Chapter 80 Folami
Chapter Eighty
Folami
The voices surrounding me faded into a dull buzz, a cacophony of noise with no distinguishable features other than none of the voices were Itanya’s. None of the people in this room were her. None of the children playing in the courtyard outside the palace were her.
My life was empty, eyes vacant. Everything was cast in a grey pallor, as if all the color and life of the world was drained the day she was taken.
I no longer felt the heat of the fireplace or the cool rain as it hit my skin.
The winter wind’s bite was missing completely, food like ash on my tongue.
More than once, I’d thought about ending my wretched life.
Years of enslavement, torture, and rape. Years of enduring unspeakable traumas. Yet it all paled in comparison to the physical hole where my heart should be.
Itanya was my everything—my light in the dark, my reason for living. The whole reason to attempt to heal and turn away from vengeance.
She was light; a beacon of hope representing what Torin and I had worked so hard for—the promise that Elyria would be safe for the next generation.
But how could I make those things a reality when I couldn’t even protect my own child?
Despair ate at every inch of my soul, my muscles and tendons weak from lack of use and attention.
I wandered these halls like a specter in the night. The only thing that kept me clinging to this miserable existence was the small kernel of hope that she was still alive, that she could come home to me.
But with every passing day, that small flame dwindled until it was almost completely gone.
Once that flame went out, what was left of me?
The voices undulated, rising to a level that broke through even my fugue state.
Sluggishly, as if moving through the waters of the bogs in Reeria, I turned to face the speakers.
I vaguely recognized Talamh, apparently the Prince of Deucena.
That came as a shock to many, but, like everything else in my life, it was simply another fact.
Something else that didn’t concern me or Itanya.
Behind him, though, was a face that I did recognize, a familiarity that could bring me to my knees if I let it.
Torin d’Eshu was back at last, triumph written in every tanned line of his face. Men patted his back roughly, shaking his hand as they jovially proclaimed him a ‘hero.’
It was like watching someone else’s happiness in a mirror.
I knew, deep down, that I should be celebrating whatever this victory was, that I should be sitting with Torin to plan what came next, but I was frozen. Unable to move past the debilitating sadness of missing my daughter—the one piece of my soul that was good and undamaged.
Torin said something, Talamh nodding curtly before the rest of the men filtered from the room. Torin’s eyes met mine then, an understanding passing between us, as his honeyed orbs flickered with something close to pity.
I felt wretched and dirty. I didn’t deserve his pity or sympathy.
I lost my daughter. I left her with someone who couldn’t protect her, and I failed her.
“Fo,” Torin’s soft voice filtered in through the water that held me hostage. I stared straight ahead, unblinking. “Fo, we’re going to have a council meeting here. Would you like to attend, or should I walk you back to your rooms?”
He spoke to me like I was an invalid, like I was of feeble mind, unaware of my surroundings.
I knew my surroundings; I just didn’t want to be a part of them.
I should be responding to this situation with rage and vengeance but something about the fear I felt when the Bondsmith told me my daughter was missing broke me.
Now, I was just sad. Sad and frozen.
“Stay,” I mumbled, unable to even muster the ability to speak in a full sentence.
Torin gave me a small smile before sinking into the chair next to mine. His hand never left my thigh, drawing soft patterns there, though I felt none of it.
A few others trickled in, and I vaguely registered that the Bondsmith was here along with Lex and Peytor.
The Bondsmith couldn’t even meet my gaze—the coward that she was—while Lex and Peytor looked much cozier than normal.
Their hands kept brushing, covert looks saying more than words ever could, slicing between them.
A thick emotion akin to jealousy mixed with despair bubbled in my veins, settling somewhere in my chest, magnifying the hopelessness I felt.
Not only had I lost my daughter, but now Lex and Peytor were casting me aside as well, choosing instead to find pleasure in each other.
Can I really blame them?
I bit my tongue hard enough for the coppery taste of blood to fill my mouth lest I begin to do something embarrassing—like cry.
The meeting started, but I only caught bits and pieces as my focus ebbed and flowed.
Something about Torin’s new powers, Ellowyn incapacitated, and securing ships, but giving up Iluul.
There was more nuance to it, judging by the worried and drawn expressions of everyone else in the room, but it slipped between my fingers like smoke.
