Chapter 18 Senna
SENNA
The ground bites into my knees, cold and hard through the thin fabric of my dress. My hands are bound behind my back with coarse rope that cuts into my wrists with every slight movement.
I can't feel Lorenth.
That's the worst part. Not the bruises blooming across my ribs where Darian dragged me from the carriage.
Not the raw ache in my throat from where he forced that vile liquid down, holding my jaw until I had no choice but to swallow.
Not even the crowd gathering in the village square, their faces curious and judgmental and eager for the spectacle.
It's the silence where the bond should be.
The emptiness feels wrong. Like someone carved out part of my chest and left a hole that won't stop bleeding. I reach for Lorenth instinctively, searching for that warm pulse of his presence, but there's only void. Nothing. Just the lingering burn of whatever Darian made me drink.
"Look at her." Darian's voice carries across the square, loud and righteous. He circles me like a predator, boots crunching on packed dirt. "My wife. The woman I took in. Fed. Clothed. Protected."
My throat throbs where his fingers dug in earlier, holding me still while he pried my jaw open and poured that bitter liquid down. I can still taste it—metallic and wrong, coating my tongue like oil.
"And what does she do?" He stops in front of me, blocking out the afternoon sun. "Runs off to spread her legs for some xaphan. Like a common whore."
The crowd murmurs. I don't look up. Can't. My vision swims from the beating in the carriage, from the fist he drove into my stomach when I tried to fight back.
"I gave her everything." His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back until I'm forced to meet his eyes. Pale and cold and utterly devoid of mercy. "And she repays me with betrayal."
The rope digs deeper as I try to brace myself. The bond stays silent. Empty. And I hate it. Hate that I can't feel Lorenth, can't sense if he knows something's wrong, can't tell if he's looking for me or if the severed connection means he thinks I abandoned him—
"She's mine."
Darian's grip tightens until tears prick my eyes. Not from emotion. Just pain.
"Clearly she's forgotten that." He shoves my head forward, releasing my hair to step back. "So I'm going to remind her. Remind all of you what happens when someone forgets their place."
The first blow catches me across the cheekbone.
My head snaps to the side, stars exploding across my vision. I taste blood—copper and salt mixing with the lingering bitterness of whatever he forced down my throat. The crowd doesn't react. Doesn't intervene.
Of course they don't. They never have.
The second blow lands in my ribs, right where he already hit me in the carriage. Something gives with a sharp crack that steals my breath. I curl forward instinctively, trying to protect myself, but the rope keeps my hands pinned.
"You think some xaphan wants you?" Darian circles again, each word punctuated with another strike. Stomach. Shoulder. The side of my head. "You think you're special? That you're worth more than what I paid for you?"
My mind splinters. Part of me is here, kneeling in the dirt while my husband beats me like an animal. The other part reaches desperately for the bond, for Lorenth, for any sign that this emptiness isn't permanent.
Nothing.
I can't feel him. Can't sense anything except the void where he should be.
A boot connects with my side and I collapse fully, my cheek hitting the ground. The packed dirt smells like dust and old blood. Probably mine, from other times Darian decided I needed to be taught a lesson.
Where's Mira? The thought drifts through the haze of pain. Please let her be out on courier business. Please don't let her see this.
She always told me to run. To get away before it got worse.
I should have listened.
Another kick. Another. The crowd watches in silence, complicit in their stillness. This is what I feared. What I always knew would happen if I tried to leave. Darian wouldn't just hurt me—he'd make an example of me. Make sure everyone knew what happens to women who forget their place.
Lorenth.
His name echoes through my mind like a prayer. Or maybe a curse. I bonded him. Tied him to me. And for what? So he could feel this? So he could suffer through whatever connection might remain even with this poison blocking the bond?
I hate that I did that to him. Hate that I let myself believe, even for a moment, that I could have something different. Something better.
Darian's hand fists in my hair again, dragging me upright. My ribs scream in protest, that crack from earlier definitely a break. Blood drips from my split lip, warm against my chin.
"Still nothing to say?" He backhands me, rings cutting into my cheek. "No apology? No begging?"
I don't answer. Can't form words past the pain radiating through every nerve. The bond stays silent. The void where Lorenth should be aches worse than any of the bruises blooming across my skin.
Darian raises his fist again—
"Touch her one more time."
The voice cuts through the square like a blade. Low and lethal and so familiar that my heart stutters.
No. It can't be. I can't feel him through the bond, which means—
My head snaps up.
