Page 36 of A Dagger in the Ivy (Blade Bound #1)
C Hapter
Blood spreads languidly on his shirt. With a strained face, Dante leans forward and collapses to his knees. My breath leaves me, my eyes wide with horror.
No. No, he can’t die. Especially at the hand of his own brother.
Dante’s hands are trapped behind his back, so he can’t catch himself as he falls forward. He takes the impact on his shoulder.
I try to rush forward to help him, but the Dulcamaran guard holds me back.
I twist my head to face Torbin. “What did you do?”
Torbin’s eyes are cold. He only glances at his brother’s form for a second before refocusing on me. “He’s not crucial to the Shadow Tsar’s vision.”
“So, death is the only option?” My heart is thrumming in my chest, my blood hot. I cast my eyes on Dante, praying to the gods that he’s still alive but knowing he’s losing a lot of blood. My instinct is to go to him and try to heal the wound, but I’m trapped, my wrists in shackles and my arms restrained by Torbin’s guards.
The clouds in the night sky part, allowing the moon to shine brightly onto the camp. Torbin lifts his chin to its light and takes in a deep breath. “It’s time.”
His words are lost to me, but the guards around him immediately jump into action, bustling about with their spears and whips, and the carnoraxis release screeching whistles and growls, lifting their deformed faces into the sky.
What is happening?
A low groan from Dante gains my focus. I mentally thank the gods and release a shuddering breath of relief. Two guards lift him by his arms and prop him up, waiting for Torbin’s command.
“Chain them to a stake near the pit.” Torbin gestures to someone in the shadows. “I want them to witness the promise of power firsthand.”
The guards yank me forward as we all move to what Torbin has referred to as “the pit.” The shrieks of the carnoraxis grow louder. Dante and I are forced near one of the tall stakes on the edge of the pit, and the guards attach our shackles to a chain wrapped around the stake.
Dante hisses, his eyes unfocused as he struggles to stay upright. He has to lean back against the stake to keep from collapsing.
“Dante,” I whisper. “Hang on. Please.”
He blinks slowly before he gazes at me, his head hanging. “I’m trying.”
The guards who chained us to the stake march off to attend to whatever is about to happen, so I reach for Dante’s hand behind our backs, trying to make contact.
“You need healing magic,” I say as my fingertips find his.
It’s not enough, I know. Ideally, my hand would need direct contact to his wound in order to do any good, but I have to do something. This has to help a little. I close my eyes and send whatever I can muster through to his fingers, hoping the magic will work its way through his hand, his arm, to his chest, to mend the flesh, at least enough for us to come up with a plan to get out of this.
The warmth of my magic flows, but then a whip cracks in the air, rousing me from concentration. A guard comes to stand near us, and I lose my grip on Dante .
The guards move out of my line of vision, giving me a better look at the cages that lie on the outskirts of the pit. I gasp at what is revealed to be inside them. The flickering torchlight casts eerie shadows on the faces of terrified people, their eyes wide and their gazes darting. I look that their clothes, some of them depicting uniforms or banners from villages throughout the realm, and it hits me. These are the missing riders. The ones who had the duty of scouting their lands and upholding the responsibility to alert the beacon masters of an attack. Now they are trapped within the cages, their faces and bodies crumpled with dread.
What is fucking happening here?
The pit is a rough circle carved into the earth, its walls high and slick with mud, making escape impossible. The scent of sweat and fear mingle with the earthy dampness. Torbin stands at the edge of the pit, a cruel smile playing on his lips. His eyes gleam with a predatory hunger, and he raises his hand to silence the murmurs of the crowd.
“Bring forth the challengers!” His voice cuts through the night like a knife.
His words send a shiver down my spine, and I can feel the dread creeping up as the Dulcamaran soldiers move to obey. The riders, once strong and defiant, now cower in their cages, their faces pale and lips trembling. Their eyes dart between each other and the pit that awaits them. One of the men grips the bars of his cage so tightly, his knuckles turn white, as if he might somehow hold back the inevitable. The other flinches when the soldiers approach, his body shaking, shoulders slumped in defeat. Both men look as though they’ve already lost the fight before it’s even begun.
The soldiers drag them to the edge of the pit, and I can see the desperation in their every movement—the frantic, shallow breaths, the way their feet resist the pull—but they’re too weak, too broken to put up much of a struggle. They’re thrown into the pit without ceremony, their cries letting loose, and they land with heavy thuds.
Torbin steps forward, peering down at them with an unsettling calmness. His breaths are heavy, the evidence in the rise and fall of his bare chest. “These men before you have a chance to win their freedom,” he tells the crowd. “A chance to escape the cage and become part of my army.”
