Page 6 of A Bond so Fierce and Fragile (Compelling Fates Saga #3)

Lessia

L essia shook so much that the putrid water in the cup she held sloshed over its sides, and she barely managed to get a few drops into her parched mouth when she brought it to her lips.

Dropping the mug after trying to lick up the remaining water, Lessia leaned back against the wall, her head throbbing with such force she wasn’t certain if it was her body or the ship they were on that trembled.

She didn’t know how many days had passed, not with the blindfold they kept over her eyes day and night, but she guessed at least a few, based on the aching hole in her stomach and the dried blood that seemed to coat almost every inch of her skin by now.

The guards had beaten them every few hours since Rioner left the room, and no matter how much Lessia tried to persuade them that she was broken—that she’d willingly step off this ship—she hadn’t been convincing enough, and Rioner hadn’t bothered showing up a single time since he’d ordered the torture.

Even when they’d begun bringing the others outside the room, to somewhere Lessia could no longer hear their screams, and she’d truly panicked—had truly meant it when she cried that she’d slit her throat right there and then—they hadn’t budged, believing she still harbored some strength inside.

And while she might… might have that burning love inside driving her not to give up, she wasn’t sure how long the flame would flicker.

Lessia knew her time was running out.

She could feel it.

If she didn’t convince Rioner’s guards soon, they’d do something to someone in this group she wouldn’t be able to reverse.

That she couldn’t bear.

“F-F… Lina,” she managed to stutter through chapped lips.

Her sister had become worryingly quieter with each day that passed, and Lessia wasn’t even able to use her eyes to understand how injured she was.

If it was anything like herself…

Lessia had a few broken ribs and fingers, one of her cheekbones was crushed from the last beating, and she was pretty certain her left shoulder had been dislocated a few times, based on the searing ache shooting from it every time she moved that arm.

And her nose…

Well, it hadn’t healed straight, and she still struggled to breathe through it.

“I’m here,” Frelina rasped somewhere to her left, and Lessia couldn’t help the tears that sprang into her eyes at her small voice.

“She’s by me,” Kerym added softly. “She’s strong, Lessia. Like you.”

Kerym’s arm nudged her when she sniffed, and Lessia made herself nod.

“This would be a great time for your mate to come to the rescue, I think,” Kerym continued, and Lessia could tell he was fighting to keep the cheer in his voice. “I am excited to watch Merrick rip these fucking guards’ heads off.”

“Sh-she is his mate?”

Kerym stiffened beside her as a deep, unfamiliar voice broke in, and although she hadn’t heard it previously, she knew it must be Thissian’s, since he was the only one in here she didn’t know.

“She is.” Kerym’s tone held so much love that Lessia would have had to look away had she not been blindfolded. “He finally found her.”

“Only to lose her.”

The choked sound that followed Thissian’s words shattered Lessia’s heart.

It was so much worse than Raine’s agony and Kerym’s sorrow.

It was resignation.

As if Thissian had merely yielded to the cruel twist of fate they all lived.

“He’ll come for her,” her sister hissed. “I saw how he looked at her. He’ll rip this world apart if that’s what it takes.”

Despite everything, Lessia smiled.

He would come for her.

She knew it in her bones.

She wasn’t sure how, but she could feel him.

Every time she hurt, she heard his voice telling her she was strong enough.

Every time the darkness moved in on her, she felt his lips press against hers.

Every time she thought she might finally break, the love she felt from him wrapped around her and healed those broken, jagged pieces she was made up of.

While Lessia knew she shouldn’t have hope—because there was only one way this could end, after all—she wished for a little more time.

A few more days with him.

Staring into those night-sky eyes.

Making him smile.

Having his hands travel across her skin as if she were so precious he needed to touch every inch of her.

But even if it was too late for her…

She had to believe that Merrick would save the others.

That he’d care for her sister. For her father. For her friends. For Havlands.

Because, despite what the Death Whisperer thought of himself, he was good.

A cough ripped her from her thoughts, and Lessia leaned to her right, trying to get closer to her father, whose breathing appeared as labored as Lessia’s.

“Father,” she whispered, wanting to say something more, wanting to tell them all that it would be all right, that she would get them out of here, that Merrick would come for them.

But the thickness in her throat choked her words.

