Chapter Seven
Avari
Rays of undiluted sunshine assaulted my eyes, and I whipped around, trying to escape them. Scorching pain shot through my neck, dragging me back to the day before.
Dracon had tried to kill me.
Every time I'd thrashed for breath, his grip had only tightened, as though he relished my struggle to survive.
There had been a glint in his eyes, one I'd caught in fleeting flashes before, as though seeing me on the brink of death satisfied some depraved part of him.
As if watching me die would fulfil him more than even conjuring a dragon.
And that meant...
That meant I probably wouldn't survive this court.
Pressing my fingers to the tender bruises now, I was relieved to find my neck still intact, unmarred by any deep wounds.
I didn't know whether to be grateful that I'd survived or curse the fact that even death refused to grant me its gentle embrace.
Every so often, the thought of dying seemed easier than living, and these people clearly wanted me dead. I'd seen it in the king's eyes. They grew more predatory the harder I fought him. He loved being the one to snuff the life out of me.
My neck ached so badly I could barely move it. Every breath felt as though my skin were being torn apart. It burned, physically and emotionally.
Death and darkness followed me everywhere.
I wished I could say it was the first, second or even third attempt on my life.
But it wasn't. And as long as I kept surviving, there would always be another.
Wielding fire in the land of water had painted a target on my back that no scrubbing or scouring could ever wash away.
Bonding with a dragon had only worsened it, even if it had given me my other half—the only soul I could trust entirely.
There were things only Anya knew. I hadn’t needed to explain them; she had felt them with me. Every nightmare, every memory threatening to drown me, she had been there.
The king’s attack didn’t just affect me physically. It had brought back the memory of his soldier almost killing me. Even their methods had been alike. Nails, blades, and the same twisted pleasure in causing pain.
Did Fogoyans all go to the same sadist school? The thought had almost made me laugh. What they lacked in originally, they made up for in viciousness.
The day drifted past in a blur of discomfort and turmoil. I was used to both, but that didn’t make it easier to push away the grief. Curled on my side, I let out a bitter chuckle. Either I was tougher than they thought, or fate had plans for me. And neither boded particularly well.
Sometimes that thought tempted me to do something reckless, like jumping off Anya mid-flight.
The image rose vivid and sharp: wind tearing at my hair, cold air stinging my eyes, and the ground rushing up.
For a heartbeat, it felt like relief, not terror.
Like something better would meet me on the other side, not his everlasting torture.
They tended to claim souls were at peace when they died.
Closing my eyes for just a second, I tried to convince myself my room was safe, but I knew he could barge in whenever he wanted. In a place where there was nowhere to hide, safety was an illusion.
Exhaustion and hunger pulled at me, but I stayed put, drifting in and out of sleep. My stomach growled, my body weakened, but I kept ignoring it.
I had never expected to miss Ortensia. I had never thought I would see my motherland as a refuge. But compared to Fogoya, at least I had my dragon close, and at least nobody had tried to kill me recently.
Peace was relative.
By the next morning, I felt as though part of me had already stepped into a grave. My neck throbbed, and the distance from Ortensia was starting to drain me, too.
Death kept knocking. It was growing eager to welcome me with open arms. Every time I tried to shut that door, it creaked open wider, letting in more shadows. Before long, I would be smothered.
Last night’s nightmare clung to me: the void cloaked in shadow standing at my feet, a scythe glinting in the moonlight.
My heart had pounded as it crept closer, closer, until night swallowed me whole.
I had woken drenched in sweat, looking around the room to make sure it wasn’t hiding in the corners.
The hunger was becoming too much to bear.
It was cleaving a hole in my stomach, so I pushed myself off the bed and headed for the dining room.
It was empty, a gift from the Gods. I thanked them silently as I filled my belly in peace, snatching a few fruity pastries to bring back with me.
I had no intention of joining the king for dinner.
Avoidance wasn’t the best strategy, but it was all I had.
I was weakened, wasting away, and my plan wouldn't work anymore.
What he had done had been unprovoked. His hatred for witchcraft blinded him to everything else, leaving the man unstable, unpredictable and dangerous.
It was precisely how our soldiers described him and his people when they came back from battle. That they were monsters and needed to be taught a lesson. I wished I had enough power to teach him one, that it wasn’t okay to hurt me and that I wouldn’t accept it any longer.
But I was just a girl with measly powers, imprisoned by a ruthless coward who hid behind violence.
Hours in bed had given me plenty of time to plot my escape, but deep down I knew the truth. I was going to die in Fogoya, whether at his hands or because he wouldn’t let me go.