13. Chapter Thirteen
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CAIUS
A ggonid’s magic twines tighter, the tendrils squeezing the air from the man’s lungs as his pulse drums beneath his grip. But the soldier pushes through his panic, gasping out each word with sick satisfaction. "You think she’s the only one we’ve played with? You think we didn’t perfect the technique ... before her?"
My fingers twitch, claws aching to shred the smug look from his face, but I hold back, knowing we need every drop of information this filth can give. I take a step forward, crouching down to meet his bloodshot eyes. “I’ll give you one more chance to speak before I rip your soul apart.”
The soldier coughs, a wet, rattling sound, his breath shallow as the magic constricts. “She—she won’t break like the others. Tough fucking thing.”
Of course not. She’s our perfect little mate.
“Where are they taking her?” Aggonid’s voice rumbles, a promise of pain behind every syllable.
The soldier’s eyes shift, darting wildly as if searching for a lie to cling to. “I don’t know the realm, only that it’s cold wherever they took us … that’s all I know. The king doesn’t trust us with more?—”
But Valtorious wouldn’t rely on such a weak-willed wretch for more than basic tasks. There’s more, buried deeper. “You’re worthless,” I snarl, stepping back and glancing at Aggonid.
Aggonid's stare never wavers as the pressure around the soldier’s neck increases. “This is the part where you beg,” he growls.
The man’s panicked gasps turn to choked sobs, his bravado crumbling. “Please ... I told you everything ... please!”
Aggonid leans in closer, his magic rippling with cold menace. “Ah, but you laid your hands on my mate.”
With a flick of his wrist, the tendrils of magic snap, and the soldier’s body crumples to the ground, wracked with agony as blood pours from every hole. Aggonid gestures to one of the Gravewoken to toss the soldier into a cell where he’ll be healed—barely—then tortured again and again.
The river of lava rises, and I glance at Wilder, who angrily casts another soldier aside.
He moves to another, a man with hollow eyes and dirt-streaked cheeks. His hands shake as he clutches his threadbare uniform. The fish’s voice remains calm, but there’s a razor edge to it. “You were in Romarie today. Tell me what you know.”
His lips tremble, and for a moment, he looks like he might break down entirely. But I don’t buy the innocence act. He wouldn’t have ended up here if he were a good person. “They took her. The king and his son. They said he had plans. Horrible plans. I overheard them speaking of needing to do more experiments on your mate first. But I don’t know where they went.”
My blood runs cold, the words sinking into me like fractured glass.
More experiments ?
Running over to him, I grab the man by his shoulders, my fingers digging into his frail flesh, and my tail grips his wrist where he tries to pry me off. “What experiments? What did you hear?”
He shakes his head, as though the king’s wrath could find him here. But it’s not his retribution he should be worried about. It’s mine. Still, he stammers, “Nothing.”
Aggonid’s shadows surge forward, enveloping the male in a suffocating darkness. His eyes bulge as the tendrils tighten around his throat, his feet kicking feebly as he’s lifted off the ground.
I step back, watching as my mate does what he does best.
“Let’s try this one more time.” Aggonid’s low rumble is barely heard over the cries of the others being tortured. “You will tell us everything you know, down to the finest detail, until we’re satisfied. Because we’re having to ask this of you yet again, we’re going to take your pinkies. One on each hand, and then on each foot. You won’t get them back. If my mate has to ask again, I’ll let our new friend here boil your blood where you stand.”
The man’s body trembles violently, his cries muffled by the shadows that have bound his mouth shut. He can no longer scream in terror. His bloodshot, tear-streaked eyes follow Aggonid’s gesture to Wilder, who stands with arms folded, tension radiating from his poised, predatory stance.
Playing his part. Good. He’ll fit right in with the rest of us.
“Nod if you can understand me,” Aggonid whispers against the male’s ear as he wrenches him to the ground, pinning him with a knee to his back.
The man nods frantically, tears streaming down his ashen face as the shadows recede just enough for him to draw a shaky breath. His body heaves against the dried lava bed beneath him, but Aggonid doesn’t let him up, despite how hard he tries to crawl away.
I retrieve my toolkit from where one of the Gravewoken stashed it by the panel along the smaller cliff face. They rarely linger for the fun, but they’ve stepped in once or twice when we’ve had a surge of souls to process. Usually after a war.
My fingers find the shears, the cold metal a familiar heft in my hand. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve had to use these. I crouch down beside the trembling man, my pruning shears glinting off the glow from the lava.
