Chapter 48
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
“ M ika?”
My eyes snap open, but a light blinds me, and I immediately close them again.
“Lyss?” I ask, my throat dry.
“Oh, thank the Divine,” she breathes, pushing a cup of water to my lips for me to drink.
I wince at the memory of the painful brightness. “What’s that light?”
“There is no light, Mika, beyond the small lantern. Would you like me to extinguish it?”
I hesitantly open my eyes to find the blinding light is gone. Lyss’ concerned face fills my view as the rest of the familiar cave follows.
“I did not think you were coming back. It has been three days…”
The memory of the torture assaults my nerves. I writhe in pain, grabbing my face, which is already wet with tears. Lyss is making soothing sounds, patting my head, and turning my chair back into a bed. I’m heaving in breaths, sweat beading all over my body as the memory stops. I’m alone. Unsure how long I was in that state.
With careful movements, I move to a seated position, but no pain attacks me. I pull up my sleeve, seeing six scars along my forearm and the one through my hand. Every single scar has an entry and an exit. Fourteen new scars on my arm in total. I flex my hand and fingers. No pain. I’m no different than before.
I pull up my pant leg. A gnarled burn scar digs into my calf. I suppose the imposter king really wasn’t lying. Burned or ripped-off flesh cannot be Divined back into existence, even by a healer as skilled as Lyss.
The memory of pain shudders through me again, less violently this time. But still, I close my eyes and lie back down as tears dribble down the side of my face, wetting my hair and ears.
Holding my hand up, I see the silvery scars sliced across my fingers. I didn’t even know I’d cut them on the slippery knife as I stabbed Pasha over and over. Jaena had withheld a healer for days as further punishment for losing control of my rage and because she had to “clean up my mess.”
Making a mental tally, I take stock of all my new scars. I almost laugh, hysteria fizzing in my throat. I went from barely a scar a few moons past to being riddled with them.
Lyss comes back in with a plate of food. Crusty bread and hot beans in a tomato sauce. Surprisingly delicious. Either that, or I’m starving. She watches me eat, clearly wanting to say something.
I raise an eyebrow at her. She clears her throat, frowns, and speaks hesitantly. “I tried to heal you…Your mind, I mean.” She pauses, contemplating my face before continuing. “But your… rage stopped me. You would not let me back in, or it would not. I thought you were lost for good, like some of the other Nulls who eventually waste away to death, never waking up again. But you…You woke on your own.”
I pause with a chunk of bread at my lip, my mouth hanging open. Did she say my rage ? I let my hand fall into my lap with the piece of bread, my mouth closing and opening a few times as my brain tries to say several things at once.
I pinch the bridge of my nose between my eyes and take a deep breath. “What do you know of my rage?”
“It attacked me. When I was in your mind trying to heal you and bring you back. You screamed at it to stop, and it did. I got out straight away. But then, whenever I tried to go back in, there was only a blackness I could not penetrate.” She’s looking at me with so much concern that I squirm in my seat, trying to avoid her eye. “I am so sorry, Mika.”
“Sorry for what? ” I say, lifting my arm to show the scars, then my pant leg. “You did heal me. I’m sorry that my… rage tried to hurt you.”
“I can help. If you would let me. Heal the rage. Figure out why you have created a beast as a talisman in your mind to protect you.”
I shake my head, not wanting to face that right now. I’m going to need my rage for a little longer. A plan is finally beginning to form.
Lyss hesitantly agrees to my plan. She’d looked at me like I had lost my mind until I realized I hadn’t actually told her that the king was an imposter. I didn’t tell her it’s still just a theory, that I may be wrong, and I will have killed a king. Either way, he needs to die.
I get a few more days of rest to heal, thanks to Lyss, who reports that I’ve still not woken up. She’s made sure I’m in a position where none of the other prisoners know I am actually awake.
In my secluded cave, I stretch and move my muscles as much as I can. I’m going to need every advantage. I still don’t know the Gift of the king’s other man, and it’s possible the Patron Gifted with fire won’t come with him next time. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine and my calf stings as I remember the searing pain of the fire poker.
