Chapter 31 The Road Ahead Isn’t Always Pretty #3
She then sighed, as if Luna were deliberately inconveniencing her.
“Only one way to find out.” She lined the knife against Luna’s arm, faintly scraping it along her skin, just above the waiting jars.
Luna’s awareness had already started slipping, retreating gratefully towards numbness once again.
“I’m not going to lie,” the wicked woman continued softly, voice drifting like an echo, “this won’t be pleasant.
Just think of all the humans you will be helping. That should get you through.”
The words blurred, barely reaching Luna.
Then the blade bit into her flesh.
Pain slammed into her—too much, too sharp, too real. Violently tearing through the haze, wrenching her back into her body. Luna screamed; the sound raw, animal, foreign. Blind panic and agony surged again, splintering her mind.
Desperate pleas bubbled from her lips, tears spilling down her face as she begged Tyrina to stop. Her words mangled into meaningless sounds, lost beneath the searing pain. The healer ignored her, calmly deepening the cut, allowing the blood of light to freely pour into the jar.
Luna’s breaths became ragged and uneven. Her heart raced, each frantic beat echoing loudly in her ears. But already her mind was pulling back, desperate to escape, to return to that quiet place far above her broken body.
Again, the knife sliced and her vision blurred, pain fading back to a distant, muted ache. Sounds grew softer, muffled; Tyrina’s movements, her indifferent whispers, faded once more into nothingness.
Slowly, Luna left the trembling, bleeding figure on the floor behind—small, helpless, and utterly broken.
She didn’t want to go back. Couldn’t bear to.
She drifted higher, farther, retreating fully into quiet darkness.
Tyrina was merciless—but she wasn’t smiling, wasn’t gloating. This was just work. And so, she sliced into Luna’s arm over and over again until both jars were full.
With emotionless eyes, Tyrina conceded, “I suppose you are looking a little pale, and King Hendrix does need you alive . . . I think we’d better move on to the next item on our list.”
Luna didn’t respond. Didn’t move or even blink.
The tent entrance flapped open, and someone walked through.
Something fluttered in Luna’s chest. Was Damien here to rescue her? Slowly, and with great effort, Luna rolled her head.
Disappointment fell on her chest so hard, so heavy, that she thought her ribs would break from the pressure.
The guard from earlier stood at the entrance, something clenched in his fist. Wide-eyed, he stared at Luna with his jaw hanging open and his face as white as a cloud. “What the fuck did you do to her?” In one motion, he threw the needle and thread he had in his hand on the table and knelt by Luna.
Tyrina closed the jars, continuing her work, undisturbed by the guard’s outburst. Once she had set them away, she finally deigned him a glance.
“Oh, you’re here.” Her eyes moved to the needle and thread.
“Yeah . . . I won’t be needing those anymore.
Thanks though.” She made a gesture to the entrance.
“You can wait over there, I’ll be a little longer. ”
“You have some nerve,” he sneered.
She stood and shrugged, rolling her shoulders backwards.
His words didn’t seem to affect her at all.
“She had some things I needed, so I took them. Don’t let her pretty face fool you into pitying her, she’s just like the rest of them,” Tyrina said with little care for the guard’s opinion.
“She’d kill us if she got the chance. Now get out and let me work. ”
The guard was in Tyrina’s face in a second. His massive body hovered over her, his face so close his nose almost pressed against hers as he yelled, “You fool! You think King Hendrix is going to like her mutilated?!”
Tyrina blanched—the first and only crack in her composure.
The guard hesitated, drawing back a step. Then, as if trying to recover the moment, he straightened his uniform and cleared his throat. “Just heal the creature before you get yourself in any more trouble.”
Tyrina rolled her eyes. “Don’t come crying to me when I don’t have what I need to heal you and your men then.” But she obeyed, gathering what she needed at the table before returning to kneel beside Luna.
Sighing with fake resignation, Tyrina drawled, “I know that all hurt.” She placed a hand to her heart as if to show it had actually pained her. “But it’s for the greater good. I’m sure even a heartless creature like yourself can understand that.”