He stares up at me with wide, terrified eyes as I grasp his hand, forcing his trembling fingers straight. As I position the blades at the base of his pinky finger, he tries to jerk his hand away, but my grip is like iron .
Desperate pleas tumble from his lips. “Please, please, pl—” His words cut off in a blood-curdling shriek as the metal cleaves his finger from his hand. The crunch through bone is quick and satisfying, and I pocket my souvenir to feed to the caspari later. They’re beasts that devour the garbage in all the fae realms.
The metallic trace of blood scents the air as it pools beneath his hand, but I waste no time as I round to the other side, clipping that one free, too. Then his toes.
I start with the smallest digit, savoring the crunch as I snip through bone and tendon. The man's screams crescendo, resounding off the cavernous walls of this chamber. His body writhes against Aggie’s restraints, but there's no escape. Not here. Not in Hell.
I move methodically, one toe at a time, relishing each snap of my shears. The man's cries turn guttural, primal sounds of agony that would chill the blood of any mortal. But I’m no mortal, and his suffering only fuels my satisfaction. This is what Morte’s captor will get to endure every single day for eternity.
"Please," he whimpers between ragged breaths. "I'll do anything. Just make it stop."
I pause, bringing my face close to his tear-streaked cheeks. "Now, now," I coo, my breath hot against his ear, "that's not how this works. You're only at the beginning of your eternity here."
His eyes widen in horror as the realization sinks in. I can almost taste the despair rolling off him in waves. It's intoxicating.
I straighten up, twirling my shears playfully. "Now, where were we? Ah yes, I believe we still have a few toes left to address."
His only response is a choked sob, but that's alright. We have time. I straighten. “Let's see what secrets your flesh will reveal," I muse, selecting my next target with calculated precision.
As I resume my work, I ponder what delightful torments I'll inflict once I've finished with his extremities. Which one is going to get us the results we’re looking for?
I seal his mouth with a silencing charm to stifle his wails and make it easier to talk to him .
“You’re going to shut the fuck up when I remove this. No more screaming, you’re giving me a migraine. Understood?”
He nods frantically as I crouch in front of him, my tail flicking with irritation in my peripheral. I remove the spell from his mouth, and he breathes heavily, his face puffy from crying.
This one is a witch, judging by the wrinkles lining his forehead and the corners of his eyes. He has more weight on him than a standard fae, which tells me he is a higher-ranking soldier. If he were just cannon fodder, he’d be gaunt like the rest of Romarie.
Driven by desperation and the rising fury within me, I hold up the shears as I clutch his bleeding hand. "What kind of experiments? Speak!"
He gasps, struggling for breath under Aggonid’s weight. His voice is a whisper, stricken with fear. "I don't know everything, but they spoke about camping somewhere.”
The man’s words tremble as he continues, his eyes darting between me and the shears still poised in my hand. “Only a small selection of servants and soldiers were privy to the details?—”
“How many?”
He shakes his head, his chin scuffing on the lava stone under him. “I don’t know, I’m not on that sq?—”
“Now, what did Aggonid tell you the first time?” I tap his cheek with the shears, enjoying his flinch.
He whimpers, still eyeing my weapon. “Maybe two-hundred-eighty in all?”
“What types of provisions did they pack?”
“I’m a soldier, I don’t?—”
I sigh, glancing over my shoulder at Wilder, who takes a step forward.
Without raising so much as a fist or a finger, the lava beds around us swell, spitting dangerously close to us.
I grin. He’ll come in handy to have around here. I’ve just got to kill him first.
The man’s eyes widen in terror as the lava bubbles and hisses mere inches from his face. The heat intensifies, sweat beading on his brow as he struggles against Aggonid's grip.
“Tick-tock, feel the heat, scream the truth or burn at my feet,” I taunt.
He starts babbling frantically, "Wait! I'll tell you what I know!”
In the end, self-preservation wins out over loyalty to a king that’ll never see this throne.
I grin as I take a leisurely seat sprawled out next to him. He relaxes until I reach for his hand again, and he shrieks as he tries in vain to buck Aggonid off his back. It’s just his shadows pinning him down now. He’s busy interrogating another soldier nearby, if the spurts of blood are anything to go by.
“He did say you’d have me to deal with if you weren’t forthcoming.” Wilder crouches in front of us. “Do you know what a merfae can do?”
I chuckle.
The man’s eyes widen in terror as he looks up at Wilder. "N-no," he stammers.
"Sure, we can control water in all its forms. Including the water in your blood." He reaches out, his fingers hovering just above his skin. "I could make it boil in your veins.” He grins.