If only I knew where the torture trolley was located. I am already strapped to a chair when they get it, though it cannot be far, so it may as well not exist. I’m going to need to kill them before I’m strapped down. I’ll only have mere moments before the king arrives after that.
It’s a delicate balance between resting enough, exercising so I don’t atrophy, and working on my weapons—one that I won’t know I’ve gotten right until the last moment.
A large nail and a bone spoon. That is all I have to work with. Hoping it goes unnoticed, I rip off the cuff of my pant leg. Sharpening the nail on a stone until it’s essentially a tiny blade, I bind it to the handle of the bone spoon. The bowl of the spoon has also been sharpened, making it a singular weapon. I would have liked two weapons, but I had nothing to reinforce the nail except the spoon handle. One missing spoon is a risk, but two would be noticed.
In between sharpening my weapon, I practice with it. I’m going to have to be precise with every move. Banking on the fact the king wants my Gift manifested, I hope the men have a standing order not to kill me. If they hesitate to retaliate with full force, it may give me enough of an edge.
I ask Lyss to demonstrate with me, clamping my arms together the way they do, testing the best place for my weapon. My sleeves are too short to hide it, nor do I have enough time if it’s hidden in the front of my pants, under my shirt. The back of my pants is the easiest place, though risky because it can be seen.
Lyss will not be able to hold off the king for much longer. He has expressed his desire to inspect me himself if I don't wake up soon. So tomorrow, I will miraculously wake, and the countdown will be on.
They will come for me, and I will kill them. Then I will kill the imposter king or die trying.
Reclining in my chair, I try to look as weak and exhausted as I did when they came for me last time. The more they underestimate me, the greater the likelihood I can catch them off guard. The makeshift weapon digs into my lower back. My relief at seeing the same two despicable men strengthens my resolve.
The ugly beast inside of me is prowling around my heart. Its thundering steps match my heartbeat. It takes flight, dipping down into my belly, and then tries to exit my throat. The beast is agitated by how long the walk is, incensed that it must wait longer still.
I see the cave entrance, and I take a deep breath. I have one chance. One moment. One?—
“Hello dear, I thought we could do things differently this time,” King Stol’s slippery voice interrupts my thoughts as we round the corner into the cave. The chair is nowhere to be seen, only a set of manacles hanging from the ceiling.
Improvisation it is, then.
Fire Hands releases me to reach for the manacles while the other guard holds me. The imposter king is at the back of the cave, furthest from the entrance. It’s now or never.
My heartbeat or rage thundering, I’m not sure which, I grab my spoon blade and slice the lifeblood artery of the Patron still holding me. He lets me go to grab his throat. I swing my body and my weapon around, aiming for Fire Hands. He jumps back a step to face me, lifting his hands as a blue hue colors his palms.
Using all the force I can muster, I deliver a front kick to his groin. He flies back with a sickening crack of his head into the stone. Still, he tries to throw his fire at me, and I dodge, smelling burning hair. The nail end of my weapon slams into his eye as deep as it can go—I’m aiming for his brain. The light in his hands extinguishes.
I don’t have time to see if it works, I can only hope he’s incapacitated enough . I launch myself around and back at the other man, who tries to use his Gift to throw the manacles chained to the ceiling. They’re too short to reach me, the metal clashing together echoes as I stab him in the kidney. His body facing me from the force of the blow, I stab his other lifeblood artery and shove him. He won’t live long.
With both men incapacitated in less than a minute, I turn for the imposter king. He tries to flee, an opportunity arising now I am not directly in front of the cave opening. But I trip him, stabbing him once in the calf as he goes down with a pained scream.
I’m holding the slick blade at the imposter king's throat on the ground, sitting on his chest, not unlike the way I met Eryn for the first time. I press the point of the spoon blade into his throat so that a gem of his blood surfaces. He hisses and is satisfactorily terrified-looking.
