13. Imprecation
Imprecation
Death was a freezing figure of malice and rage. He tore me apart with his icy fingers, shredding my anatomy in search of my soul. I fought against him. This would not be my grave.
Get up, Zora.
Save yourself.
Squire screeched far away.
A second figure joined Death. They were shrouded in an emerald glow, their long hair defying gravity like silk, effeminate features wavering in and out of focus as they hovered nearby.
They smelled like magic, pine, and a peaceful future.
Squire hooted with desperation like he was trying to communicate one last frantic time. In his panic, he’d devolved, forgetting that we shared the same language.
“SYXZAL!” Tarantula shouted.
Air gusted above with a shrill whistle, and the demolishing pressure slowly lessened. Snow creaked and groaned.
The emerald figure stepped away, dissipating.
Wind howled louder, blasting violently.
More pressure released.
I gasped as the crushing weight lifted, and I blinked through icy lashes. The mountain of snow rose up higher and higher, hovering in the air above me. Tarantula bellowed, and his magic flung it away. It boomed as it landed somewhere off in the distance.
Sweet freedom.
Hair whipped around my face.
Euphoric relief fired through my abused synapses. Unable to move, I lay in the street. Gray spires towered above, cutting into the endless sky. I’d never seen such a beautiful sight.
Squire hooted, tawny wings spread wide as he swooped in a big arc and landed on my forehead. He pecked at my nose, squawking with delight as he trembled.
A single tear dripped down my cheek, freezing in its path.
“Syxzal,” Tarantula said in his strange language, voice and accent guttural.
He stepped forward, standing above me.
Flames of magic smoldered in his gaze, and as he stared at me, his golden lashes started to smoke. Blood was streaked in arcs across his platinum mask. Cobalt veins protruded from his forehead and jaw as he stood impossibly rigid, radiating malice.
Two fractured chains hung from his cuffed hands.
He’d broken free of his shackles.
How is that possible?
In slow motion, he crouched down onto his knees, reaching for my face with . . . red gloves?
Why are they dripping?
“Syxzal,” he repeated, his voice more of an animal’s rasp than recognizable speech.
Warmth splattered my face, and cortisol exploded as I realized he was reaching for me with fingers drenched in thick, viscous blood. He’d lunged for the woman with those same deadly hands.
You’re in grave peril.
Time snapped back into place, and life reentered my body with an anguished gasp.
Rule of survival: Run.
Pushing up, biceps burning, I dug my broken nails into the cobblestones, shuffling backward away from him on trembling limbs.
Tarantula watched me retreat with flames where his eyes should have been. Is this real, or is it in my head? Pain streaked down my crushed muscles with each panicked movement through the empty, icy street. Hard stone jarred against my aching spine.
Blood-splattered boots stalked after me. The temperature dropped. It was getting harder to inhale.
Snow flurried down softly in a wintry kiss.
With measured, sinister steps, Tarantula continued to follow my scrambling path. Broken chains blew around him. Blood dripped off his drenched forearms, a bright trail of red across the ice.
He reeked of mass murder.
I backed away faster, desperation mounting.
An aura of unconstrained, predatory omniscience flowed around him. The old god was dead . . . right?
“Stop, evil spider!” Squire squawked with terror as he balanced on top of my head (helpful).
Tarantula continued following me like he was possessed, his armor squeaking ominously with each step. A helmet sat casually tucked under his arm, and the spider tattoo crawled across his jaw.
He was more intimidating than his dragon.
Depravity beyond comprehension.
Something slimy squished against my fingers. I yanked my hand away, looking around. I struggled to process what my tunnel vision had been protecting me from. Gruesome carnage everywhere.
I stopped and pulled my helmet off in shock; Tarantula froze a few feet away, observing me.
How is this even possible?
Numbness intensified as I tried to process the grotesque. The two Royal Mages in the purple masks were scattered all over the street in pieces, like a missile had exploded.
Tarantula watched me with an indecipherable expression as diamonds winked across his throat, catching the last rays of dusk.
He’s magically castrated.
Right?
I closed my eyes to escape the horrors and whispered, “How did you . . .”
Warm lips brushed against the shell of my ear.
My eyes shot open.
Tarantula crouched on all fours above me like a savage animal, a hair’s breadth away from my face.
He’d somehow moved impossibly fast in complete silence. A dark cherry scent wafted off him, mixing with the ever-present darker notes of . . . sordid intentions?
“What did you do?” I whispered.
“What had to be done. When the snow . . . hit thee—” he clenched his jaw, head rolling on his neck like he was struggling for control “—I ripped them apart with my magic . . . and my hands.”
