Chapter 38
Sanity is fleeting but permanence lasts forever. We are permanent here. The Gods are permanent. The vampyr are permanent. This deceit was permanent.
Water drips.
Each droplet takes about three seconds to land on the metal before me, though they’re light enough to cause no harm.
In two weeks, they still haven’t broken my will. Rolan’s forces have worked their way along Duresden’s border with Lux, based on the conversations I’ve overheard from his guards.
In the moments following my torture, I remind myself to stay composed. To stay lucid enough to gather anything that can help me escape or help Cedric if I could just find the bond.
That familiar sensation, the gentle caressing hum has disappeared. Through will and will alone, I spend hours down here focusing on any connection I can conjure.
Nothing.
It’s been nearly three weeks since I left Lux. Three weeks since he told me he loved me. Two weeks since we called for his aid. Two weeks since I saw anyone from my past.
Deep regret rolls through me.
Through the pain, I try to feel for the bond again.
Knowing very little about this connection to him has put me at a severe disadvantage.
There are many variables that control our powers, even with the powerful Bloodrite.
With my lack of feeding, the obvious distance and emotional turmoil, it doesn’t surprise me that I can’t get through.
But still, I try.
The stone slab I am bound to is now soaked from the rain above. I can hear the distant talking of townspeople, their voices tunnel down to me every day. I can’t help but wonder if they’re human or vampyr. Cess? Are they happy? Do they know the horrors beneath them?
Rolan’s cronies lifted the spiked vice a few inches this morning as “an act of kindness from His Majesty”.
I spat in their faces before being backhanded and rendered unconscious.
From the looks of it, they didn’t actually raise it that much.
I earned it, though, and am pretty godsdamned happy about it.
A few coins land on the vice and I can hear the metal shift slightly down. Four hundred and twenty-seven coins have been tossed down since I was brought here. Keeping track seems dark but it gives me a number of how many things I have survived.
Fifty-one beatings, eight blood lettings and six torture sessions with the Carver.
I call him that because he works with knives and only knives. Though, I suspect he is on strict orders to only make marks that can be hidden. Last night he ripped a nail from my pinkie and it has yet to heal.
Well, most of my body isn’t healing.
Rolan has been down here a few times. Sometimes he sits and stares at me.
Other times, he strokes my hair, much to my abhorrence.
The awkward admiration I saw in him when we visited the first time months ago is still there, but also a tinge of sadness mixed with anger. It’s no secret where that stems from.
“Elivienne, this is avoidable. Don’t you see? Lux is no longer the powerful kingdom it once was.” He smiled, cocking his head to the side.
I kept my eyes trained on the stone floor, unwilling to match his energy. “That’s a strange admission coming from Duresden.”
“Don’t be mean, Elivienne. The trickiness of your memories being locked does cause some aggravation for me, to be sure, but I am willing to work with you.
To release your curse if you work with me.
I can bring the cess who did this to you now.
We can restore the lands to the old ways.
” He tutted, reaching forward and moving my red-streaked hair aside.
“Thanks, but I’m fine. Plus, it seems like you’ve already started working on that.” A chill ran through me at the memory of Orvynn and how the beast below tore through me like cotton on a spindle.
Rolan sat back and crossed his legs at my remark. “Ah, the cairn. Sorry about that. Sawyer was unaware it was still even down there. These old monsters, Elivienne, we can use them to our advantage. The Nyxian’s ruled them. Worked with them as familiars.”
He spoke in riddles. All of it unintelligible but his passion, his fervor was stark.
“Nyxians? What are you planning, Rolan? Surely it’s not just about land and titles,” I said, baring my teeth.
“You’ve always been clever. Our childhood was spent on dreams of a bigger cause for everyone.
You were ever the historian. Duresden was cast at the bottom of the totem pole right around the time its old allied kingdom, Nyx, was destroyed.
What once was the western half of Lux, its own kingdom in its own right, was wiped from existence.
Merged with Lux and rebranded. Their trade, their power, what a loss.
Duresden, my kingdom, felt the changes far greater than Hollisland or Gruyere. Restore your line with me, Elivienne.”