Pure hate pulsed through Luna. It rang in her ears, clouded her vision. She had never wished death on anyone . . . but now, she prayed this woman would suffer a life that would make torture feel like a dream.
“This is going to sting a bit,” Tyrina warned, dipping the cloth in the water bowl.
If she had the energy, Luna would’ve laughed; a bit of water would be nothing compared to what she just experienced.
Water dripped onto her arm as Tyrina wrung out the rag over her wound.
It stung—biting like a hornet—causing Luna to flinch.
Over and over, Tyrina dribbled water across her arm, cleaning the arrow and wound.
As the unicornbane dust was washed away, small traces of energy began to return to Luna, though she was nowhere near normal yet.
Once satisfied, Tyrina yanked the arrow out.
Luna screamed as light seeped from the wound, spilling down her arm as Tyrina poured water over it, letting the runoff soak into the blanket and pool beneath. At first, the blood gushed out, but the bleeding slowed as her magic returned, then it stopped.
Tyrina pinched the skin together. Within a few shallow breaths, the wound stitched itself closed, leaving nothing behind but a faint shimmering scar.
A flicker of strength returned and, slowly—shakily—Luna lifted her injured arm.
Pain still pulsed deep beneath the surface.
The skin looked whole, but the muscles still felt raw, torn.
Like the arrow was still buried there—invisible but aching.
It’d probably be days before she felt fully right again.
Tyrina’s touch was rough as she brushed away the remaining white powder from Luna’s body.
“She lost a lot of blood,” the healer muttered. “I’ll bring tea to the officers’ tent for her in a bit. It should help her recover enough to travel.”
The guard grumbled something under his breath, then reached down and hauled Luna to her feet. “Let’s go, unicorn.”
Her knees buckled and she staggered, but she refused to lean on him—she’d sooner collapse than need his help. At this point, she honestly would prefer death over being touched again.
Her legs gave out, and she hit the ground.
Pain flared.
Then—nothing.
The pain rang in her ears, spiking through her body with each furious pound of her heart.
It felt like she’d been tossed around in a tornado and left for dead in a field.
Something was pressing into her back uncomfortably.
She tried to move her arms but found they wouldn’t budge; they were stuck behind her. Bound with rope, perhaps?
Where she was flashed through her mind’s haze and her eyes sprang open.
White canvas walls stared back at her.
A group of men surrounded a large wooden table which stood in the center of the tent, its surface cluttered with maps and various weapons.
Their faces were tense, voices low. Many more soldiers lined the perimeter of the space, their postures rigid, hands resting on the hilts of their swords as if Luna could somehow unbind her wrists and attack them at any moment.
Someone was speaking to her. Blinking fast, Luna tried to focus on the figure crouched in front of her.
William.
Angry lines scarred his face, but she wasn’t afraid. The worst had already happened—what more could he do?
“Lazy beast,” he sneered. “Did you have a good nap?”
She turned her face away, refusing to acknowledge him.
That didn’t stop him. “Looks like you got quite the makeover. Torture suits you.”
She could hear the smirk in his voice, every word grating on her ears. She clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth together as if pressure alone could block him out.
He grabbed her face, shoving a cup against her lips, mumbling something about the tea helping with her injury, as if the arrow wound were the worst of what had been done to her.
She didn’t believe him, though. Not for a second. If anything, he was more likely to poison her than aid her. She pressed her lips tightly together and glared at him.
William shrugged, his expression indifferent. “You can drink it willingly, or I can drown you in it.”
Before she could respond, he tilted the cup. The foul-smelling green liquid sloshed against her mouth. Its stench hit her like a blow, and she jerked back, shaking her head to break his grip.
But his other hand shot out. He seized what was left of her hair and yanked her head back so violently she feared her neck would snap.
True to his word, he drowned her with the scalding liquid.
It poured over her face, burning her skin, flooding her nostrils and seeping between her clenched teeth.
She writhed in his iron grasp, her body shaking as she struggled to breathe.
