Chapter 4
Imani tried to take in a deep inhale of breath at the sound of Esa’s voice, but couldn’t.
Grabbing both of her wrists, the pixie picked up her pace, and Imani felt every rock, stick, and blade of grass jab into her back, legs, and ass as she was dragged.
Esa panted above her head, grunted, and muttered, “You weigh a bloody ton for being so damn small.”
Head knocking against the cold ground, Imani groaned and wrenched her eyes open to slits. Lanterns hanging from the carriages came into blurry focus, but they were hidden by the tree cover of the forest.
Finally, the painful jostling stopped. Even through drooping eyes, Imani’s surroundings became a little clearer.
They were in front of a coach—much nicer than theirs—and more importantly, they appeared alone.
She supposed a few might be able to spot them from their windows, but it was unlikely at this angle.
Good. She didn’t want anyone witnessing her undignified death.
Esa wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.
Her blue hair had come loose from her pins, and she’d lost her hat.
Her beautiful traveling dress was in tatters, and splotches of blood and dirt covered her from head to toe.
But with a surprisingly energetic growl, the pixie stomped up the steps, made a fist with her hand, and banged on the door.
A wave of dizziness hit Imani, and she slid her eyes shut again.
A muttered conversation grew louder, and the sound forced her eyes open. Her vision wouldn’t gain focus, though. Who was Esa speaking with right now?
Sweat coated her palms. Imani half-wondered if Esa was selling her almost-dead body for coins.
“Is it out of the scope of your capabilities or just your field of interest? If the latter, then get the fuck out of here and at least let me tend to her inside,” Esa hissed.
A gust of wind ruffled her hair, and Kiran’s unmistakable scent overpowered her other senses.
“Everyone is talking about the magic, and they’re spreading rumors. So, let me ask you again,” Kiran said, his voice tight. “Did anyone else see Imani cast those shadows?”
“And I just told you that I don’t think so. She was still inside the forest, shaded so that they blended in with everything. I don’t even know if I saw her,” Esa ground out. “But whether or not she was seen is irrelevant since she’s dying on the ground out here and we need her.”
Kiran grabbed Esa’s arm and tugged her roughly forward. Imani could barely make out his next words.
“No, you don’t need her for anything. You need to go to the Under, and I said I would take you. You need to be patient, or everything you’ve given up at this point, including murdering your heartmate, will be a worthless waste when the time comes.”
Heartmate? If Imani could have moved, surprise would have shown everywhere on her face. She knew the pixie had to have done things in her life that she hadn’t wanted to do. Every female in this realm did, but this was more than Imani had imagined.
Going to the Under? This was the deal Esa had made with Kiran? Confusion clouded her mind, but she felt a bit more connected to Esa now.
It seemed they had both made sacrifices for what they wanted, and had more to make.
Imani frowned inwardly, not sure what to make of Kiran’s other statement. Traveling between realms—if open doorways even still existed with so much instability—was an impossible danger, if not outright suicide.
If any witch could manage it, though, it was him.
A sickening feeling came over her body at that fact, and Imani almost retched on the ground.
Kiran had been hatching even more dangerous plans than she’d realized.
The prince needed someone bonded to him to travel with him to a dangerous place.
Esa needed to get to the Under, and it seemed Kiran was taking her to fulfill a different purpose.
Pieces started coming together, but in her weakened state, they jumbled together as she tried not to throw up again.
Desperation for the Drasil clawed at her heart.
She was in over her head with the First Witch of the Niflheim Kingdom.
That was a problem for another day. Right now, she needed to stay alive.
The sound of feet moving over gravel filled Imani’s ears, and she yelled, a bloodcurdling howl of fear mixed with remnants of pain, calling for help—but no one replied.
They continued talking as if they couldn’t hear her screams. Her face contorted, realizing no one could hear her because her voice was gone and it was only in her head.
“She’s not dying—not really.” Kiran sounded detached and cold.
“She sure seems like she’s dying. I’ve never seen this happen to a witch before,” Esa replied.
“It’s rare, but it happens with some types of magic,” he explained as he leaned over, half-smugly smiling down at Imani.
