11. Stage of Grief Rage
Stage of Grief: Rage
“Halt my attack!” Tarantula shouted into the rapidly cooling night, his outstretched hand glowing in the darkness.
On the other side of a roaring bonfire, I stood beside the twins. Storm magic shot off Tarantula’s palm, creating a flame thrower.
I gritted my teeth and mentally prepared for pain but held my stance.
Rule of survival: Never show your fear.
Heat licked at my face. At the last possible second, I flung myself backward away from it. The twins held their positions with their arms crossed in Shields, and the magical flames extinguished on contact with their forearms.
Tarantula put his glowing hand down, jawline sharp enough to slice, as his eyes flashed. I tried to remember the thud his body had made when he hit the sand, chute untouched. Good times.
The twins panted, dropping their Shields as they tried to catch their breath.
“Sufficient,” Tarantula told Ella as she hunched over with her hands on her knees.
Tarantula turned rapidly, arm raised. Magic exploded, brighter than before, as he attacked an unsuspecting Axel. Straightening just in time, Axel made a Shield and flung the blast away. Sand exploded off in the distance as the fire was redirected.
“You missed,” Axel taunted, sweat pouring down his face.
Tarantula sent more magic his way.
Axel tried to deflect it, but he was unable to throw aside the larger fiery blast; he bellowed as he held his forearms tighter to his chest, just barely nullifying the flames. Seconds bled into a long minute. Axel fell to his knees under the onslaught.
“STOP IT!” I screamed as I got back up to my feet.
Tarantula turned, directing a much smaller flame straight at me. I mimicked Axel’s stance, legs spread wide, arms in a Shield, knowing it would do nothing. Please, old god, protect me.
My legs shook. Heat attacked me like an angry dire wolf, snapping at my neck, and I dropped to the ground, the end of my braid singed.
I rolled over and lay on the chilly sand, shivering as sweat dried across my limbs. A sea of stars twinkled above. My heart pounded painfully, existential exhaustion eating away at my tired bones.
The quest is impossible.
I can’t do it.
Squire flew silently through the inky sky, wings spread wide as he enjoyed the coolness of the desert night. A tiny dire mouse struggled in his beak. He threw it up in the air and swallowed it whole. Violence everywhere.
“Again, Ravenal.” Tarantula’s voice cracked like a whip.
Lifting my head, neck aching, I observed the evil.
The bonfire danced between us, creating a shadowy silhouette. His eyes turned crimson, flames reflected in their glassy depths.
“On your feet. We’re not stopping until thou get it.”
I’ll never get it. This is just torture.
No one is going to save me.
Not from this.
I hastily wiped at my eyes, trying to hide my tears. Logs shifted, crackling and popping; embers burst high into the night.
“Ravenal, on your feet!” He pointed his finger at me.
Save yourself. I scrambled back, flames just missing my bare toes. An hour ago, my boots had started to melt, and the sensation had been terrifying. I’d kicked them off.
The twins watched me with matching grimaces as I staggered upright beside them. All three of us raised our hands into Shields, but only one of us was pretending.
An hour later, I was missing half an eyebrow, the very tip of my nose was burned, and my feet were covered in blisters.
“We are done for tonight.” Tarantula shot me a look of cold frustration. He stalked back toward the hangar.
Leaning against Ella, I limped beside her and Axel with Squire silent on my shoulder. What felt like forever later, we finally made it to my bedroom.
“Zora, are you okay?” Ella whispered with concern as I wiped at my eyes. Squire flew off my shoulder and tucked himself under the covers by my pillow.
I forced a smile. “Of course. I’ve had much worse. How are you feeling? You were impressive out there.” A tiny dagger of jealousy stabbed me through the heart. Why couldn’t I have been a Knight Mage like her? The Iron Ritual had cursed me.
Ella blushed at the praise, and I felt like the worst person who had ever lived. Axel exited the washroom holding a medical kit. His expression was solemn as he gestured for me to sit. He reached for the soles of my feet with paste on his fingers—
“Touch her, jester—” Tarantula appeared abruptly in the doorway “—and thou shall perish by my hand.”
Axel’s eyes went flat as he slowly turned toward Tarantula. “I told you . . . not to call me that.”
Ella and I shared a look of concern.
“It’s fine,” I said as Ella grabbed Axel’s arm and pulled him back. “I’ll do it myself.”
Axel smirked meanly. “No—I’m going to help you.”
“I sense your impending demise, jester.” Tarantula crossed his arms, leaning with deceptive casualness against the doorframe. He used his taller height to look down at Axel, who wasn’t a short man.
Axel pulled away from Ella and stepped up to him. “Loosen up, spider.” He smacked him on the arm, hard. Tarantula stared down at where Axel had touched him with narrowed eyes.