Choking. Sputtering. She ended up swallowing a mouthful of the vile concoction.
It was worse than she imagined—bitter and rancid, like rot and bile left festering in the sun.
At last, the cup was empty. He tossed it aside with a careless flick, letting it clatter against the ground.
Released from his grip, Luna collapsed forward, coughing and gasping in deep ragged gulps, each breath scraping her throat raw.
William loomed above her, soaked in smugness, watching her like a god admiring his handiwork.
But there were no gods here. Not anymore. The old tales she used to hear around the palace claimed they vanished to the skies—maybe even beyond that—leaving only silence in their place.
“You’re probably wondering how we knew where you were,” he said casually, as if they’d been mid-conversation. Her silence didn’t seem to bother him. “Remember that lovely family you were so kind to help? They turned you in.”
She inhaled sharply, as if the betrayal had driven a blade between her ribs. This wound was deeper than anything Tyrina had done. And with bone-deep certainty, Luna knew there was no good left in humanity. Perhaps, maybe, there had never been.
William watched her, his shoulders squared, nose upturned, like she was a bug to stomp.
“Oh, little unicorn, don’t look so sour,” he cooed.
“The man hesitated, sure—what with you healing his boy and all—but a little money goes a long way with people like that. Add a few threats to kill off some children and they spill everything.”
Pain wrapped around her, pressing down on her chest, suffocating her.
His lips curled. “We were just about to come find you when you so kindly ran into our patrolling guards. I was surprised to find you alone, though. Where did the other unicorn run off to?”
She stiffened.
Damien. The name alone stung like salt rubbed into an open wound. She couldn’t bear to think about him, not after everything.
William’s voice dipped, softer now, more insidious. “I know he helped you escape. And you probably think him a hero. But he’s the enemy. You’re the enemy. Look what your kind has done to us. Consider this the penance you owe the world.”
She didn’t care—didn’t have the energy to.
When she remained silent, he too sweetly added, “Maybe the king will go easy on you if there are two of you. Share the duties of protecting the kingdom—and I’d get double the reward for double the magic.”
Enough.
She had endured more than any soul should. She wasn’t going to sit here and take this quietly—not from him. Not anyone.
Half-dead, she scraped together what little strength remained and used that crumble to draw a ragged breath. She rolled her shoulder back, and she forced herself to meet William’s gaze. “Mark my words, I will never protect that kingdom. I’d rather see it burn.”
Rage radiated off his body. He grabbed her face, squeezing hard; his fingers dug into her jaw as he hauled her to her feet. Her toes barely skimmed the ground as she hung from the pole, the ropes biting deep into her wrists.
She held his gaze, channelling every last ember of fire into her eyes. Let him see it. Let him feel the strength of her defiance. No amount of mockery or pain would break her to their will.
A glob of spit struck her cheek, wet and slimy as it rolled down her face. “You truly are a monster.”
And maybe she was. She rolled her eyes, her gaze sliding up to the blank wall of the tent, as if bored. By him—by this whole ordeal.
That only enraged him further. With a snarl, he shook her violently. Her body whipped back and forth like a flag in a storm. Pain exploded behind her eyes; her head throbbed, her brain felt mashed to a pulp.
“I’m going to kill you!” William roared, each word flung with a spray of spit.
Still, Luna didn’t respond. She pressed her lips together, her resolve unshaken.
He was already dead to her, so his threats were as meaningless as the dirt beneath her body.
A slap snapped her head sideways and pain bloomed across her cheek. The force of it left her dazed. Finally he let her go, and she crumpled, her body unable to support its own weight.
William stood over her, his breathing uneven. Then, with a deep, disdainful sigh, he combed his fingers through his hair and muttered, “You might want to think carefully about whose side you are on.”
He turned and stomped away, rejoining the other men at the central table. “Pathetic,” he added under his breath. “All these resources, wasted on the likes of her.”
The men nodded in agreement, already speaking of troop movements and the march back to Grythorn—where she would be delivered to the king like a package, broken and bound.