“She lost control of her casting, and it ran wild inside her. Magic like hers takes more from the Fabric than most witches use in a month. It kills fast but drains her just as quickly when she abuses it, or can’t control it properly. ”
“Can she live through the pain as her energy and magic replenish?” Esa asked as Imani’s eyes fluttered open for a moment.
Kiran nodded, still slyly smirking at her as his eyes turned cruel. “She’s done it before. What kills everyone else will only make it seem like she’s dying.”
He was wrong; this didn’t feel like the last time after the blood burning.
Maybe it was from the echo shield he had cast over her, or from whatever increase in magic had happened between her and Meira, but something wasn’t right.
She was dying. She didn’t know how or why, but she was dying all the same.
Esa and Kiran kneeled in front of her. Esa reached out her hand and caressed it down Imani’s cheek. Again, Imani’s eyes fluttered open at the touch. When Esa pulled away, a black glittering powder covered her fingertips, and she rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger.
“Lightning dust,” she murmured, sucking in a breath. “That was artificial lightning. Yours, Kiran?”
Imani’s eyes rolled back into her head at a wave of pain. She couldn’t see his response, but she assumed that it was, given the man-made storm.
“Then, if I had to guess, it interacted with her spell, but something went wrong. That black mist she wields is insanely powerful if it can ensure the lightning degraded into dust.” Esa continued, “Darkness abhors light, after all.”
Kiran said something, but Imani didn’t hear him.
“Bullshit,” Esa snapped.
Imani imagined Kiran shrugging—probably confident in the binding’s protection.
But he was wrong. Imani just couldn’t correct him in her state.
Whatever new, raw magic imbued her body pounded against Imani’s skin and threatened to tear her open from the inside out.
This was entirely different from when she’d passed out from the blood burning with him.
A long pause, and then Esa added in a low voice, “Listen, I learned something interesting today about our elf.”
“Which was …?” Kiran prompted.
“She has an answer to a question you’ve been seeking for years. A question whose answer you asked me to learn, but I never could. We can’t risk her dying. I won’t risk her dying until I get answers—answers that she possesses. Are you sure she’ll survive?”
Silence.
“Kiran,” Esa said more forcefully. Her voice was tight, and Imani understood Esa all too well at this moment.
The pixie was desperate—desperate to save Imani, probably to hear about her own death by being burned at the stake.
But based on what Kiran had said to Tanyl a few weeks ago—that when he died it wouldn’t be from Tanyl’s hands—Imani figured the prince had already used divination to see his own suicidal death.
So, what answer did Imani have for Kiran?
It was probably nothing she wanted to tell him.
She wrenched open her eyes, painfully, and stared up at his mismatched eyes through slits, wondering again what had caused such a disfiguration.
Suddenly, he ripped open her eyelids then pressed fingers to her wrist, checking her pulse. A long silence stretched between them.
“Shit. Something isn’t right,” he finally said, his jaw clenched. “Godsdammit, something isn’t right—fucking Saints! Her eyes are glowing red and getting worse.” Kiran swore again, sounding more worried than she’d ever heard him before.
Imani’s eyes closed on their own again.
He lifted her with powerful arms, holding her closely before carrying her somewhere, likely inside the carriage. Her eyelids opened and closed a little as he carefully laid her down on a soft cushioned seat like she was made of glass and took out his wand.
He ripped her dress open enough to expose her abdomen. “Do not move,” the prince warned, dragging a hand through his hair, pushing the now-dry strands back from his forehead.
After a moment, Imani’s eyes slid closed.
His voice fell to a whisper, as though talking to himself. “You shouldn’t have fucking left your carriage … and where were the guards I’d stationed around it?” he hissed.
Imani felt herself falling into a hole of blankness as Kiran’s voice grew quieter and quieter.
“Imani, stay awake.” He caressed her cheek. “Stay awake, little elf,” he whispered.
She tried, but the soothing sound of his voice made her want to sleep, even though he called her the moniker she hated.
He slammed his hand across her cheek.
Her eyes flew open, and she grunted in pain. Imani still couldn’t speak; otherwise, she would have shrieked at him, but she couldn’t deny it had worked to wake her up.
He continued whispering under his breath, his wand and hands skimming over her skin.
