Chapter 43
MYRA
The syringe shattered on the floor. The murky liquid spread across the concrete, soaking into the stone.
With a thump, Rian laid his head back against the metal bed. A small, satisfied smirk pressed past the gag within his mouth.
"Shit," Dr. Thorne hissed as he squatted and inspected the broken syringe. Picking up the needle, he glared at Myra over his glasses.
Myra sunk back within herself, her hands shaking in her lap.
She was trying to delay Rian's progress as much as she could. Laurince had yet to return with a plan. He delivered food but never said anything more than an obtuse soon . But soon might not be soon enough at this rate.
She could feel Rian's strength draining, the hope for an escape disintegrating with each passing day.
Dr. Thorne shouted, "Guards!"
Myra gripped her hands tightly, willing them to still as her attention flicked to the door.
Only silence answered the healer's call. The iron door was too thick for any guard to hear his shouts.
"Imbeciles," Dr. Thorne muttered, slamming the useless syringe onto the table. He wiped his hands on the blood-stained apron. "No one can do anything right." He headed for the door. With his hand wrapped around the handle, he looked over his shoulder. "You'd better hope His Majesty does not hear about this misstep, or else he will have all our heads."
Then with a final sneer, he slammed the door shut behind him.
Myra's heart raced as she stared after his retreating form, fear wrapping its limbs around her throat.
This was her chance, she realized. She could run. She could--
A hand wrapped around her wrist, and Myra's attention snapped toward the metal table. Rian's green eyes stared at her, the whites of his eyes stained red.
He groaned, but the rod in his mouth muffled his words, making them unintelligible.
With trembling hands and a quick glance back, Myra reached over and loosened the gag.
Rian took in a deep breath and whispered, his voice hoarse from the screams that had previously ripped through his lungs. "Please. I do not wish--I do not want--"
He coughed, his entire body shaking with the motion and pulling taut against the restraints.
Myra pressed a light hand atop his chest. "Don't speak," she whispered, her forehead creasing in concern. "It'll only make it worse."
He shook his head. "No. Please, just"--more coughing--"please end this."
Myra bit her lip. "You don't understand. If I help them..."
His fingers squeezed around her wrist. " End this," he begged.
The hopeless gaze in Rian's eyes pierced Myra's heart. The young king looked away from her, and she followed his gaze toward Dr. Thorne's table.
A scalpel lay among the various instruments.
Myra looked back at him. "I I can't. I--" Her voice trembled as water rimmed her bottom lash line.
Death may have been a better end than being turned into one of those creatures, but they were supposed to get out of here. Alive.
Laurince promised. He gave his word.
But what if they couldn't?
"Please," Rian repeated, calling her attention back to him. "I do not want to be one of them."
The breath Myra took did anything but calm her trembling hands. She bit her bottom lip and glanced at the scalpel again, the razor-sharp edge shining in the flickering light of the torch.
Pure hopelessness and despair poured from Rian in droves. The sickening emotions wrapped around her hands, her throat, choking her.
She had never taken a life before. Would she even be able to?
Her entire body trembled at the thought.
Frustration seeped into the room, startling her.
Myra reached over and tightened the gag around Rian's mouth. He groaned and pleaded with her.
She brushed a light hand across his face and leaned down. "Keep faith. We're going to get out of here," Myra whispered. "I promise."
She removed her hand from the king's face. A thin layer of water coated his fear-stained eyes. He did not believe her, and Myra did not blame him.
She had made the same promises before and failed to fulfill them.
But she had to hold on to the hope that this would not be their end, even as Dr. Thorne reentered with the guard and spoke, his words threatening to destroy the hope Myra held onto.
"Be ready tomorrow. His mind is fragile. I can see him breaking."
Boots pounded outside Myra's cell, the metal armor creaking with every movement.
Myra threw herself at the slot as the guard opened it and pushed her meal toward her.
"Soon," the familiar voice said, the repeated phrase grating against her bones, her very mind and threatening to break both apart.
Myra grabbed the edge of the slot before Laurince could close it and hissed, "It has to be tonight."
On the other side of the door, Laurince stilled. Apprehension spilled from him.
"What?" he spat. "Are you crazy? We're not prepared. We--"
"We do not have time to prepare," she quickly countered, voice urgent. "The king will not deal with any further delays. If you wish to save him, we must act now. He is weakening by the minute. I--I fear for his safety."
Fear dripped from Laurince like a living thing. She could sense his hesitancy, taste it even. The king's captain, Myra already knew, was not a man who wished to act without a plan.
But Myra was tired of waiting. Waiting had only ever made things worse.
"Fine," Laurince whispered. His armor creaked as he made to stand, but Myra called out.
"Wait," she whispered.
Laurince paused his retreat.
"What about my brother?"
"I will see what I can do."