Chapter 17
MYRA
Myra should have been grateful for the king's silence.
She should have been even more grateful for the increase in rations, for her body no longer ached to the point of exhaustion. But Myra knew it wasn't the blessing she begged for it to be, for kindness from the king never came without a price.
She had learned that years ago.
Still, she forced herself to eat as much as she could. Because even though the king had not yet sent for her, she knew he would in due time.
And the next time she faced Domitius, she vowed she would not crumble to her knees before him.
Myra couldn't fathom what use the king and Sebastian still had for her. With Kallie being taken again by the Pontians, Myra at least knew she would not be manipulating the princess. However, Myra wasn't sure if she could afford to wonder what was to come. Whoever was in that room with the healer caused a wave of pain smacking into her and leaving her breathless.
Every day and night, she prayed to the gods for some sort of solace. But even the gods could not prevent the inevitable, it seemed.
Soon enough, the rattling of keys approached, and the cell door creaked open. She pressed her back against the wall.
"Come," the guard, whose voice she recognized belonging to Kolen, ordered. "It is time."
Myra debated saying no. She wanted to fight back. She wanted to scream. Myra begged her body to do anything at all as her gaze flicked to the door.
Even Kallie had fought when the Pontians had come to take her.
In the end, Myra only nodded and followed as she always had. Fighting, she knew, would only make matters worse--for both her and her brother.
Although the second guard waiting outside the cell hadn't spoken, Myra quickly realized he was not Iro, for he was too tall.
"Where's Iro?" Myra asked, breaking the tense silence.
Kolen peered at her. Though shadows from the helmet bled over his eyes, Myra sensed the vile spilling from them.
"The king does not take kindly to those who question him. Remember that, handmaiden," Kolen grumbled.
Myra bit her tongue. She shouldn't have been surprised.
While the king might have shown mercy to the guard before, no one ever escaped King Domitius's wrath for long. It was only a matter of when his ire would be released.
Jaw clenched, Myra squeezed her hands in front of her, and the three walked silently through the halls, taking the same path as before.
The healer, Dr. Thorne, was the first to greet them. He peered at Myra over his glasses, which were balanced precariously on the bridge of his nose. With a humph, he said, "She looks better than the last time, I suppose."
" She is right here," Myra spat, her brazenness surprising her.
The healer smirked. "And spritely this evening." He looked at the two guards. "Wait outside."
The guards nodded and turned on their heels. The iron door slammed shut behind them, and Myra startled, her heart thumping as sweat soaked her palms.
"Ready, Dr. Thorne?" King Domitius asked, appearing behind the healer.
"Of course, Your Majesty," Dr. Thorne said with a short bow before disappearing into the room.
The king's smirk sent a nerve-wracking spiral crawling down Myra's spine as he turned around. At least Sebastian wasn't there this time. A small blessing.
The emotions seeping from the room were rancid. Familiar bouts of suffering soaked the air, but something else twisted along with it--something bright yet poisoned.
Excitement .
Myra pressed a hand to her stomach in an attempt to settle the newfound nausea, but it did little to help.
Her other hand began to shake at her side, and she pressed it atop the other, steadying it. She glanced at the iron door that was now closed as sweat saturated the back of her neck. Her leg twitched, her foot lifting from the ground--
"I would think twice before deciding to run."
Myra froze. Her attention snapped to the king before she quickly diverted her gaze, bowing in submission.
She cursed herself for thinking even for a second that she could run and escape whatever awaited her in that room.
Once Domitius had a hold of you, there was no going back.
"My King," Myra mumbled, her voice shaking. "I wasn't--I--"
He scoffed, his lips curling into a sneer. "Save your energy on your pitiful excuses. You will need every ounce of it if you wish to return to my good graces. Perhaps if you are successful, I will even let you see your brother."
Myra gulped, yet hope blossomed in her chest.
"Would you like to see him, Myra?" King Domitius taunted, stepping forward, his toes nearly touching hers.
Myra nodded, unable to utter a word.
He tipped her chin up. "Then you will do exactly as I say," he hissed. "You have already wasted precious time with your dramatics the other day. I will not be made a fool of again. Do you understand?"
She nodded again.
He tightened his hold, squeezing her face. "Good. There is more at stake here than your worthless life. What we are doing will change the course of Ardentol's history-- Vaneria's history." He released her face with a hard flick and stepped back, smoothing the front of his jacket. "Now, there is no time to waste. We have work to do."
He seized her by the crook of the elbow and pulled her into the room. As the door clicked shut behind them, she gulped as a whirlwind of emotions engulfed her.
Everything from agony to excitement permeated the air, coiling around her limbs and ensnaring her. As it threatened to strangle her, she fought to push through the rising panic.
Dark stains covered the stone walls. From what exactly, Myra could not tell. In the corner of the poorly lit room, Dr. Thorne was rifling through various items on a small metal table: needles, scalpels, perforates, saws, gags, and various ghastly instruments foreign to Myra.