Lorenth stands at the edge of the crowd, wings spread wide and eyes blazing with an fury I've never seen before. Not even when he confronted Darian the first time. This is different. This is the controlled violence of a weapon finally unleashed.
Magic crackles in the air around him, visible as pale blue lightning that dances across his wings and fingertips. The temperature drops ten degrees. The crowd scatters, stumbling over themselves to get away from the sheer rage rolling off him in waves.
Darian's grip on my hair falters. Just for a second. Just long enough for Lorenth to close the distance between them.
He doesn't run. Doesn't fly. Just stalks forward with the measured precision of a predator who knows his prey has nowhere to go.
"I said," Lorenth's hand shoots out, catching Darian by the throat and lifting him clean off the ground, "touch her one more time. I dare you."
Darian claws at Lorenth's grip, feet kicking uselessly. "She's my—"
"Wife?" Lorenth's smile is all teeth. No warmth. Just promise of violence. "Property?" He slams Darian into the ground hard enough to crack stone. "Mine to do with as I please?"
Each word is punctuated with another impact. Darian's back hits the packed earth over and over, his protests devolving into choked gasps.
Lorenth's eyes find mine. Storm-blue and ringed with gold and asking a silent question.
I think of every bruise. Every broken bone. Every night spent wondering if this would be the time Darian killed me. Every moment of fear and pain and desperate hopelessness.
I nod.
It's tiny. Barely perceptible. But Lorenth sees it.
And then he lets go completely.
The magic that's been crackling around him explodes outward. Not wild. Not uncontrolled. This is deliberate. Precise. The kind of violence that comes from centuries of discipline turned toward a single purpose.
Darian tries to scramble away but Lorenth pins him with one boot to the chest. The sickening crunch of ribs breaking echoes across the silent square.
"You like beating things weaker than you?" Lorenth crouches, one hand still wreathed in that pale lightning. "Let's see how you handle someone who can fight back."
He drives his fist into Darian's face. Once. Twice. The third time, something gives with a wet crack. Blood sprays across the dirt, dark and viscous.
Darian gurgles, trying to speak, but Lorenth doesn't stop. Doesn't slow. Each blow is calculated for maximum damage—shattering bone, pulping flesh, turning my husband's cruel face into something unrecognizable.
"You choked her." Lorenth's hand closes around Darian's throat, lightning arcing from his palm into skin. The smell of burning flesh fills the air. "So I'll crush yours."
Darian's hands scrabble weakly at Lorenth's wrist. His face purples. Eyes bulge. Veins stand out like cords.
Lorenth squeezes tighter.
"You broke her ribs." He shifts his grip, dragging Darian upright only to slam him down again. Another sickening crack. "So I'll shatter every bone in your godsdamned body."
The magic intensifies, crawling over Darian's torso like living things. Wherever it touches, bones snap. First the ribs. Then the collarbone. Shoulders. Arms. Each break accompanied by Darian's increasingly desperate attempts to scream past his crushed windpipe.
"You tied her up." Lorenth grabs Darian's wrist, twisting until the joint dislocates with a pop. Then the other. "Made her helpless."
He works methodically down both arms, breaking every finger, every knuckle, every joint. Darian convulses, mouth opening and closing like a fish drowning in air.
"You made her kneel." Lorenth moves to Darian's legs, that terrible precision never wavering. "So you'll never stand again."
The knees go first. Then ankles. The small bones of the feet. Each one crushed beneath Lorenth's boot or magic or bare hands. Darian's screams have devolved into wet rattling sounds, blood bubbling from his lips.
The crowd hasn't moved. Can't move. They're frozen by the same magic that fills the air, thick enough to choke on.
"And you made her bleed." Lorenth straightens, looking down at the broken thing that used to be my husband. "So I'll paint this entire godsdamned square with yours."
His hand plunges into Darian's chest.
Not metaphorically. Not gently. His fingers punch through skin and muscle and bone like they're paper, burying themselves in Darian's ribcage.
Darian convulses. Blood fountains from his mouth, his nose, the wounds covering his ruined body.
Lorenth's expression doesn't change. Doesn't soften. He just watches, clinical and cold, as he slowly closes his fist around what has to be Darian's heart.
"This is what happens," he says quietly, though his voice carries across the silent square, "when you touch what's mine."
He squeezes.
Darian's eyes go wide. Then empty.
Lorenth rips his hand free in a spray of blood and viscera, letting Darian's corpse collapse into the dirt. The heart—still clutched in his fist—continues to beat weakly for several seconds before finally going still.
He drops it beside the body.
Then he turns to me.