53. Tempest
53
TEMPEST
“ I need to leave,” I croaked. “For . . . For a moment.”
“Yes, do take that bird back to your suite and make sure it remains there.” Brenna took a sip of her tea. At least she’d stopped crying—for now. “Contain it somehow. I don’t want it flying about during the . . .” She swallowed hard. “The wedding.”
“I’ll be back soon,” I said, flitting to my suite.
Drask held the third pixie gift. Triisa must’ve given it to him, knowing he’d bring it to me.
I didn’t want to see whatever vision this bone would reveal, but she said I must. Settling on one of the sofas in the living area, I tucked my feet beneath me.
Drask hopped off my shoulder, landing on the nearby table. He looked up at me, cocking his head, before dropping the bone onto the smooth surface. With a caw, he flew to his perch. He stared out the window while I grimaced at the bone.
I dragged a folded flooferdar blanket off the back of the sofa and wrapped it around my shoulders. Chills shook my frame, and my teeth rattled in my head.
Time crept along, and I still couldn’t make myself touch that tiny, wretched bone. Why did I fear this one so much? I hadn’t chosen to dive into the visions the others held, but fear hadn’t tracked through me on dagger legs then, not like it did now.
This one would be more personal. I knew it. Did I truly want to see?
“Fuck it,” I hissed.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I reached forward and snatched up the tiny bit of bone.
It sucked me in like the others . . .
I didn’t find myself inside anyone else, but I recognized the location.
This was the stone dungeon where Vexxion’s mother was tortured, where he was forced to watch as she cried out and took her final breath. Where . . . I sensed I was about to see the conclusion of the macabre scene.
I knew in my heart that what I viewed here would change everything .
His mother hung from the wall like Vexxion had not long ago. All color had left her face, and her exposed, tortured skin told me she had been dead for some time. Only her lovely, long red hair remained as a reminder of the beautiful woman she’d once been. The mangled remains of her body clung to the wet stone wall as if the king had finished with her and tossed aside the knife .
As if he’d forgotten all about her before the blade clattered on the floor.
Like when Ivenrail brought Vexxion to the dungeon to teach him a lesson, he hung from manacles fixed to the wall opposite his mother, his gaze staring at the floor blankly. He’d watched as he was made to do, but now that her body had finally found some sort of peace, he was allowed to look away.
Just a boy, I hissed.
Just a boy. The words ricocheted around in my mind.
His slender frame appeared too fragile and broken, and he was suspended high enough his feet couldn’t touch the ground. He wore only a pair of pants. Even his feet were bare. Such a frail chest; it barely moved with his breaths.
I wanted to free him. Hold him. Tell him things would get better.
But would they? That might be a lie.
Ivenrail strode into the cell, stopping in front of Vexxion, holding a knife in his hand. He kept slashing it back and forth, passing it from one hand to the other, each pass making yet another cut. On my right, a brazier smoldered, the metal platter on the top shimmering with red coals. Tongs hung from the side, ready to be used to lift a burning ember for the ongoing torture.
He’d already killed Vexxion’s mother. What else did he need to do?
Break Vexxion. Only then could he mold him into the man he wanted him to be.
Vexxion had told me this. He’d shared what he could of what happened. Seeing this, experiencing this . . . I wasn’t sure how his mind had survived.
“Wake up.” The king poked Vexxion with the tip of the knife, driving it into Vexxion’s forearm deep enough to draw blood. Redness dripped, joining in with his mother’s blood congealing on the floor.
Vexxion lifted his head. The scars he carried today were branded into his chest, a network of scarlet puckers coiling up and around his neck. Marking him forever as the king’s new toy.
“Do you know where she is?” Ivenrail asked. “Your mother refused to tell me.”
“Who?” Hearing Vexxion’s little boy voice gutted me. He was so small. So defenseless.
Ivenrail sighed. “You might not know. It would be just like her not to tell you.” A quick gouge, and the king severed Vexxion’s pinky finger at the last joint. The digit fell to the floor. Such a tiny thing. When it hit the stone, it didn’t make a sound.
