48. Chapter 48
In retrospect, Yareli should have waited at Samire for Augrys. Hadn’t that been her affirmation in the earlier days?
Find Augrys.
Stay near Augrys.
He’ll keep me safe.
Hadn’t he asked her to wait for him? And yet, in the midst of Leo’s outburst, when she should have assumed the voice of reason, she had failed to rein them in, to say they could wait for Augrys and Erick.
Bri was her friend. The thought of her being imprisoned by Tuom had been unbearable, and now she was, if nothing else, facing the consequences of her actions.
Leo shadowstepped them to a patio by a pond with a weeping willow. Endrim was awaiting their arrival with his back to them.
“Honestly, Leo, how moronic can you be, bringing her here?” He chortled, turning and leaning against the metal fence that separated the patio from the water.
Yareli immediately realized her mistake; she walked into the enemy’s den without a backup plan.
Leo ignored his comment, demanding, “Where is she?”
“I’m afraid you’ve lost any bargaining power you might have held. You see, Tuom wants that human girl badly, and I had promised to trade for her, but here you are, the desired girl in tow, served to me for free. This might be my luckiest day.”
Leo shoved her behind him, gripping her wrist so tight she felt his panic.
He hadn’t looked at her once since their arrival, his frustration palpable, visible by the throbbing veins in his neck.
His back hid Endrim from view. Yareli wanted to apologize for her recklessness; she hadn’t meant to put them in danger.
“I’d never give you Yareli,” Leo snapped.
“Oh, but you don’t have a choice any longer.”
Soldiers exploded from every side, the illusion spell falling as they rushed toward them. Leo let go of her then, materializing his axe, and she took her daggers out, but they were two against too many.
She whispered to Leo, “Run. Return to Augrys and tell him where to find me.”
He knocked a soldier unconscious, his rebuke clear on his face. “I won’t leave you.”
She smiled sadly, knowing it would be his answer. “I know. So, I will.”
Yareli gathered the magic at the balls of her feet and leaped over the soldiers, landing a few feet away from the mass.
She took off immediately, aiming for the weeping willow in the distance.
She heard Leo’s shout of frustration, and she closed her eyes, shutting her heart to him.
They were at war, after all, and sacrifices had to be made.
She planned on running until Leo’s magic signature disappeared from the area, but a chain hooked her ankle, tripping her into the dirt. She struggled with the chain as Endrim approached.
He crouched in front of her, clicking his tongue. “He left you, you know? You poor, poor disposable thing, but surely you knew he would have done it if it benefited his cause. That’s how Leo is.”
“He’s going to kill you one day,” she spat at him.
“Well, it’s unfortunate for you that day isn’t today.”
Endrim flicked her forehead, and she lost consciousness.
When she woke up, she was in a familiar white, underground room, tied to a chair. At first, she panicked, tugging at her binds, attempting to call upon her magic to no avail, but after a while, she gave up.
Sometime later, she sat, her head flopped back onto the chair, and she waited for his inevitable arrival.
Fury kept her panic at bay. She had been mulling over her decisions and had determined that she, in fact, had been the bearer of her predicament.
However, what wasn’t her fault was Tuom’s sick obsession with her.
The longer she waited, the greater her anger until it had transformed into a sea of boiling wrath.
She flung curses at Tuom, wishing nothing but the most horrible of fates for him.
She wanted him to arrive to kill him, to rid the world of his stain, and be freed of his agonizing hold.
The doorknob turned, and in walked the subject of both her nightmares and murder fantasies—First General Tuom of the Earth Court.
He sported a smug smile, his eyes narrowed in satisfaction.
Her heart raced. She had devised a plan, something crazy, but she had been playing it safe for far too long, and there was no more room for sanity—not if she wanted to live.
“Alas, my vermin has returned to me.” Tuom walked past her, chuckling.