Part of his army? They’ll never agree to that.
“Within the confines of this pit,” he says, now addressing the two riders, “you will fight each other.”
The rumble of noise from the carnoraxis begins to amplify, a clear indication of the thrill this challenge brings them.
“You will fight to the death,” Torbin exclaims.
I stiffen, my heart racing and my stomach weighed down by a stone of dread.
“If either of you refuses, you will both be torn apart, piece by piece.” Torbin gestures to the carnoraxis. “But if you fight… one of you will live to see another day.”
The riders exchange horrified glances, their expressions a mix of disbelief and despair. They have no choice but to concede; Torbin’s cruel ultimatum leaves them with no alternative.
Torbin lets the tension hang in the air for a moment before continuing, a twisted smile curling at the edges of his lips. “To assure you don’t back down, I will join you.”
The captured riders in the cages gasp, their eyes darting between Torbin and the men who stand trembling in the pit, their fists clenched in a futile show of bravery. The carnoraxis shriek, bouncing on their heels like animals who can feel the tension in the air. Torbin’s men sneer and laugh, clearly taking delight in this sick game.
I watch as a cloaked figure approaches Torbin, his movements swift and secretive. The man—one of the Shadow Tsar’s followers, no doubt—hands Torbin a small vial filled with a swirling, dark liquid. The moment Torbin’s fingers close around it, a chill runs down my spine.
“What is that?” I demand, my voice tight with suspicion.
Torbin turns to me, a smug grin spreading across his face as he holds the vial up to the light. “This, Celeste, is the key to everything. The key to power beyond imagination.”
Torbin’s eyes gleam with a twisted ambition as he steps closer to me, holding the vial in his hand like a sacred relic .
I try to draw back, to put more distance between me and Torbin’s vial, but my back hits the stake, pinning me in place. I’m suddenly filled with the fear that Torbin intends to poison us or put us under the same spell to which he’s fallen victim—if that’s what it truly is. I spare Dante a glance. He’s hanging on by a thread, but at least he’s still breathing.
“You don’t understand, Celeste,” Torbin says, his voice low and fervent. “This isn’t just about power for power’s sake. The Shadow Tsar has shown me the truth—the way to bring all the realms under one rule, to create an empire where none can challenge our might. He’s promised me a high position of power over the realms, a seat second in command to him as we reshape the world.”
I search his face, hoping to see some trace of the man to whom I am betrothed, but I don’t see him anywhere.
He raises the vial, the liquid inside pulsing with a dark energy. “The tsar’s alchemist has perfected this potion, a blend of ancient magic that holds the power to give the carnoraxis their strength. This is the potion that can turn a man into one of my faithful creatures.”
My breath catches in my throat, and the world seems to tilt beneath me. I feel the blood drain from my face as his words sink in, leaving me cold and numb. The carnoraxis are… transformed men. Though I had no idea what the origins of the creatures were, I imagined that they were a species that existed in secret for centuries, brought out now to do the tsar’s will. But people ? Bile rises in my throat at the thought of humans being transformed into the vile beasts against their will.
“But with the right dosage mixed with select ingredients, I can be granted the same power without becoming one of them. This concoction will deem me unstoppable—no one will dare defy me, not kings, not armies, not even you. And you… combined with your fae powers, you could have all this too, Celeste. As my bride. We could rule together, ruling just under the powerful tsar. Think about how strong we would be. How powerful. No one would dare cross us. If anyone dared, they would crumble at our feet.”
I shake my head, my lips trembling.
He pauses, his gaze penetrating as he searches my eyes, trying to pull me into his twisted vision. “Join me, Celeste. This is your chance to claim everything you’ve ever wanted.”
I exhale a heavy breath of defiant fury. If he thinks hostile power and control is everything I ever wanted, he doesn’t know me at all. “Never.”
As Torbin sneers at me, a sickening sense of dread washes over me, knotting my stomach with apprehension. Hundreds of carnoraxis loom around us, their eerie shrieks filling the air with an otherworldly cacophony that sets my nerves on edge.
“Eventually, you will give in to me, Celeste. You will see the light.”
He turns from me to the crowd, and the noise is ear-splitting. With his jaw rigid, Torbin lifts the potion into the air for everyone to see and then brings the vial to his lips. As he tips back the potion into his mouth, the tension in the air crackles with dark energy. Torbin bends forward with a gasp, and then his form begins to shift and contort, his muscles bulging. The carnoraxis around us seem to sense the change, their manic movements escalating into a frenzy of flailing limbs and unearthly wails.