Myra wondered just how much healing Dr. Thorne did within the castle's dungeons.
Dr. Thorne picked up a vial filled with a milky liquid that made bile rise in her throat. He turned to her, a wide grin splitting his wicked face.
Myra's back slammed into the wall as she stumbled. Her body shook as she pressed her hands harder against her stomach, and the words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them. "What--what are you going to do to me?"
King Domitius chuckled, and the discordant sound sent goosebumps skittering across Myra's skin. "Oh, my dear. We are not doing anything to you ."
"Then why--" Myra swallowed, her gaze bouncing across the room from the man to the king.
The king lifted a brow as an amused grin spread across his face.
"Why am I here?" Myra whispered, unsure where the gumption to question the king came from. She knew better, yet the questions continued to spill from her tongue before she could stop them. "What do you want from me?"
Regret spun in her stomach, but Myra needed to know.
She needed to know why she was here and still alive. She could no longer avoid the reasoning, not when she was in this room.
King Domitius folded his hands behind his back. Not an ounce of rage dripped from the king, yet the sinister glint in his brown eyes was even more frightening. But perhaps she was used to it by now.
"You see, Myra, due to your failure, Kalisandre is no longer in my hands. She is somewhere gallivanting with the Pontians. Although, if all is going according to plan, the Pontians will only taste victory for so long. I suspect that they are already seeing the consequences of their audacity.
"Nevertheless, because of the current circumstances, we have had to change our plans. You will do whatever I say, or else it will be your brother who will pay the consequences for your failure. You do not want him to lose another limb, do you?"
Myra's eyes widened, her skin turning clammy.
"Are we clear?" he pressed.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Myra said, voice shaking with untamed terror.
Domitius turned around and nodded to the healer.
Dr. Thorne walked toward the ivory curtain covering one side of the room. When he pulled it back, the metal rings screeched as they slid down the rod, revealing a large metal table sitting behind it.
Myra struggled to hold back a gasp at the sight before her.
A man lay chained to the table, bound by tight restraints at the wrists, ankles, and torso.
Myra's gaze flicked to Dr. Thorne, who wheeled the table over. The wheels creaked with every turn over the cement floor, but the man atop the table did not move.
It only took Myra a moment to realize why. He was unconscious.
Still, even with the blanket of sleep over his face, the stranger's expression twisted with agony. His features were familiar, yet Myra could not place him, though she knew she had seen him before.
His brown skin was a sickly hue. He wore only a pair of trousers. Across his bare chest and arms, ghastly bruises and scars marked almost every inch of his body that was visible. The skin around his eye was thin, and the veins protruding from his arms were prominent. His short black curls were matted and frayed at the edges.
Myra pressed her palms against the cold wall behind her as if she could force her body to slip through it.
"I am no healer," Myra whispered. "I cannot heal him."
" Heal him?" King Domitius laughed. "Oh, no. We do not need you to heal him."
Myra's brows drew together. "But he's in pain. He's clearly suffered immense injuries."
She was speaking too much, but she didn't understand what he wanted from her. She could not help this man.
The king waved a dismissive hand in the air. "His injuries are a result of his own insolence. They will heal in time, but that is not why you are here."
"Then why am I here, Your Majesty?" Myra forced the last two words out of fear of angering the king.
The table on wheels ran into the makeshift bed. The man inhaled, jolting awake. Fear immediately poured from his body, a tsunami of alarm and trepidation rushing from him and falling onto the floor, soaking Myra's feet.
And within its wave, pain and anguish mixed, tainting the flood of emotion. The man jerked, tugging at the restraints that held each limb to the table.
His bloodshot brown eyes widened as he screamed around the gag lodged into his mouth. When Myra's gaze met the stranger's, he strained against the restraints, a plea slipping from his eyes and muffled in his throat.
Myra tried to take another step back, but her legs were frozen.
She couldn't move.
She couldn't speak.
Then, in the corner of her eye, she saw Dr. Thorne remove a needle from the man's neck. The stranger's head fell to the side.
The king snatched her wrist and tugged her close. "This is why you are here," he hissed.
Only a hint of annoyance showed on the king's face as if this man's outburst was not unordinary. As if her entire body hadn't felt like it was frozen in ice. Who was this stranger?
Terror coated her limbs as she looked from the king to the man.
"The creatures we saw in Frenzia were only the beginning. With the combination of my research, Frenzia's advancements, and your gift, we will make history. Kalisandre's gift needed more fine-tuning before I could get her involved. You, on the other hand," the king mused, his brown eyes brewing with malice and greed. "Your gifts are similar enough. You will do what Kalisandre could not."
Myra's eyes widened, but she kept her mouth shut out of fear of making things worse for her brother.
"All we need you to do is calm his mind. Think of it as bringing him peace."
Myra swallowed as she was forced to accept the hand she was dealt.
"Who is he?" Myra asked quietly.
"Who he is does not matter. What matters is what he will become."