Chapter 77 Carys
Carys
The familiar straining ache of my shoulders is what yanks me out of oblivion. Again, my arms and legs are splayed and bound to the merciless X-shaped apparatus. My pulse races, trepidation rushing through my veins. As much as I try to steady my breathing, my chest grows tighter.
“You might as well open your eyes,” a singsong voice says. “I know you’re awake.”
My stomach dips, my throat closing up. Before I face this torture, I need to think.
I don’t budge; I search the crevices of my mind for a way to get out of this.
Eefa craves attention. Her face was ecstatic when she imagined masquerading as the queen at Iywan’s side.
Perhaps her loyalties don’t lie with the Zenith, but with herself. That wouldn’t surprise me.
Eefa accused me of being obsessed with the devotion of others, but perhaps she was only projecting her own desires.
Eefa is face to face with me. I jump so hard that the shackles dig into my wrists and ankles. I bite back a cry of pain and stare her down.
“You know the drill, darling,” she croons, flipping her dagger. I track the blade as it spins and lands in her grasp again and again. “Master Iywan is upstairs arranging a council meeting as we speak, so you don’t have much time. What will it be?”
“What has Iywan offered to make you so enthusiastic about torturing me?”
She cocks a brow, and the blade spins once more.
“You do know that once Iywan’s plan comes to fruition, he’ll just marry you off to some stuffy lord, right?” I pour my focus into speaking steadily even as sweat gathers in the small of my back.
“Nonsense, I’m his most useful weapon.” She isn’t quite convinced of her own words. The dagger spins in the air again before she catches it. I track the motion while I try to figure out my next move.
“I’m glad you got rid of Callum,” I say, my throat tensing as I speak. “He was always so sulky whenever you showed up.”
“Hmm, yes he was quite the sulker, that one.”
“How did you overpower an ordained knight? Did you change into the form of a man?”
She laughs. “Oh Carys, who would’ve thought you were a misogynist. I’ll have you know that I overpowered him with this magnificent body you love so much, but yes, I can transform into a man. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, darling? Someone to replace your sweet, chivalrous Callum?”
Don’t let her get to you, says a voice.
A breath rushes out of me at the return of that voice.
Patience.
“Can you change into Iywan?” I force myself to ask Eefa.
Eefa’s brows raise.
“We can execute his plan together. You can be my right hand. We can rule this realm as the emperor and empress. We don’t need Iywan.”
Desperation has its talons in me as Eefa mulls over my words, her lips pursed as she idly twirls the dagger between her fingers.
Then at last, she peers up at me and grins predatorily.
“I am aware that you knew me as Lowri, the mousy little servant girl who didn’t have a mind of her own.
Yet … I’m still offended that you think I’m daft enough to trust your little half-arsed ploy. ”
My gulp is audible. I barely manage to blink before Eefa’s blade is at my throat. I hold my breath and try not to swallow.
“Nice try, darling,” she says. “But I can slit your throat right here, go upstairs and announce to Master Iywan that he can go ahead and execute his plan. I can be queen without you. Hells, I can be you.”
She’s delusional! My heart is racing so fast that my head grows light.
All I’ve wanted to do for so long now is die, yet as I’m confronted with my mortality, I’m scared stiff.
I haven’t had anything to drink in quite a while, yet my bladder aches, a reminder of the moment when my pride had been completely stripped from me.
Drip, drip, drip.
“What are you waiting for?” I whisper.
“What? You’re not afraid?” There’s a hint of disappointment in her voice.
“Yes.”
She draws the blade back slightly, and I suck in a breath.
Uncertainty shows in Eefa’s expression, as if my admittance has thrown her off her game.
Her perfectly arched brows draw close together and she steps back.
She starts pacing the length of the cell, tapping the blade against her face and muttering something under her breath.
Then she whirls on me. “You’re a disgrace to the crown. You don’t even care to fight for what’s yours. You’re a coward. I should be the one to hold the power. I know how to get what I deserve!”
The tip of her blade presses into my cheek. I wince at the first sting. She draws an excruciatingly slow line down my cheek. I barely breathe, afraid that if I move, she’ll take out my eye. As she lowers the blade, I ask breathlessly, “Does Iywan even know you’re down here?”
Eefa lifts the blade again and, this time, she carelessly slashes across my face.
My scream echoes through the cell, and the satisfaction on Eefa’s face is apparent.
My breath comes in ragged pants, my face throbbing and stinging as warmth spreads from the blood oozing down my cheek.
Heat rises in my chest, that pulsating power beckoning to me, but I try to keep my focus away from it.
I stifle the screams of my brother in my head and breathe through the suffocating fear.
“First, my own bloody sister puts her life on the line to save you when she’s never so much as lifted a finger to help me.
Now Master Iywan chooses you, a pitiful Wielder who cannot even summon her own powers.
Why choose a Flamewielder when he can have a Skinchanger?
I can be anybody he desires. Literally!”
Gods, she really is delusional.
“Say something!” The wild intensity in her glare makes me wither.
I open my mouth to say something, but my lips close again as nothing comes to mind.
I barely register her movement before she madly slashes her dagger across my face again.
Had I closed my eyes just a heartbeat later, the blade would’ve blinded me.
Instead, pain sears across my eyelid, my nose, and down to my jaw.
A sob tears free as I dare to look at her again. “Eefa, please!”
Everything slows down, a chill running through me. One moment, I’m staring at the vulpine grin on Eefa’s face and the next, a figure in my peripheral vision catches my attention. As I blink, my eyes stinging from the blood, I’m standing, unbound somehow, in a dark tunnel.
The figure materializes before me. I take in his tall, lean stature, his black hair, and brown eyes like our mother’s.
He’s wearing the same loose tunic and trousers as the last time I saw him, a small crown around his head, and a sword belted to his narrow waist. Just the way he looked before … Oh, gods.
I draw in a shuddery breath, gulping back the emotions. “Aneirin?”
“Hello, sister,” he says.