Imani pressed her hand against her aching chest. She was moving again. Slowly, but moving all the same.
“You really don’t listen, do you? I said stay still,” he snapped at her.
He pushed his hands against her shoulders, holding her down as she writhed. Her body burned from the magic, and sweat trickled between her breasts. She freed one hand and tried to free her other, but he slapped her again.
“Even when you’re saving my life,” Imani croaked, finding her voice, “you still act like an insufferable bastard.”
He laughed, seemingly unoffended by her insult.
“Finally,” he muttered, “I’ve been waiting for you to bite back.
It means it’s working. Now, please explain to me why the fuck you were casting your magic like that and causing a terrifying scene?
Luckily, most people are ignorant of how our weather works; many believe it to be a ‘Fabric event,’ as you call it, or simply part of the storm. ”
She clenched her fists at another wave of pain then gasped, “I did what I had to do.”
He slipped his other hand around her abdomen, and she didn’t move, didn’t dare. She was in his domain, and no one else knew she was here. His eyes were on her wounds, his brow furrowed.
As his healing magic slid along her body, the warmth carried his emotions along with it. A sense of longing, maybe. He yearned for something always out of his grasp, a heat and brightness he’d once possessed.
Kiran flipped her body to face him, his visage etched with anger.
For a moment, Imani thought he might backhand her again with that raw power emanating from him.
Underneath it, though, there was something in his eyes that tugged at her chest. An emotion she wasn’t familiar with—something like worry.
A spark hit her chest. She wanted to reach out her hands to his face and soothe him, to remind him that she was fine.
But then, like a douse of cold water, she remembered who she was dealing with.
Kiran was worried at how reckless she’d been with her life, and that she’d almost died trying to save them.
He was only worried about his means to an end.
She gritted her teeth.
While she was still fighting to get out of his hold, she was mostly doing her best to ignore the fact that his hand rested between her breasts.
She suddenly became so acutely aware of the warmth of his body pressed against hers.
Of how much she liked it. How much she wanted to envelop herself in it.
“You didn’t make a sound when I was moving and healing you, and I know it had to hurt …” He trailed off as his grip tightened on her waist. “Admittedly, you’ve impressed me.”
“Thrilled to hear that,” Imani gritted out, choosing to omit the fact that she hadn’t been able to make a sound earlier. “I would hit you if I could lift my arms.”
“Ah, there’s that tone again,” he murmured. “You should be more grateful.”
“You need me, and besides, saving me was the right thing to do, Kiran,” she mumbled, daring a glance at him. He was looking her over with the most peculiar expression, one she couldn’t place. As though he was seeing her anew.
“Right and wrong don’t matter much anymore,” Kiran told her. “Morals are for better people. Each of us here has blackened our soul in some way, and we will blacken it further before Niflheim welcomes us.”
She glared but said nothing to deny it.
He watched her carefully. With a blink, his eyes shifted, and Imani could feel a new energy slithering around her, examining her. His creature watched her.
Kiran turned away.
“W-wait …” She tried to reach for him, but her chest pounded with so much pain she almost lost consciousness. “What can you shift into? What the hell are you?” she whispered, peering up at him, willing him to look back at her.
Kiran lifted his eyes to her again. “What are you?” he countered softly, studying her with a curious look as he brushed his thumb over her cheek.
“I don’t know,” Imani replied through quivering lips, her body still racked with pain.
“You were merciless earlier.” It was almost a whisper, heavy with a certain reverence, as if Kiran didn’t know he was speaking aloud.
And he just stayed there, his knuckles brushing down her neck, both trapped in some strange suspension of time.
Imani’s breath stopped. It was here, in this gaze, that she was seen. Whether it was by Kiran or the creature that lived inside him, he took in every incongruous part of herself.
Nothing had ever flooded her with such sweet, agonizing terror and happiness.
With that thought, her body jerked, and she gasped as she started convulsing. Pure pain ripped through her. Sobs rocked her chest. Darkness hovered at the edges of her sight as she stared at him, the last of her relief vaporizing.
The pain wasn’t over yet.
She might have cried out pathetically as sheer torture collapsed in on her like an avalanche of snow, covering her beneath its depths.
Imani surrendered to it.