I want to torture him, smash his knees, and break his fingers. But the allure of slowly watching him bleed out is winning. He’s not struggling, almost as though he’s frozen or hypnotized by the way I’m staring into his eyes. He doesn’t speak. Neither do I.
Pressing harder still, I look deeper into the imposter king’s violet eyes. I’ll watch the life drain out of him. I want to watch his life slowly fade as I press deeper and deeper.
Take. I want to take everything from him. I’m going to take it all.
I can’t look away. I’ve pushed through the uncomfortable strain, and now it’s taken hold of me. A scream is in my ears along with a pull.
I pull harder. My vision fills with the violet of our eyes. I cannot tell where his end and mine begin. Greed overwhelms me. I keep pulling until the greed is satiated.
My eyes snap shut as a pain explodes through my entire body. One of the men must not have been dead. I cry out as my joints flame. Every bone feels like it is only moments from breaking. My skin is stretched so thin I might pop. Then, as quickly as it started, the pain stops. I whirl around, looking for an attacker.
No one is there. Both guards are in the prone positions I left them in to die.
Underneath me is an unconscious body. Not the imposter king. Or at least, not as he was only moments before.
His clothes hang off him awkwardly as if he has shrunk inside of them. Pale skin and pointy features against a mass of wavy, light brown hair. I lift one of his eyelids. Brown eyes Oferdu, not the violet of a Patron. He’s unconscious but still alive. I didn’t kill him, and he’s shifted into a different form. A form where I cannot see his violet eyes. My assumptions were wrong, at least in part.
Getting up causes a surge of dizziness and I pause, eyes closed, as it passes. I remove one of the dead men’s belts as I keep an eye on the imposter king for any movement, then use it to restrain him. I’ll think about what to do with him later. He currently doesn’t look like the king. I should still kill him, but my bloodlust has calmed along with my rage as if both are satisfied. We could torture him for information. I need to tell the others, and they can help decide.
I stumble down the passage toward the main cave as my short sleeve gets caught, and I finger the rip at my shoulder as I continue walking awkwardly, as if my feet are too big. The rip is in a black shirt. I was wearing a filthy cream-colored shirt. This is when I notice my hands. They’re large and veiny…and not my hands.
Lyss is walking toward me, her chain allowing her some distance into the entrance of the passage. “Your Majesty, is everything alright?” Lyss’ voice comes, and I whip my head around to see if he’s behind me.
She looks behind me and then back to me with great concern. “Sir?”
“Who do you see?” comes the deep voice of a man, causing me to stupidly slap a hand over my mouth. That’s not my voice.
Fuck fuck fuck.
I walk slowly toward Lyss, and she shrinks back, my presence looming above her. Her panicked eyes are aimed at the ground, and I repeat myself in a whisper. I know the other prisoners cannot see us here, but they can hear us. Causing chaos is the last thing we need right now.
Refusing to look at me, and with a quiver in her voice, she whispers, “Your Majesty, I only see you.”
Key. I need the key that releases the manacles. One of the dead guards will have it, so I turn and jog back down the passage, leaving Lyss with no explanation.
Running with legs that are far too long, feet far too big, and muscles much stronger than mine, I trip and crash as I go, faltering like a newly born foal. Checking the pockets of the dead men reveals the key I need. I quickly check the still unconscious king for anything on his person, and pocket his keys as well .
Jogging back to Lyss, who stands exactly where I left her, her eyes begin to brim with tears. “Has something happened, sir?” she asks.
“Lyss…It’s me. Mika,” I whisper with urgency.
She looks up at me and gasps. “Your eyes! They are violet!”
Shit. I forgot about that. Immediately, an uncomfortable pressure blooms in my eyes, and I squeeze them shut. With a slight tingle, I’m drawn to imagine myself with the same-colored eyes I saw on the unconscious imposter.
I open my eyes with a gulp of air, and Lyss’ mouth drops open and snaps shut again. “Is it really you, Mika?”
“ Fuck the Divine ,” I curse. “Lyss, I think I stole his Gift.”