Page 105

“Oh, thank the Divine,” she breathes, pushing a cup of water to my lips for me to drink.

I wince at the memory of the painful brightness. “What’s that light?”

“There is no light, Mika, beyond the small lantern. Would you like me to extinguish it?”

I hesitantly open my eyes to find the blinding light is gone. Lyss’ concerned face fills my view as the rest of the familiar cave follows.

“I did not think you were coming back. It has been three days…”

The memory of the torture assaults my nerves. I writhe in pain, grabbing my face, which is already wet with tears. Lyss is making soothing sounds, patting my head, and turning my chair back into a bed. I’m heaving in breaths, sweat beading all over my body as the memory stops. I’m alone. Unsure how long I was in that state.

With careful movements, I move to a seated position, but no pain attacks me. I pull up my sleeve, seeing six scars along my forearm and the one through my hand. Every single scar has an entry and an exit. Fourteen new scars on my arm in total. I flex my hand and fingers. No pain. I’m no different than before.

I pull up my pant leg. A gnarled burn scar digs into my calf. I suppose the imposter king really wasn’t lying. Burned or ripped-off flesh cannot be Divined back into existence, even by a healer as skilled as Lyss.

The memory of pain shudders through me again, less violently this time. But still, I close my eyes and lie back down as tears dribble down the side of my face, wetting my hair and ears.

Holding my hand up, I see the silvery scars sliced across my fingers. I didn’t even know I’d cut them on the slippery knife as I stabbed Pasha over and over. Jaena had withheld a healer for days as further punishment for losing control of my rage and because she had to “clean up my mess.”

Making a mental tally, I take stock of all my new scars. I almost laugh, hysteria fizzing in my throat. I went from barely a scar a few moons past to being riddled with them.

Lyss comes back in with a plate of food. Crusty bread and hot beans in a tomato sauce. Surprisingly delicious. Either that, or I’m starving. She watches me eat, clearly wanting to say something.

I raise an eyebrow at her. She clears her throat, frowns, and speaks hesitantly. “I tried to heal you…Your mind, I mean.” She pauses, contemplating my face before continuing. “But your…rage stopped me. You would not let me back in, or it would not. I thought you were lost for good, like some of the other Nulls who eventually waste away to death, never waking up again. But you…You woke on your own.”

I pause with a chunk of bread at my lip, my mouth hanging open. Did she say my rage? I let my hand fall into my lap with the piece of bread, my mouth closing and opening a few times as my brain tries to say several things at once.

I pinch the bridge of my nose between my eyes and take a deep breath. “What do you know of my rage?”

“It attacked me. When I was in your mind trying to heal you and bring you back. You screamed at it to stop, and it did. I got out straight away. But then, whenever I tried to go back in, there was only a blackness I could not penetrate.” She’s looking at me with so much concern that I squirm in my seat, trying to avoid her eye. “I am so sorry, Mika.”

“Sorry for what?” I say, lifting my arm to show the scars, then my pant leg. “You did heal me. I’m sorry that my…rage tried to hurt you.”

“I can help. If you would let me. Heal the rage. Figure out why you have created a beast as a talisman in your mind to protect you.”

I shake my head, not wanting to face that right now. I’m going to need my rage for a little longer. A plan is finally beginning to form.

Lyss hesitantly agrees to my plan. She’d looked at me like I had lost my mind until I realized I hadn’t actually told her that the king was an imposter. I didn’t tell her it’s still just a theory, that I may be wrong, and I will have killed a king. Either way, he needs to die.

I get a few more days of rest to heal, thanks to Lyss, who reports that I’ve still not woken up. She’s made sure I’m in a position where none of the other prisoners know I am actually awake.

In my secluded cave, I stretch and move my muscles as much as I can. I’m going to need every advantage. I still don’t know the Gift of the king’s other man, and it’s possible the Patron Gifted with fire won’t come with him next time. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine and my calf stings as I remember the searing pain of the fire poker.

If only I knew where the torture trolley was located. I am already strapped to a chair when they get it, though it cannot be far, so it may as well not exist. I’m going to need to kill them before I’m strapped down. I’ll only have mere moments before the king arrives after that.

It’s a delicate balance between resting enough, exercising so I don’t atrophy, and working on my weapons—one that I won’t know I’ve gotten right until the last moment.

A large nail and a bone spoon. That is all I have to work with. Hoping it goes unnoticed, I rip off the cuff of my pant leg. Sharpening the nail on a stone until it’s essentially a tiny blade, I bind it to the handle of the bone spoon. The bowl of the spoon has also been sharpened, making it a singular weapon. I would have liked two weapons, but I had nothing to reinforce the nail except the spoon handle. One missing spoon is a risk, but two would be noticed.

In between sharpening my weapon, I practice with it. I’m going to have to be precise with every move. Banking on the fact the king wants my Gift manifested, I hope the men have a standing order not to kill me. If they hesitate to retaliate with full force, it may give me enough of an edge.

I ask Lyss to demonstrate with me, clamping my arms together the way they do, testing the best place for my weapon. My sleeves are too short to hide it, nor do I have enough time if it’s hidden in the front of my pants, under my shirt. The back of my pants is the easiest place, though risky because it can be seen.

Lyss will not be able to hold off the king for much longer. He has expressed his desire to inspect me himself if I don't wake up soon. So tomorrow, I will miraculously wake, and the countdown will be on.

They will come for me, and I will kill them. Then I will kill the imposter king or die trying.

Reclining in my chair, I try to look as weak and exhausted as I did when they came for me last time. The more they underestimate me, the greater the likelihood I can catch them off guard. The makeshift weapon digs into my lower back. My relief at seeing the same two despicable men strengthens my resolve.