin line of crimson erupts where the blade breaks my skin, the warm trickle of blood tracing its path.
“No. I don’t think I’ll take you to Mor’Thravar,” Modok says in his gravel tone. “I think instead I’ll leave your bloody body right here for Daedalus to find. But not before I have ruined it.”
I grip the dresser, my fingers feeling over the smooth wood until I clutch the sharp edges of the emerald comb. I curl my fist around it until the hard jewels dig into my palm and then, with a swift strike, I sling my arm at Modok, burying the long tines in the side of his neck.
Blood spurts from the wound, splattering across my face, but the claret in my eyes does not prevent me from watching gleefully as his mouth falls open and his face contorts. Modok releases my hair and staggers backwards, his blade dangling from his shaking hand while the emerald comb juts out from his neck. His watery eyes flicker, his earlier malice replaced by shock, and when he almost collapses, his men rush to keep him on his feet.
“Kill her,” Modok sputters in shallow rasps. “Now!”
His men reach for the daggers sheathed at their waists as they stalk cautiously towards me. It should be a compliment how weary they are to engage me—a disgusting human—but I’m too concerned about staying alive right now to be flattered. After all, there are four of them and one of me, and I seem to be out of emerald combs.
I take a step back until I’m hard against the dresser. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s trying to escape my ribcage while fear coils tight in my stomach. A sense of dread overcomes me as the men come closer. No. This can’t be how it ends. If I must die, I want it to be with soil between my toes and sunlight on my face. A quivering breath escapes my throat. And I do not want to be alone.
Without his men keeping him on his feet, Modok stumbles backwards as blood continues to gush from his neck. He grits his teeth and howls as he yanks the comb free and tosses it to the ground, then presses his hand over the wound. Modok’s eyes are hazy, the color drained from his skin and I notice as he weakens, so does the barrier surrounding us. The flickers of light begin to dull, and the shimmering wall that was once so clear fades in and out of sight. If there is a moment to save myself, it is now.
“Daedalus!” I scream.
At first the Mor’Thravar are unconcerned, not realizing their lord’s power is waning.
But then suddenly at the arch he appears, his black wings spread so wide they block out the moonlight, his chest heaving with ragged breath, the storm of his gray eyes sending tendrils of smoke weaving through the air.
Daed looks at me, his hair wet with rain and clinging to the sharp angles of his face. His gaze settles on the streak of blood across my neck and then the torn remnants of my nightdress.
The room turns ice cold.
His jaw clenches and his upper lip draws back to reveal his canines. Daed extends his hand and Death Singer manifests in a cloud of black smoke. His chin drops and a breath lodges in my throat as I watch in awe as the rune tattoos that map his body glow and pulsate, but when Daed lifts his head, his eyes are now solid black.
He clasps two hands around the silver hilt of Death Singer and it hums with energy, the moonstone at its center gleaming like a shard of some ancient star. Daed slashes at what remains of the barrier, slicing through the veiled curtain of magic until it vanishes completely.
With a deep, all-consuming roar that shakes the very stones beneath us, he charges at the Mor’Thravar brethren, his wings snapping open wider with a thunderous crack. Black sentient smoke surges around him, twisting into tendrils that lash out, grabbing the nearest adversary and yanking him off his feet. Daed’s sword is a blur of silver light, slicing through the air with deadly precision. The first of Modok’s men barely has time to scream before the blade cleaves him in two, his body crumpling to the ground as smoke pulls him into the abyss.
Before the others can react, Daed vanishes in a swirl of dark smoke, void walking across the room with a speed that leaves them stumbling in confusion. He reappears behind the second foe, the dark mist still clinging to him like a living thing. His sword arcs through the air, a streak of silver that finds its mark in the Mor’Thravar henchman’s back. The man falls without a sound, his lifeless body hitting the ground just as the smoke envelops him, swallowing him whole.
The remaining two adversaries turn to face him, terror etched on their faces. They exchange knowing looks before wearily thrusting their hands forward. The charcoal runes tattooed on their palms glow and pulsate, and a wall of shimmering light materializes between them and their Mordorin prince.
Daed lowers his sword and stalks forward. He reaches out, and the rune wall sparks when his fingers graze its surface. I expect him to cut through it, or even void walk and manifest on the other side, but he does neither. I do not know enough about this magic to understand its laws, so I can only assume both are impossible. Instead, he turns to bargaining, and when he speaks, his voice is a rough and ragged growl from deep in his chest.
“Lower your wall and I will let you both live.”
Modok’s men tremble as they look at each other, neither wanting to be the first to respond.
“This wall will not last long. Surrender now and you keep your heads, but if you do not, and that wall falls, I will send you back to Mor’Thravar in pieces.”
Even from across the room, I see a lump lodge in the men’s throat as they gulp.
“Do we have your word?” one stutters, his hand wavering.
A low rumble passes through Daed’s lips and I hear the contempt in his voice. “Yes.”
Again, Modok’s men exchange anxious glances, but then they slowly lower their hands, and the barrier protecting them shimmers to nothing. They drop to their knees in unison, and with their heads bowed they do not see Daed vanish in a burst of black smoke, only to reappear behind the leftmost man. He drives Death Singer through his back with such force it bursts through his chest, the silver point glinting as it drips scarlet blood.
The Mor’Thravar on the right yells hysterically, scurrying across the floor, huddled in fear.