I sing-song, “Tick-tock, spill or scream, your blood will boil in every stream.”
“Or I could drown you in your fluids. Have it fill your lungs as you try desperately to heave in air.”
He whimpers, his entire body trembling.
“Now I’m going to let my friend here take another finger. And if you don’t tell us every detail you can think of, I will freeze your blood solid,” he threatens. “Imagine the agony as ice crystals form in your arteries, tearing you apart from the inside. And then I’ll do it again. And again.”
I don’t give him a chance to respond before I take his middle finger. The crunch of bone and his muffled screams fill the air as blood spurts from the wound. Some lands on my cheek as I watch Wilder rise to his feet .
After retrieving the severed digit from the puddle of blood, I tuck it into Wilder’s pocket, giving it a little pat-pat.
He’s earned that.
I turn my attention back to the soldier, but not before I catch the slight hint of green flushing the merfae’s skin.
“Tick-tock, drip and flow, tell me now or down you go.”
He better speak soon, because I’m running out of rhymes.
“They …” His eyes dart frantically between me and Wilder, terror etched deep in his features. His lips tremble before he—fucking finally—starts to talk. “They packed for a long trip. Weeks’ worth of supplies. All-weather tents. Winter gear. Dried meats, rations, water.”
I climb to my feet, my mind racing as I pace. “Why would they need that when they can just use magic to?—”
“They’ve got to be somewhere remote, high in elevation or a realm on the other side of Bedlam or Romarie,” Emeric cuts in, his tone sharp, logic slicing through my confusion. “Magic weakens in those areas. Think about it. Bedlam Academy sits in a tropical region, but not far from it, Moonfire’s nestled in year-round snow. Romarie is the same way. Don’t think about north or south like other realms; it’s about elevation, isolation. If they’re packing for that long, they’re heading to somewhere high enough or desolate enough that their magic could fail.”
I blink, the pieces clicking together as his words settle in. Some spells must be spoken aloud, while others use precise gestures. If you’re too frozen to do that, it can misfire. And realms far enough away from any moons can struggle to harness magic properly.
“What else?” I prod the man with my booted foot as my tail lashes back and forth in agitation.
The man’s eyes are red and swollen from crying. "They were talking about siphoning magic. I overheard the king mention a place called the Hollow something."
Rook’s head snaps up at that. “What did he say?” I hear him whisper to Sevrin.
“The Hollow? Where the fuck is that?” I whip my head towards the reapers .
Rook exchanges a look with Sevrin before meeting my stare, his expression pinched beneath the skeletal mask. “The Hollow Peaks. That’s not a place easily found,” he murmurs, his voice cold, distant. “It’s a stretch of treacherous mountains hidden deep within the folds of the realms, outside the reach of common maps, forgotten by most. But not by reapers. I haven’t heard anyone mention The Hollow Peaks in ten thousand years.”
“How the fuck does Ollin fucking Valtorious know about it?” Aggonid drops the soldier he’s dispatched, steps over him, and stalks our way, tracking bloodied boot prints over the rocks. “If one of you has been feeding him information, I’ll tear you apart myself.”
Rook's eyes flash, an edge settling behind his stare. "We would never betray you, my lord. The Hollow Peaks are known only to a select few—usually just those who ferry the dead. If the Romarie King knows of them, he's tapped into something dark and unnatural."
I halt in front of him, eyes narrowing. “Then how the fuck do we get there?”
Rook’s lips press into a thin line as his head swings toward the male soldier, still trembling on the ground. “If they’ve gone there, it’s not by choice. It’s to avoid detection. The Hollow Peaks are a sanctuary for those who tamper with forbidden magic—an ideal hiding spot for Valtorious.” He cants his head, lost in thought. “The magic there doesn’t play by the rules. It twists and warps, but the real threat isn’t surviving the place.” His attention snaps back to me, the smirk wiped clean. “The real danger is what Valtorious plans to do. Siphoning magic there … it could unravel the bonds between you and Morte—permanently.”
Panic-laced fear strikes me. We could lose our mating bonds?
Aggonid’s red eyes blaze, his fingers curling into fists at his sides as his shadows spill out around him. “He thinks he can sever our connection to her? He’ll never survive my wrath. Absolutely fucking delusional.”
“Deluded, maybe.” Wilder freezes, finally catching up to the rest of the conversation, his arms dropping to his sides as his stare locks on Rook with an intensity that could drown the realm. The color drains from his face, and the stormy hues of his eyes deepen, shifting like a hurricane about to break. “What do you mean, unravel our bonds?” His voice is hoarse, almost unrecognizable, like the very thought rips something vital out of him.