My mind replayed any lesson or conversation about merged kingdoms, a secondary line to Lux.
“My line?” I scoffed. “The one you ripped up before me.”
“That one was falsified. Only a Nyxian heir could be as powerful as you. Your poor father and his father before him did their best to hide the history. They did their best to assimilate into Lux, to go unmarked as Nyxian loyalists.”
“And you’re to be believed.”
“Many people believe in me, in my plans. A little group of Nyxians still reside in Lux’s lands.
They have been keeping not just their traditions alive but their wish for their land back.
Krue and that mountain range are just a means to an end, you see.
Promise them their kingdom back, recognized, and they will fight for any cause. ”
“If you’ve convinced anyone to stand beside you in this battle for power then I know they’re being manipulated by your wickedness. Your cause is violent.”
“Do you not agree that history should be honored? Your people certainly do.”
“They are not my people. I believe in justice. You want to use the human population for feeding. You want to take land from Lux to prove a point, not to reinstate this old half, Nyx.”
His jaw worked but he remained calm. “You’re missing some key pieces,” he bent down and whispered in my ear.
“You are smarter than that. I will kill your precious prince and king and everyone you love dearly. I will strip Lux of its identity and I now have the power to do it. I don’t need you.
But it would be so –” he twisted my hair around his finger – “so much easier with your powers. A true Nyxian heir would unlock the rest of my future. They want you. Your power, your line, your leadership. I would honor that eventually.”
“I will never do that,” I bit, yanking my head to the side as far as possible. “You will never be the king Cedric is. Duresden is but one kingdom.”
“Who says I am dealing with just kingdoms?”
That was the last time I saw him until today.
“She’s useless right now.”
“When is the last time she fed?”
A guard snorts. “Weeks? Not sure. She wouldn’t take human blood even if we offered. She doesn’t heal any more.”
Feet shuffle into the chamber of the room and I keep my eyes closed, breaths shallow. The vice is half an inch above my face, close enough that if I craned my neck ever so slightly, I would be met with piercing metal. The coins held in my hands are biting into my skin.
Stay calm.
A guard begins to crank the vice up. I’m not stupid enough to not notice this is my final transfer.
Painfully and methodically, I have been rubbing two coins that landed onto my stone by some grace of Erees.
It took some slow shifting to gather them, but for the last forty-eight hours I have been rubbing their rounded edges into the stone to flatten and sharpen.
The slightest movement controlled by my wrist has delivered two relatively sharp half circles, one in each hand.
This is my chance.
The vice finishes lifting and the routine sets in.
Guard one removes the metal around my ankles, immediately holding my legs in place so guard two can unclip my collar and finally pull the pin from beneath the stone to release my wrists.
Normally, he immediately has cuffs ready to switch into but today he turns to reach into his back pocket for the device.
This miscalculation on his part is what gives me the chance to sit up and slash his throat in one jagged motion.
The guard clutches his throat as he staggers back a few steps and collapses against the stone pillar.
At my feet, the other guard pulls my legs down and my bare back scrapes across the stone.
I sit up and slice and thrash and scream.
My left coin finds its mark on his arm before he pulls a baton on me.
The smell of blood – human blood – fills the air.
Stupid choice to employ a human guard.
My primal senses move before I do and, as if I was a puppet on strings, I attack.
My teeth find purchase in the space between his neck and shoulder as I slice a coin deep across his ribs, taking a greedy drink of his blood.
The guard screams and pulls from me but whatever adrenaline is coursing through me allows me to shove him into the wall, swallowing my last chance of a feed before I make the fatal blow.
Dropping the coins, I shove my fist into the gouge I made in his ribs.
His screaming stops.
Who knew a heart was so slimy?
Both guards lay bloody on the gravel floor of the chamber. There could be more on the way with the noise number two made. Reaching down, I pull the extended baton from beneath the guard at my feet and observe my surroundings again.
The collar is still tight around my throat but I am lucky to not have the mouth cover any more. I earned its removal by not talking for three days, according to the Carver.