“But the diamonds . . .” I trailed off, trying to swallow around the sudden blockage in my throat because the carnage on the street was extensive. “You’re supposed to be . . . contained.”
His heated mouth whispered across my icy flesh, burning.
“I am compromised.”
“But are you contained?”
“Obviously,” he drawled.
I’m not so sure about that. I shuffled away from him, but he crawled with me. Following. Hunting. A sharp pain lanced through my arm, and I couldn’t contain my gasp.
“Do not hurt yourself.” He grabbed my shoulder and stopped my retreat. Wetting his lower lip, he flashed the corner of a . . . fang? He dragged his blood-soaked finger across the side of my face intimately, tracing my jawline.
He smirked, and his teeth were normal, no fang to be seen. Strange illusions. My mind was slipping away from me, endangered by the proximity to his madness. Tarantula wasn’t on the edge of sanity. He was fully gone—nothing but predatory mania in his eyes. Royally corrupt.
“What—” air whistled from between my lips in barely a whisper “—are you . . . doing?”
Tarantula leaned closer, chest above mine, his magic hissing as it reached for me. Wind shrieked as it blew through the street, screaming as if trying to tell me something. Silver glittered amid the falling snow.
Squire rebalanced on my head, his beak in Tarantula’s face. “Scary spidery man,” he squawked at the top of his lungs.
Tarantula didn’t so much as flinch. He remained obsessively fixated on my face.
Trepidation mixed with self-preservation.
“Get off me,” I said, disturbingly aware of his proximity.
His gaze lowered, and we both stared down at where the dagger hilt protruded from my shoulder.
It was a testament to how overwhelming his presence was that I’d forgotten about the knife skewering me.
Dots sparked in my vision, nausea making the street spin. My arms trembled. I fought the urge to collapse as a wave of weakness overwhelmed me. Sensory overload.
“Now who is the liar?” Tarantula asked with a glare.
“It’s nothing.”
“No. Thou art stabbed.” Air whistled loudly through his flared nostrils.
“Wow, really? I didn’t notice the dagger sticking out of my—”
“Careful. I do not appreciate the sarcasm.” A vein pulsed in his forehead. “Syxzal.”
“What does that mean?”
He stared at my lips. “Vexation . . . damnation . . . duty . . . honor . . . fate.” He leaned closer as he whispered each word, his lips brushing against mine, then pressing as he spoke them directly into my mouth.
I’d never thought of my lips as particularly sensitive, but they were now on fire, tingling with a sharp heat that streaked down my face and neck.
“Oh,” I said eloquently.
Tarantula pulled away and stood up, running his fingers roughly through his curls. His arms dropped, hands clenched and fisted as he struggled for control.
Another wave of nausea hit, and I collapsed backward, spread-eagle, teeth chattering.
Squire hooted, sitting beside my head as I lay pathetically on the cobblestones.
Get up, Zora. I urged myself to act, but I couldn’t.
Nothing was left of me. Adrenaline had drained away, and my body wasn’t cooperating.
The full-body contusion from being crushed wasn’t helping.
Tarantula made a harsh growling sound.
“What is actually wrong with you?” I asked as I stared up at the gray sky and tried to ignore him. He stepped into my vision, studying my face with an inscrutable expression. “Why are you acting so . . . wild?” I whispered.
Tarantula’s eyelashes lowered. “What is wrong with me?” he asked with disbelief.
“After thou have tested my nerves and plighted my soul, thou dare ask about . . . me?” He whipped his arm out, violently pointing his stained finger down at me.
Blood splattered on the snow between us.
“Next time, use your damned magic, Knight Mage.”
“I tried.”
Rule of survival: Deceive your enemies, always.
“Thou failed,” he said accusingly.
“I just need more practice—”
“The indigo siblings crushed thee directly before me.” His rage boiled over. “And thou ask me what is wrong . . . with me? THOU DID NOT EVEN TRY TO HALT THEM!”
“I stabbed her twice. You’re being dramat—”
“Oh please. Thou put on a pathetic display of—”
“Calm down and get out of my face.”
“—weakness. Thou art supposed to be strong and not—”
“I am strong enough.”
“No, thou art not. Instead of using your magic, thou made me save thee—”
“I didn’t make you do anything,” I said slowly, voice shaking. “I never asked you to help me.”
He inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring as silver gathered around his hands in a burning haze. His arms shot forward.
WHOOSH.
Squire screeched as wood panels ripped off the nearby townhomes and glass exploded down the street, shards flying everywhere. People screamed inside. The shattering crescendoed as Tarantula methodically decimated every window in the vicinity.