My heart pounds erratically, the edges of my vision blur, and I struggle to swallow the lump forming in my throat. My hands tremble, fingers twitching involuntarily, as a cold sweat breaks out across my skin. It feels like the ground beneath me might give way at any moment, and I’m rooted to the spot, unable to tear my eyes away from Torbin.
It’s a scene straight out of a nightmare, a chilling reminder of the darkness that lurks within the shadows. And as I watch, a sense of foreboding settles over me like a heavy cloak, whispering of dangers yet to come. The men under Torbin’s command drum the ends of their spears against the ground, creating a thunderous rumbling to fill the space.
Torbin is handed a whip, which he loops in one hand. He then leaps into the pit with a terrifying agility, his eyes locked on to his prisoners. The potion’s effects are evident in the way his muscles ripple with unnatural strength. He stands tall, his expression menacing. “Fight!”
The whip cracks, and the men in the pit regard each other with trepidation. When neither of them moves, Torbin pitches his arm, and the whip snaps hard against the back of one of the men. He cries out, but his eyes lock on Torbin’s threatening form.
The men immediately shift into fighting stances, having no choice but to take part in Torbin’s sick challenge.
The fight begins with a flurry of punches and kicks. The first man, who is tall and bald, attempts to land blows with all the strength and speed he can probably muster. For a moment, it seems he might hold his own. He ducks and weaves, landing a solid punch to the other man, who is a half a head shorter and has a dirty-blond mullet.
The blond man shakes off the punch, readjusting his footing, and then lunges forward with surprising agility, driving his shoulder into the taller man’s midsection. The force sends the bald man stumbling back, his breath knocked out of him. He struggles to regain his balance, his chest heaving as he gasps for air. But the blond man doesn’t give him a chance to recover. With a fierce determination in his eyes, he follows up with a quick, brutal kick to the side of the bald man’s knee, sending him crashing to the ground with a pained grunt.
The crowd around the pit erupts in jeers and shouts, but I can hardly hear them over the pounding of my heart. My eyes are locked on the two men, their movements becoming more desperate, more savage, as they fight for their lives. The bald man, now on his knees, swings wildly, trying to fend off the relentless attack. His punches lack the power they had moments ago, each one weaker than the last as the blond man easily dodges or blocks them.
The blond man’s face twists into a grimace of determination, and he seizes the opportunity, driving his fist into the bald man’s jaw with a sickening crack. The taller man crumples to the ground, dazed and struggling to lift his head. The blond man stands over him, breathing heavily, his knuckles bloodied and raw.
Torbin’s voice cuts through the chaos, cold and commanding. “Finish it!”
The bald man’s cheeks are stained with blood and tears, his shoulders sagging in defeat as he waits for the final blow.
But the blond man takes two steps back, heaving for breath. And he glares at Torbin with clenched teeth. “No.”
Torbin’s jaw twitches. “Think carefully about what you say.”
“I won’t do it. I… can’t.”
The bald man glances up at Torbin with a glimmer of hope, desperation etched into every line of his face.
Torbin lashes out with his whip. The crack is so loud, I fear my eardrums have burst. Just when I think my ears have recovered, the whip cracks again. And again.
Torbin stands over the man, whose wounds shine in the firelight. The whip’s leather is soaked.
“I said, finish him !” Torbin kicks the man in his abdomen.
The man is bent in half, his hands pressed to his ribs. But Torbin doesn’t seem to care. He throws down the whip and pounces, moving with the speed and power of a carnoraxis. His fists fly, and his strikes land with bone-crushing force. The man stumbles, his resolve faltering as Torbin’s blows rain down on him.
But Torbin’s laughter rings out, cold and mocking. He backs away from the bloodied man, his fists dripping crimson. “If you want it to stop, you will obey.”
The blond man struggles to his feet, surely driven by sheer terror of another attack from Torbin.
I watch in horror, my heart pounding in my chest. The bald man rises, and I think perhaps he’s gained a second wind, that the beating the blond man endured motivated him to carry on.
The blond man hesitates for only a fraction of a second, then his expression hardens. He raises his fist, preparing to finish the job. My stomach churns with dread as I watch, powerless to stop what’s about to happen, and the weight of the situation crashes over me like a wave.
When the blond man flies toward him, punching, the bald man’s efforts become more desperate. But he’s too weak. The blond man’s relentless assault takes its toll. With a final, devastating blow, the blond man sends the bald man sprawling to the ground, bloodied and broken.
But not dead. And Torbin wants him dead.