“You gave your word, Prince Daedalus!”
Daed withdraws his blade with chilling apathy, and a wave of smoke sweeps the man away before he hits the floor.
“I owe nothing to fucking traitors who dare even look at my wife,” Daed snarls.
The prince raises his sword once more, but when he drives it towards the surviving henchman, the blade sparks against a rune barrier. The man holds his hands above him, his face burning red and his jaw clenched as he musters enough strength to absorb Daed’s blow. He manages to clamber to his feet, maintaining the barrier as he staggers backwards towards the door.
“I was only following orders,” he protests. “It is my duty to serve my lord.”
Daed takes a feline step towards the man, toying with him, and I almost feel sorry for him.
For his sake, I hope Daed’s killing blow is swift. Suddenly the doors burst open and with one fluid strike, Arax relieves the Mor’Thravar warrior of his head. It falls to the ground, landing with a squelching thud that makes me clutch my stomach and lurch.
The fury staining Daed’s face does not fade with the last warrior dispatched. His upper lip draws back, and he bares his canines at Arax. “Where. Were. You?”
Arax bows his head and drops to a knee. “My Prince. I had retired for the night. I did not…”
“You are supposed to protect her,” Daed roars. “Amara could be dead. Where were you! ”
He thrusts his hand forward, shooting tendrils of smoke at Arax which coil around his throat. Arax gasps, clawing at his neck, but the more he fights, the more the coils tighten. I take slow cautious steps towards Daed. He is a man possessed, and to approach him carelessly, after what I have seen him do, could cost me my life.
“Daedalus,” I whisper, my hand inching towards his shoulder.
He does not hear me, or if he does, he does not respond, his outstretched fingers curling into a fist, the noose of smoke squeezing Arax’s neck even tighter.
“Daed,” I say. My hand rests on his shoulder, his shirt soaked through with rain. “ Husband .”
Daed’s hand wavers and his head jerks as if my voice has broken through the noise. He turns to look at me, and I watch as the black melts away from his eyes, revealing the gray beneath.
“Amara,” he mutters. His disoriented gaze soon falls upon the slash across my neck, and his eyes widen as he awakes from his frenzied trance. “Amara,” he says again.
Daed releases Arax who falls forward, sucking in all the oxygen his lungs can take while Death Singer turns to smoke in Daed’s grasp. He quickly closes his hand around mine, pulling me closer to him while his other hand hovers over my wound, weary of touching it. Then he notices the cut ribbon of my nightgown, his eyes flooding with rage when they fall upon my exposed skin. His teeth grit. “What have they done to you? Did they…” his voice turns ragged before he can finish.
I shake my head. “Nothing happened, and this is just a scratch.” I fear Daed will go to that dark place again, that I will lose him to the abyss… to the void. I cup his face in my hands and turn his gaze to meet my eyes. “Daed,” I say sternly, calling him back to me. “I am fine .”
His eyes close, and he leans into my touch as if he’s starving for my warmth. “Amara,” he mutters.
A sputtering cough followed by a raspy laugh breaks the moment of calm.
“Pathetic,” murmurs Modok as he sits slumped against the wall, blood seeping through the fingers pressed to his wound. “You are no prince. You are this human’s doting pup.”
Daed takes a step away from me and I try to hold him back. Although he loosens my fingers gently from his forearm, I can see his savagery reemerging as he stalks towards Modok. He stands over him, his black boots sinking into the pool of blood surrounding the Lord of Mor’Thravar, who slips in and out of consciousness.
“I can not decide,” Daed exhales. “Do I kill you now, or do I pull up a chair and watch the life slowly drain from you?”
Despite his wound and Daed’s threats, Modok laughs between bloody gasps. “If you are to defeat the Legion, you need me at your side. You know it. Your father knows it.”
Daed shakes his head. “All I need you to do, Modok, is die .”
Smokes weaves between Daed’s curled fingers as his eyes narrow with deadly intent.
“Daedalus!” Kaelus booms from the doorway. “Enough.”
The king stands staring in disbelief as he takes in the scene around him, including Arax on his knees and the headless Mor’Thravar warrior at his feet.
“What have you done?” Kaelus growls. “You risk everything, Daedalus.”
“Daed did nothing,” I cry in his defense. “Modok and his men broke into my chambers and attacked me. I would be dead, or worse, if the prince had not saved me”
Kaelus barely pays me any attention, far too concerned with the dire political incident taking place.
“Get help now,” he snaps at Arax. “Get healers, and bring men in here to help. Only Blades. No one else.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Arax coughs as he clambers to his feet and leaves the room to search out aid.
Not that Modok deserves it.
Kaelus pinches the bridge of his nose as he thinks. “You can not stay here tonight, Amara. We must put you somewhere else.”
With the floors slick with blood and now decorated with more decapitated heads than I would prefer, remaining in this room is not my preference either. I know there are dozens of rooms on this floor of the castle alone. Any of them will be adequate.
“She will stay with me,” Daed interrupts, and I immediately pick up my jaw after it falls open. Daed looks at me. “She is my wife. She should sleep in my… our bed.”
“Very well,” Kaelus spits bitterly. “Take her now, Daedalus, while I clean up your mess.”
Daed leaves me no time to come to terms with the decision. He sweeps me into his arms and carries me to the window, his wings bursting from his back as we take flight into the darkness.