Until Lex spoke and I caught Itanya’s name.
My heart thundered in my chest, joining with the buzzing in my ears to drown his voice completely, even though this was information I desperately wanted to know.
I watched as expressions turned stricken, color draining from each person’s face as Lex continued to speak.
It took minutes and a herculean effort that I was certain would have me exhausted by the end of the meeting, but I squinted my eyes at Lex, desperately focusing on his voice.
It warbled through my consciousness, like I was listening underwater, but I fought to hear fully.
The noises were instantly overwhelming, threatening to force me back under once more, but I fought the rising panic, letting the sounds of clothes rustling, throats clearing, and fingers tapping against wood wash over me.
I closed my eyes, zeroing in on Lex’s voice.
“She’s there, with them. They’re . . . using her.”
“For what?” Torin barked, his distress making me wince, though I was certain no one noticed.
“For things that are better left unsaid in front of fragile minds.” The Bondsmith’s voice cut through the bickering males, tension thickening with her input.
“She hasn’t responded to any of us in weeks, Bondsmith. Unless you’ve forgotten what you did to her?” Torin’s ire was palpable, and I could feel the heat of his magic as it blazed to life in his palm.
I winced slightly at the pain where his hand rested against my leg, both of us jumping in surprise at my acknowledgement.
“Fo?” Torin turned to me, his voice and expression softening instantly. I couldn’t look at him, though. My eyes were drawn to the Bondsmith.
Our gazes connected, both wrought with pain and understanding.
“Tell me,” I rasped. The Bondsmith’s mouth flattened into a grim line, her hands coming to rest together on the table.
“Are you sure?”
“You cannot be serious?” Peytor jumped in. “This is the first she’s been aware since Itanya was taken. Are we actually going to tell her what’s in that—”
“It’s her child. Her right,” the Bondsmith interjected calmly, never peeling her icy gaze from my own.
“Tell me,” I reiterated, much to the displeasure of three of the four men in the room.
“They are harvesting her blood to use as a conduit,” the Bondsmith said bluntly. As much as I hated her for not protecting my child, I appreciated her directness. I didn’t need soft hands and words, I need honesty, even if it was brutal.
“Conduit?” I asked.
“Like Faylinn,” Lex intoned, glaring daggers at the Bondsmith. The goddess didn’t so much as flinch, just nodded her head in agreement.
“Yes. When Razia and his wife offered to raise her, I acquiesced immediately, not knowing their more nefarious intentions. They acted like they would raise her in love, but they hid their true motivations.”
“Razia has a wife?” Talamh asked, clinging to the wrong information, though even I couldn’t deny that piece was interesting.
“Had,” the goddess said with a malicious smile that sent shivers down my spine. “I ripped her bones from her body for what she did to my child.”
Her eyes flashed with something dangerous and otherworldly before looking at me once more.
“I only regret that Razia escaped my wrath,” she hissed. “But it is how it was supposed to be.”
“What does this have to do with my daughter?” I asked, trying to route the conversation back to the important pieces.
“She is touched by a god”—the Bondsmith gestured to herself—“when I put those runes on her body, mixing her blood with my own, I inadvertently made her a target. Blood has unimaginable power and, after Faylinn disappeared from their village, they’ve been without a conduit for decades.
They need pure, unAwakened blood for their magic—god-touched blood is that much more . . . potent.”
“What are they doing to her?” Lex asked the question that stuck to my heavy tongue. My skin itched and buzzed as the Bondsmith paused, longing for the answer yet not wanting to know.
“They drain her little by little, keeping her alive to use as a way to bind runes and imbue them with power not unlike what Faylinn and I can achieve.”
“The letter said she would be made into ‘something indestructible,’” Lex quoted the letter with a gesture to the parchment. “Care to explain that?”
The Bondsmith blew out a breath, her eyes seeing something faraway for a moment before continuing.
“There was a prophecy amongst the people of the Far North about a god-touched girl with rune-etched bones who would become a seer capable of living forever. An immortal being beyond the reaches of the gods who would bring their people—my people—out of the Far North and into Elyria once more.” She paused as we all regarded her with mixed expressions of distrust and disbelief.
The Bondsmith sighed before continuing. “They called her the Bone Weaver.”
Silence permeated every inch of the room, questions and anger hanging heavy in the air.