26. 25 #3
Cavric stood beyond the porch, flanked by shadows and stone-eyed horses. The door to his dark carriage hung open behind him like a waiting mouth.
She met his gaze, voice ragged but unshakable.
“I’ll never stop trying to get away from you.
” She gasped for breath between the words.
“You will never own me,” she shouted, the words ripping from her throat, raw and burning.
Each word cost her—blood sliding down her side, magic sparking chaotically at her fingertips.
“I am not yours. I will never be yours.”
Cavric laughed—a low, scraping sound that echoed through the air like rusted chains dragging across stone.
“Why would you think you have a choice? Your defiance will only work against you,” he sneered, eyes glinting.
He stepped closer, slowly, relishing the way she flinched but didn’t back down.
“But if pain is what it takes to teach you obedience, then so be it.” His voice dropped, poison lacing every word.
“I’ll break you if I must. Piece by piece. ”
But still—her fire didn’t die.
“I will not kneel,” she hissed. “Not to you. Not to anyone.” She glared at him through her lashes. “Do your worst.”
Cavric dipped just in front of her, his gaze sweeping over her like a master appraising something already won.
He grabbed her side, still oozing bright red blood, fingers digging into her wound.
Mabel let out a piercing cry. “You will,” he said softly, mock pity curling around his words.
“But remember this moment after I’ve killed your fire—you did this to yourself. ”
He reached up—almost tender—and brushed a gloved finger along the chain at her throat. The necklace hung scorched and dulled by soot, the charm pulsing with a faint, unnatural glow.
“You didn’t even realize,” Cavric whispered, leaning in with relish.
“All this time carrying it, and still … you’re clueless.
” He laughed softly, a sound devoid of warmth, as her brow furrowed in stunned confusion.
His fingers curled slowly around the pendant.
“And you never even thought to ask what it really does? Mabel, how could you be so utterly foolish? It’s disappointing, really. ”
The charm pressed hard against her skin, cold as iron. His words echoed through her mind, turning in maddening circles.
What is it doing to me? What has it already done?
Her pulse quickened, panic needling past pain and exhaustion. She tried to piece it together, thoughts skittering through fog.
It’s been with me the whole time.
Above them, Whisper shrieked—wings carving a furious arc through the smoke-thick air.
“Let me go,” Mabel growled, jaw tight, pain sharpening every word.
Cavric stepped back, hands clasped behind his back with the serenity of a victor. His voice was soft, almost gentle.
“No,” he said. “You’re coming home.” He didn’t raise his hand. He didn’t need to. The magic obeyed his voice alone. “Enough of this,” he said softly, with all the weight of command. “Restrain her.”
From the ground beneath Mabel, sigils flared—pale as moonlight, ancient and exact.
Chains of iridescent light coiled up her arms in a blink, seizing her wrists with a chilling snap of finality.
She gasped, struggling, but the enchantment held fast—neither hot nor cold, but empty, as if her magic had no voice within it.
The illusion reacted instantly. Obedient. Unfeeling.
It dragged her down the porch steps, boots scraping against the wood as she twisted in vain. She kicked once, shouted his name—but the creature didn’t flinch. It guided her toward the carriage.
“Don’t do this!” she cried, the chilled air stinging her throat.
Cavric watched from the clearing’s edge, unmoved.
The illusion shoved her forward into the waiting carriage—hard.
She hit the carriage floor with a grunt, the chains yanking taut as she twisted to sit up. She watched as the illusion disappeared into thin air, shimmers of magic left in its wake.
Then, the carriage door slammed shut.
Inside the suffocating space, silence pressed against Mabel like a second skin.
She lay where she’d landed—knees bent, wrists bound, her clothes still soaking in fresh blood and more still oozing.
Her breath came fast at first, then slower.
Shallower. Like her body was bracing to accept what her heart wouldn’t.
She’d been captured.
The realization trickled—slow, steady, unstoppable.
Her father had won.
She shifted upright, back pressed against the wall of the carriage, legs curled beneath her. The chains around her wrists gleamed faintly in the dark, humming with Cavric’s magic—steady, pulsing, final. She stared at them. Felt the weight of what they meant.
Choice, once fragile and defiant, had been stripped from her with the efficiency of a plan long laid.
But not her will. Never that.
She closed her eyes. Let the carriage rock beneath her. And in that silence, she gathered the pieces of herself still sharp enough to cut through steel. Bit by bit.
This wasn’t over.