Rook doesn’t flinch under Wilder’s sudden intensity. “Exactly what I said,” he replies bluntly. “If Valtorious succeeds in siphoning magic at the Hollow Peaks, the natural laws will warp under that kind of strain. Bonds like yours to Morte—your anchor—could be ripped apart in the process.”
Wilder draws a jagged breath, his entire torso heaving with the effort to steady himself. “No. That’s not—” He swallows, his hands rising slightly before falling back down, helpless. A pale glimmer of saltwater magic ripples over his skin, and for a moment, the cool scent of the ocean cuts through the sulphur of the Underworld. “That bond is her lifeline. Mine, too. If he takes her from me—” His voice chokes off as he shakes his head, as if refusing to let the words take form. “I’ll kill him. I’ll tear him apart with my bare hands if I have to.”
Aggonid steps closer, his towering presence a wall of rage and fire. “He won’t get the chance. Not while I draw breath.”
Wilder’s oceanic aura surges again, laced with a wild edge of desperation. “This isn’t just about her surviving. If the bond breaks …” He trails off, his eyes dropping to the floor, his expression dark with scarcely controlled grief. “She’ll think I didn’t fight hard enough for her.
Emeric’s low snarl breaks the tense silence left in the merfae’s wake. “We’re not letting that happen.” He steps forward, placing a heavy hand on Wilder’s shoulder. “She’s not losing you, or any of us. Ollin will pay in blood before he takes her away.”
“He’s desperate.” Wilder runs his hands through his long black hair.
“Desperate men are more dangerous than deluded ones,” Emeric growls, pacing before the soldier.
My tail lashes the ground, stirring the dust as my mind races. If Valtorious is planning to siphon our magic through Morte, it could mean severing everything that ties us to her. And with every second we waste, the bastard gets closer to that goal.
Rook steps near, lowering his voice. “We can get you there, but once you’re in The Hollow Peaks, the magic will start to unravel. Time, reality, your connection to the realms—it will all distort. That’s what he’s counting on.”
Aggonid’s chest heaves, his body taut, power radiating in the way the cliffs tremble. The space around him warps, distorting under the sheer pressure of his rage, as if the very realm itself threatens to buckle beneath his will. “Then we go now. The longer we wait, the greater the risk we’ll lose her.”
I crouch down, grabbing the soldier by his chin, forcing him to look at me. “Tell me everything you know about Valtorious’s plan, or I’ll make it so you never know a moment’s peace for the rest of eternity.”
His body shakes as words tumble past his trembling lips in broken gasps. “They—they’re waiting for the full convergence. When the peaks align with the ancient magic. When everything is vulnerable.”
My claws itch to rip him apart, but something in his tone trips me up. Not his fear—no, that’s real enough. It’s in the way his voice catches on the word vulnerable, as though it holds meaning he’s not willing—or able—to explain. His breath hitches, ragged, desperate, but his words hold steady as he chokes out, “He thinks he can make her his, steal your power, then sever your bonds.”
The truth in his words prickles at my senses, but it’s a hollow truth, incomplete. Like a puzzle piece jammed where it doesn’t fit. There’s something off. My scrutiny lands on Aggonid, who watches with a stillness that chills even me. I can feel his magic coiled, watching, waiting, as if he knows something the rest of us don’t. Ancient magic. The phrase doesn’t sit right. The peaks may hold power, but this bastard isn’t talking about geography or ley lines. There’s something more.
I step closer, baring my teeth. “And how does your king plan to manipulate ancient magic? What is he really after?”
The soldier flinches, his sobs worsening, but offers no answer. His silence feels deliberate, baiting me to react. My instincts scream that I’m being played, that every word out of this bastard’s mouth is a carefully constructed trap. Ancient magic … peaks aligning … convergence. These aren’t celestial events he’s describing. They’re people.
They’re us.
And she’s the linchpin holding it all together.
Aggonid’s growl rumbles through the air. “He’ll never have her.”
Wilder steps forward, his eyes like two flints of ice. “How long until the convergence?”
The soldier hesitates, trembling beneath my grip. “Three days. Maybe less. He’s waiting for everything to be aligned.”
I release him, standing abruptly. Three days. That’s all the time we have.
“Then we’ll burn those fucking peaks to the ground,” I snarl, turning toward the reapers. “Get us there now.”
Rook bows, the metallic sheen of his mask catching the glow from the lava. “It will be done, my lord.”