Neither did Vexxion. His only reaction was the deepening hatred in his eyes as he glared at the king.
Ivenrail scooped up the bit of skin-covered bone and placed it in the pocket of his fine black tunic intricately decorated with equally dark embroidery.
He wore black because it masked the blood.
Vexxion’s mother’s blood.
Vexxion’s little boy blood.
“What’s this?” Ivenrail flicked Vexxion’s hair. “Getting old already, boy?”
A white streak had appeared in his hair .
“I guess it doesn’t matter. I know just where I’ll place the treasure you’ve donated,” Ivenrail said in a jovial voice. “Your sacrifice is duly noted, my son. I’m a collector of things like this, among others. Did you know that?”
Bile surged up my throat. Could I vomit in a vision, or would it gush from me inside our suite? I swallowed it back down. If Vexxion could face this without releasing even a whimper, and him only five fucking years old, how could I do anything else but stoically watch this unfold?
“I’ve nearly finished with you, my boy. You’ll be delighted to hear that, I’m sure. Only one more thing to take care of and guess what?” Ivenrail chuckled, a low, grating sound that scraped across my bones. “I’m going to free you. I’m afraid you won’t be allowed to leave the castle. Training awaits your every waking moment. Your Uncle Camus has agreed to work with you. I’m sure you’ll enjoy that. I think . . .” Ivenrail frowned before his face cleared. “Yes, I have a use for you. Plenty of training along with a few reminders of what happens to those who try to betray me. I suspect by the time you’re grown, I’ll own you, but there’s no harm in making sure.”
He was being punished because his mother refused to do whatever it was the king demanded.
Share her secrets? Vexxion had learned from a master, but she’d been his mother.
Ivenrail had stolen Vexxion’s boyhood. His mother’s life. Annexed his court. And “trained” him for years.
But he had not broken the man I loved.
I girded myself, waiting for the king to cast the spell that would keep Vexxion from wielding the blade himself. After all, I was brought here to see it happen.
I would seek vengeance for Kinart’s death.
I would make the king pay for draining my fellow Nullens.
I would remove Ivenrail’s head for what he did to the man I loved.
Ivenrail strode over to a small chest near the brazier. He lifted the wooden lid and tugged out a simple cloth bag made of dingy gray fabric, opening the top as he strode back to stand in front of Vexxion. “The Lieges craft these for us. Did you know that? It’s been so long, I’m not sure anyone remembers but me. You could say it’s their special skill.” His grim smile faded. “I’ll never trust you. Your mother made sure of that. But this will make sure you behave.”
He ripped something out of the bag and thrust it toward Vexxion.
Vines.
Vines.
Writhing vines that sunk beneath the skin on Vexxion’s neck, that bound him to one high lord alone.
The king chuckled as the collar sunk deep into Vexxion’s flesh, forcing him into a life serving one master.
This couldn’t be true. The rules stated that a high lord could only claim one person at a time.
He’d collared Brodine. I saw it. I felt it all the way to my bones.
What evil despot ever follows the rules? someone said in my mind. A chill wracked through me, and I gulped back horror. The voice was not Vexxion’s .
It was not mine either.
Who is this? I snarled.
There was no reply.
The world around me ebbed and flowed, and while Vexxion whimpered, I was wrenched back to the sitting area in our suite. I collapsed on my side, yanking the blanket around my shivering frame, though I knew whatever warmth the fabric gave me would not stop my quaking.
This was why Vexxion made me promise never to enter the king’s bedroom. He didn’t want me to discover this final truth.
And oh, how horrible it was.
“No,” I whispered, then said it louder, harsh and sharp enough to make Drask startle. “No!”
Ivenrail was not following the rules laid out in the treaty, but that was a paltry thing compared to what I now suspected.
Some rules were set in stone long before Ivenrail rose to power. Only one of them concerned me at this moment, the one related to the master and the person they collared.
The king wouldn’t care enough about this one to find a way past it.
I’d stabbed Delaine in the heart and shoved her off the cliff, killing her.
And at that moment, Will died.
When I killed the king, Vexxion would die as well.