Torbin stands over the fallen opponent, his chest heaving with exertion. He bares his teeth and a growl of a cry fills the air as he lifts his leg and smashes his foot down on the bald man’s head. As the force hits the man’s skull, it shatters with a loud, crisp crack, sending chunks of matter flying in all directions. The inner flesh bursts open, a vibrant explosion of deep red and pink, spilling out in a thick, wet splatter. The bright-red blood sprays outward, glistening in moonlight as it soaks into the ground. Pieces of bone are flung out with the chunks, dotting the mess like small, scattered pebbles.
The onlookers shrink back in terror, their hope extinguished. I can feel the bile rise in my throat, my fists clenched in helpless rage. Dante stands beside me, weak but conscious, his jaw tight with fury.
A triumphant grin spreads across Torbin’s face. “This is the fate that awaits any who resist to join me,” he announces, his voice echoing in the night. He turns to the blond man. “Succumb to the transformation, or face the same fate as this wretch.”
On the side of the pit, two of Torbin’s men lower a wooden ladder into the pit. Torbin pulls the blond man up by his arm, and I swear he’s going to tear it out of its socket.
“Climb,” Torbin demands.
The man clambers up the ladder, grunting in pain.
When Torbin reaches the top of the ladder, he jumps onto the ground and calls to his lackeys. “Bring him to the hook.”
“Wait.” The man’s eyes dart around him as Torbin’s men grab his arms. “I did what you said. What are you doing to me? I obeyed you!”
But Torbin isn’t listening.
His soldiers scurry to fetch the gruesome instrument, a twisted contraption of chains and wood designed for unspeakable cruelty. My heart hammers in my chest as they drag the defeated man forward, his eyes wide with terror.
Torbin’s cruel smirk sends shivers down my spine, and I feel sick to my stomach as I realize the extent of his depravity. The man’s screams slice through the air as they jam the hook into his back. He flails, his face contorted in agony, but no matter what he does, he can’t get free of the spike in his back. The hook is connected to chains, which are attached to the wood. It resembles a hangman’s post, the chains lifting the struggling man high above the ground with merciless force.
I turn away, unable to bear the sight of his agony, but the sounds of his suffering echo in my ears like a haunting melody. The carnoraxis shriek, and the men pound their spears into the ground.
And then, suddenly, it’s quiet, and my curiosity drives me to open my eyes and turn to Torbin.
Torbin stands before the man, holding a vial with a wicked smile, his voice dripping with dark promise as he addresses the gathered crowd. “Tonight marks the dawn of a new age, an age where only the strong will survive, and the weak will be crushed beneath our feet. You were strong enough to defeat your opponent, but now I offer you true power. This potion… It will grant you strength beyond your wildest dreams, the power to rip apart any who stand in your way.”
I look at the vial. It’s not the same dark liquid that Torbin drank. This liquid has an orange tint to it.
Torbin pauses, his gaze penetrating as he leans closer to the man. “But with this power comes a price. It strips you of your empathy, your capacity for love, eating away at your soul until all that remains is darkness. Unless you learn to control it.” His voice softens to a sinister whisper. “Master it, and you will be unstoppable. Fail, and you will be consumed by the very power you sought to wield.”
Torbin steps back, holding out the vial. “Drink, and embrace your destiny. For once this transformation begins, there is no turning back. You will become the ultimate weapon in our war, a beast that even the bravest will fear.”
The man protests, squirming despite the fact that every move he makes drives the hook deeper into his back. Two guards sidle up to Torbin and grab the man’s arms to hold him still. And then, to my dismay, Torbin administers the potion, pouring it down the man’s throat with a sadistic grin.
The scene unfolds before us like a nightmare brought to life, a twisted concoction of dread and desperation. Dante and I are held captive, compelled to watch the dark ritual. We’re trapped, unable to intervene, forced to witness this horror unfold.
The man’s protests stop, his throat gurgling as the elixir takes hold. He goes limp, and for a moment, I think he’s dead, but then a grotesque transformation begins to unfold before my eyes. His body contorts and twists in unimaginable ways, bones cracking and flesh tearing as he writhes in agony. The man’s anguished cries fill the pit, drowning out all other sound as he is consumed by the darkness within him. His skin pales to a greyish pallor and shrivels as his eyes bulge and take on a yellowish hue. His jaw extends and his bones seem to stretch as he hangs on the hook, and his hands become claws.
I feel a wave of revulsion wash over me, bile rising in my throat as I bear witness to the monstrous fate that awaits those who dare to oppose Torbin. I hold back a sob of despair, my gaze catching Dante, whose light is fading from his eyes. We are trapped. Imprisoned in a nightmare from which there is no escape.