Lessia tried to tell herself it wasn’t her fault, but when another clipped breath rushed past her father’s lips and a low, pained moan escaped someone else as they shifted on the floor, guilt knifed its way through her chest.

It felt like it was her fault they were being hurt.

The guards were doing it to break Lessia, and she hadn’t convinced them they’d succeeded yet.

“It’s not your fault,” her father rasped as he moved closer at the involuntary sound leaving her, his arm aligning with her own.

And even though none of them could move much due to the restrictive chains, his mere presence was soothing, and the burning sensation behind her eyes that had started when she heard Frelina’s voice grew hotter.

A silent sob shook her body.

Then another one.

And another.

Another.

They kept coming until her entire frame trembled so hard the chains rattled in sync with the violent shakes.

Both her father and Kerym tensed beside her, and she tried to control her limbs when Kerym urged, “Do not let them win, Lessia. Do not break. He’s coming for you, so hold on for him.”

“W-will he know?” she managed to ask, and while the question was vague, the others knew what she meant—knew that she needed to know if Merrick would feel her die, should it come to that.

“Yes.” The haunted word came from Thissian when the others remained silent.

She wanted to scream.

Either way, someone would hurt.

Merrick if she succeeded. The people in this room if she did not.

“It’s not your fault,” her father said again, his voice stronger now. “Nothing that’s happening is your fault. If it’s anyone’s, it’s mine.”

“Father, no,” Frelina whispered, while Lessia managed to shake her head.

“Lina,” her father pleaded softly. “I kept you both so sheltered because I wanted to protect you, but it seems… it seems all I did was set you up for failure. Lessia would never have left if I had found a way to integrate you into our society—to teach you what being Fae truly meant. And I… I should have listened to you, Frelina. I knew! I knew something was wrong, but I… I was too weak when your mother died. I…”

Her father’s voice broke, and Frelina’s louder sobs joined Lessia’s silent ones.

“I’m so sorry. My beautiful girls. I am so sorry for all the pain my brother, my blood, is causing.” Alarin drew a trembling breath. “I failed to protect you, and for that, I’ll never forgive myself. But I promise you, I will find a way to get you out of here.”

“Such pretty words, brother.”

Lessia jerked when the king’s voice floated through the room, and she wasn’t feigning the way her body curled into itself, how it tried to become as small as possible when a low laugh that she knew belonged to Torkher followed.

“I wonder how you expect to keep that promise,” Rioner continued, and in the silence following his words, Lessia could hear at least four pairs of feet making their way toward the group.

Kerym shuffled away from Lessia when a distressed sound left her sister, and from the way Frelina quieted and the chains clinked, Lessia understood Kerym was trying to hide her behind him.

But the wave of gratefulness that roiled inside her turned to glacial dread when her father spoke.

“Brother. Let them go. I’ll have them get as far away from Havlands as possible. You can take out your revenge on me instead. Kill me if you like. But let them go.”

“No!” she tried to scream, but the sound was barely more than a whisper.

Frelina also let out a muffled sound, although it was quickly clipped, almost as if Kerym had managed to stop her from speaking.

“Kill you… Perhaps,” Rioner mused. “But letting them go?”

The clanging of an expensive metal, not like the chains they were all bound in but like the gold that made up the king’s crown, had Lessia suspect he shook his head so violently the dangling gemstones adorning it clinked against each other.

“I don’t think so,” Rioner declared.

“Rioner,” her father snarled, his begging tone rising into a fury-touched one. “You’re starting a war you’ll lose control over. You will not survive this. With their bond, he’ll tear through this world to find her, and you know he’s strong enough to kill you.”

Lessia’s pounding heart stopped in the heavy silence that followed, and she could tell from the sharp gasp of air flying into her father’s lungs that so did his.

“He’ll find her,” Rioner repeated. “I must assume you’re referring to the dear Death Whisperer?”

The next silence seemed to stretch on for what felt like an eternity, the soft breaths from the people in the room the only sound, and Lessia’s heart remained quiet, as if its beats were too fragile to echo in the tension-filled room.

“So they’ve mated after all,” the king said, almost as if to himself.

The laugh that followed was like a bucket of cold water thrown over her head.

“The Death Whisperer mated to a mere halfling? Oh, how the gods must have laughed at that one. The embarrassment it must bring him…” The king cackled again, and Torkher’s blood-chilling laugh accompanied him, bouncing against the damp walls in the room.