His euphoria was out of character. Metal wheels rattled on smooth ground, and her stomach dropped. She didn’t have to see to know it was his special cart filled with all sorts of knives, saws, and whatever else tools suited his fancy. No panicking, she admonished herself. Focus.
“Where’s Bri?” she demanded.
“Take a look,” he replied.
The chair screeched as he swung it around, revealing an unconscious Bri slumped over her knees, the chains on her wrists holding her up.
Her knotted hair fell around her face, hiding it from view.
Yareli’s heart clenched. She shut her eyes, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. She swore she would free them both.
“Have you learned your lesson?” Tuom said, leaning close to her ear. “You cannot escape me.” He smacked her lightly as though she were a misbehaving pet. She took a chance on his good mood.
“I know about the enslavement curse,” she said. “Why didn’t you use it? Why attack the Fire Court?”
He undid her physical chains, but kept the chain on her life force activated, forcing her body limp.
“There is no victory sweeter than when hope is crushed.”
“And the coup?”
“All necessary,” he answered, which was more than she had expected.
He lifted her, dumping her onto the freezing metal table. She knew this routine—the leather straps came next, tightened until they dug into her skin. Her wrath was losing the battle against the trembling in her limbs, fear leaking through the iron cage she had trapped it in.
“Let Bri go,” she pleaded.
His eyes took on the lunatic gleam of joy as he sliced open Yareli’s jacket, spreading it away from her skin.
Her nudity should have embarrassed her, but she had been in this exact scenario many times before, and it no longer fazed her.
It was a small mercy that Tuom had no desire for human flesh, but her nudity reminded her of her vulnerability—her weakness. Her utter, damning humanness.
“Let’s start, shall we?” He turned to his tool cart. “Now, which tool shall I use?”
Her chest rose and fell at a quick tempo.
She had to do it now, before it was too late.
She closed her eyes, falling into her inner realm, where her life force resided.
She floated to her magic core, magic flowing out of the crevice in its otherwise solid wall.
She drew from it, its power filling her veins, but before she could cast any spell, it stuttered and drifted away from her like mist. Alarm blared through her.
Magic was the only upper hand she had, the only card that Tuom didn’t know about, and it wasn’t working.
Break it. Weni’s voice whispered in her ears. All you have to do is break it.
But she had tried that already with Augrys and failed. The risk was too great.
Don’t do it alone, he had warned her, and the last time she had ignored his advice, it had gone terribly wrong. Her only plan going awry left her paralyzed in the crossroads of decision-making. Her hesitation cost her.
Tuom stabbed her gut, pain exploded, and she screamed.
“Riveting,” he said, his voice loud and excited.
He withdrew the blade only to bring it down once more.
The feeling was nauseating, and Yareli held back her bile.
The gleam of metal arced through the air over and over.
The pain consumed her, drowning her thoughts of escape until she became a singular organism bent on enduring, because she would live; Tuom would not allow her to die, not until he had his fill.
It made her sick. Whenever he slowed her bleeding or healed her punctured organs, she’d puke.
She’d forgotten. She had forgotten what it meant to be under his control, and although a part of her raged against it, a bigger part of her grieved the violence she was forced to endure at no fault of her own except for being born different than him.
When he forced his way into her mind and looked at her most intimate memories, she broke. She’d been a fool to think she had overcome him when Izmari had been a constant reminder of her “otherness.”
She retreated into the outermost corners of her mind, watching her torture through her eyes like they were a cinema screen.
Fleeting thoughts blitz by her—her family, Leo, Bri, Erick, Vanessa, Erbert, Dre, and Augrys.
Thinking of him hurt the most because she had failed to listen once more.
Because their friendship had suffered blow after blow, and she realized that she had failed to understand him.
She had slammed the door in his face and refused to see him.
Tuom said something to her, his words muddled, as if water was in her ears. When she didn’t react, he slapped her. It jolted her from her stupor. She gasped, spitting out blood.
“Did you believe you were safe?” he asked. “Did you believe you could defeat me because you stole an ounce of magic?”
