Agony and Torment #2
A growl rumbles through the room, and it takes a moment for me to realize it’s coming from my chest.
A sharp yank on my chains has me jerking up my head.
“Unless you want them to kill you where you stand, Hunter, you will collect yourself.” Alaric is staring straight ahead, but tension radiates off him. He is holding the chains with his right hand, and his left rests on his sword in warning. I swallow, the threat clear.
Alaric is right, I can’t lose control right now. Not when Wren needs me. Clearly, she isn’t as safe here as I originally thought.
Swallowing, I unfurl my fist, laying my hand flat at my side. Rage still simmers inside me, but it’s not as powerful as it was.
For Wren, I will keep it in check. I will do anything for her.
Once I’m calmer, I look away, taking in the rest of our surroundings for the first time. Armed men and women with grim expressions and hatred-filled eyes line the walls. They’re all staring at me—several having drawn their weapons.
The air is heavy with the threat of violence. My fingers twitch, and I mourn the lack of my own weapon. If I were armed and my bond with Mist weren’t muted, this situation would be different.
But Mist isn’t here, our connection has somehow been dampened, and if I were to fight, Wren might suffer. That’s not something I’m willing to risk.
Silence envelops the room. A long moment passes before fabric murmurs against stone.
“Well, this is an interesting turn of events.” The sound of a cane smacking against stone precedes an elderly woman approaching me.
She’s Marked.
The shining swirl in the middle of her neck washes the room in brilliant violet, its glow rivaling Wren’s.
I exhale, and my legs tremble with relief. Thank the fucking gods, I did the right thing in bringing Wren here. It doesn’t matter that I’m hurt or that nearly everyone here looks like they’d dance over my corpse, because this woman can help Wren. She can teach her.
“Stand up straight and show some gods-damned respect,” Hector hisses, tugging my chains.
He yanks me to my full height, and pain lances through me as the woman draws near, stopping a couple feet away from me. Her head comes halfway up my chest, and a long braid trails over her shoulder. Shrewd eyes sweep over me, and I get the sense she sees far more than most people.
She lifts a bony hand, a gold ring glinting on her index finger, and violet sparks rise around her.
My lungs tighten at the sight of magic. The king’s power is cold and filled with darkness, but there’s something different about this magic. It’s not exactly inviting, but there isn’t an inherent sense of wrongness surrounding it.
Although maybe that’s because she doesn’t appear prepared to whip me to within an inch of my life.
“Hold still,” she says.
The warning has barely left her lips when a bolt of violet light as long as my arm and a third as wide flies from her hand.
It spears into my chest, a raw, sharp pain like a thousand beestings.
Despite her warning, I stagger back as far as my chains will allow.
The pain gives way to a tingling sensation a few beats later, and it feels like hundreds of ants are crawling over and inside me.
I squirm, but the chains hold me in place.
Long minutes pass, the scurrying of feet on my skin relentless, before the woman raises a brow. “Very interesting, indeed.”
She flicks her fingers, and the ants disappear. The light leaves me, flowing back into her outstretched hand. She tilts her head, her intelligent eyes sweeping over me once more before she nods.
“Bring him to the front, Captain.” She turns her back on me, making her way to where Wren is standing, clutching the back of her chair.
“Yes, Evelyn,” Alaric says.
I have no choice but to follow the soldiers as we move towards the front of the room. I wouldn’t have fought them anyway. They’re bringing me closer to Wren, which is all that matters.
Evelyn takes a seat at the front of the chambers, resting her cane on her chair’s armrest. She leans forward, commanding authority with every breath.
“The Hunter is an Inherited,” she proclaims in a loud voice.
I have no idea what that means, but it seems like I’m in the minority. Furious whispers rise all around me.
Evelyn holds out a hand, silencing the crowd.
“That is not all.” She sits up straight, and her Mark pulses. “He carries a forged bond, one that has existed for many years.”
My connection with Mist.
Interesting that she can sense it, but I suppose it’s understandable, since the bond was created by the king’s magic.
Evelyn doesn’t stop there, though. She tilts her head, her piercing gaze peering at my innermost self.
Somewhere deep inside, I realize this moment is a turning point in my life.
Like the day Wren and I met, nothing will ever be the same after this.
There will be a before and an after. I know it as surely as I know the three moons hang in the night sky.
“And next to it is a fledgling bond,” Evelyn continues, her voice ringing through the quiet space. “It is fragile, but it has already begun to form.”
A gasp. A surprised murmur.
“Impossible.”
“How can it be?”
“What kind of bond?” a woman asks, louder than the rest.
I’d like to know the same thing.
Evelyn’s Mark shines brighter, and violet ribbons wreathe her fingers. “A special one.” She speaks slowly, selecting each word with care. “Fated by the gods themselves, this bond links him to the Blessed.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then chaos erupts.