“Touch me again, bard . . . and I shall remove your fingernails, one by one.” His voice had a wistful edge, like he’d done it before.
“I’m confused. Am I a jester or a bard?” Axel swayed his hips mockingly as he played an imaginary fiddle.
A gust of silver formed a noose around Axel’s throat; he choked, face turning red.
Tarantula leaned closer and wrapped his long fingers around Axel’s straining neck as the other man clawed hopelessly at his arms.
“Glad they’re staying calm,” I whispered.
Ella rolled her eyes. “Men. Do you want me to stay with you?” She glanced with concern at Tarantula.
“I’m fine, seriously. Go shower. You guys need to rest.”
Axel fell to his knees, fury on his face. Tarantula loomed above him, magic pouring off his raised hand.
Ella looked down at her sweaty clothes, her hair sticking to her face, and nodded reluctantly. “Scream if you need anything. We’re happy to hurt him.” She shot Tarantula a blistering scowl as she forcefully ripped her brother from his grip and dragged him from the room.
Axel gasped loudly in the hall as Tarantula released his magical hold, and the twins’ voices faded away.
Wincing, I grabbed the jar and smeared the paste onto my right foot. Tarantula stalked to my bed. He gently wrapped his long fingers around my ankle and extended my foot out of my reach.
“Hey, what in the damned are you—”
“Why do thou wave your ankle around for everyone to see?” He stared down at me with narrowed eyes, his touch burning hot. “Is it your goal in life to be looked upon in the nude by everyone?”
“Wait . . . what?” I felt as lost as Axel. “Are we talking about my nude . . . ankle right now . . . or something else?”
He inhaled loudly. “ ’Tis your ankle. It should not be exposed before all. Your flesh is far too precious.”
“Calm down, princess. Don’t let my ankle get you into a tizzy.” I laughed at my own joke.
“Too late,” he snarled, his thumb trailing over the top of my shin.
I choked.
With a cutting scowl, he dabbed the medicine onto the bottoms of both my feet and then carefully wrapped each one in thick bandages. He took forever tucking the ends until he nodded, finally satisfied that everything looked perfect.
I opened my mouth to thank him, and then I remembered he caused the damage in the first place. “Screw you, you weird ankle creep.”
He dropped my foot like it burned him and stepped back, breathing far too loudly.
“No,” he said as he climbed into his bed.
“No what?”
“Thou shan’t screw me.”
“It’s just a figure of speech, princess.”
He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, and magic whooshed out like fire. His jaw clicked shut. Is he losing control of his power? He made a frustrated sound and flipped over, giving me his back.
I did the same.
Time passed strangely.
“Why,” I whispered into the night, unable to sleep, “do you keep calling me vassal?”
He didn’t elaborate. Apparently my exposed ankle had finally rendered him speechless. Shadows stretched across the room as I tossed and turned restlessly, too exhausted to stay awake but too strung out to sleep.
When dawn approached, I raced Tarantula to the washroom, but my feet were injured, so he beat me. He smirked in the doorway, blocking my entrance.
Enraged after suffering a night in his silent, infuriating presence, I yanked the dial up. He gritted his teeth, glaring down at me as he held on to the doorframe.
Sparks sizzled as they leaped between us.
He bared his teeth, a vein protruding from the top of his forehead. His knees wobbled, but he withstood the electrocution; I watched him suffer, refusing to look away first.
Time stretched as neither of us backed down.
Blue Mist exploded up from the floor. POP. Metal sputtered. I tried to turn the dial, but nothing happened. The Mist had finally won.
Oh, this is not good.
Silence swelled.
Diamonds winked on the intact collar. He’s still contained. Mostly. Probably? Hopefully?
I was royally doomed.
Tarantula’s expression sharpened with triumph.
I tossed the useless dial away and backed up to my bed. I pulled the toothbrush shiv out from under my pillow and stalked back toward him, pointing the sharpened edge at his face.
“Try to hurt me and I’ll gut you,” I promised.
A mocking sound of disbelief escaped his lips, guttural and deeply depraved. My burned nose stung unmercifully as I accidentally wrinkled it.
“Thou art in profound peril,” Tarantula said, his voice cold with delight.
“Anything else obvious you care to point out?” I asked, trying to hide my unease. “Or are we just stating facts? In that case, I’ll go next. You’re disgusting and weirdly obsessed with women’s ankles.”
His gaze shot down to my bandaged feet, and the tips of his ears turned pink.
“Misogynist,” I spat.
He arched a golden eyebrow. “Says the misandrist . . . and I have nothing against women. Women are sacred and the only source of beauty in this cold world,” he said poshly. “Any man who hates them merely hates himself.”