She glared at him but didn’t answer. He knew about her magic. Had the curse told him somehow, or was it something else? It was unthinkable, but doubt took root in her brain. Had someone betrayed her?
“Why me after all this time? Do you hate Augrys that much?” she asked, her voice hoarse. It pained her to speak, but she had to know.
He cracked his knuckles, looking down at her with scorn. “Those fools think you are the key to victory, but I know the truth. You are nothing, and I’ll make sure you return what you stole before I kill you.”
“I didn’t take anything.”
“Silence!” The blow came hard and fast.
She finally saw the stars she’d see in cartoons.
“Disobedient filth. I should display you like this—dirty and broken—then they would agree with me. You are not worthy. And I should thank the one who agreed with me, handing you to me to rid the world of you.”
Her ears rang, the confirmation of betrayal echoing in their chambers.
“Who—”
He gripped her chin, bruising it. He hissed, “Let the doubt devour you.” He let go of her. “Lie there and despair until I return. You’ll be my audience for your friend’s turn.”
The door slammed shut, and Yareli let her tears fall; their hot streaks singed her skin, reminding her that it was her fault Bri and she were captured.
Eventually, the thudding in her head was far too great to ignore, and her tears dried up.
She lay there, eyes wide open, until the room’s cold temperature chilled her bones.
She was exhausted, and despite her wish, sleep evaded her.
She wasn’t sure how long it had been before she heard a rustle followed by a sigh.
“Bri?” she asked.
“No, little bird.” Weni’s voice was soft, lilting, and it almost brought her to tears again.
“Weni,” she gasped. “Please, go tell Augrys where Bri and I are being held.”
Her face came into view, her blonde strands falling forward to envelope Yareli in their curtain.
“How obscene.” She clicked her tongue, and Yareli’s leather straps came undone. “That man had no right.”
Yareli pushed herself into a sitting position, groaning as her bruised body shifted after so long. “Weni, please. Send for Augrys.”
“I can’t do that, bird.”
“Why not?” Yareli showed her unshackled hands. “You just freed me.”
“Did I?”
Weni’s face contorted, morphing into a mirror image of Yareli. “You’re dreaming. I cannot assist you. Only you can save yourself.”
“How?”
“Magic,” she said it so casually, almost flippantly.
How easy it was for Fae to solve their problems with magic, like it was a pencil that could make and unmake.
Frustrated, Yareli said, “Sure, let me cast a spell or two here, and I’ll free myself. Except, wait, I can’t because my magic doesn’t work!”
Weni’s eyes hardened. “Are you purposefully acting a fool, or shall I spell it out for you?”
“Of course I’m a fool! It’s my fault I’m in this situation. Now, either help me or get lost so I may contemplate my last rites.”
“You are so alike. It’s almost agonizing,” Weni replied, shifting her face back to her own. She disappeared, reappearing next to Yareli on the metal table. “You must break your core.”
Her core again. How she wished she had broken the damn thing already. “I’ve tried. It’s impossible right now; I don’t have someone who can help me.”
“Then, you’ll die. And what a shame that would be—to die without reaching your potential.
” Weni swung her bare feet up, leaping off the table and landing neatly.
“I suppose that’s alright. You had chosen to forgo power anyway.
You will find,” she said, glancing at Yareli over her shoulder, “ family always disappoints, but power is unwavering. It’s your choice. ”
With that, Weni blinked out of existence, snapping Yareli out of her dream. Her breath coiled in front of her in a white mist.
“My choice, huh?”
With death as the alternative, she wouldn’t consider it much of a choice.
She was tired of the games Fae played—coercion disguised as a choice.
Maybe she’d choose death to spite Weni. Bri moaned, her first sign of stirring since Yareli had arrived, and she was assaulted by guilt.
Her friend had been tortured because of her; she couldn’t choose death out of pettiness.
Bri deserved better. With her decision made, Yareli began to plan.