Page 43 of A Sea of Vows and Silence (The Naiads of Juile #3)
Selena
I think I went mad.
I think that’s the only way I could manage it. Each cut, each slice, each tear.
Had he known how sirens’ bodies healed, Emilius would have gone for my bones. But he went for skin instead. Renting holes and watching me bleed, unfazed by the rivers of scarlet that pooled over the seat of the chair.
Every time he demanded knowledge, I answered with something foolish, each response more reckless than the last.
Where were you born?
Your wife can't stand the sight of you.
How do you control people?
Your kingdom prefers your brother.
At first, fear was worse than pain. He’d slide a blade innocently down my thigh, letting its cold edge gnaw terror from my skin, choking the air from my lungs.
And then he’d plunge it in, and though I’d scream from the horror of being carved open, the pain was almost a breath of relief from the sickening, stifling dread .
At some point, he'd stolen so much blood from me that pain left my body. It breathed on a surface that was only skin-deep, and I’d delved much further than that, deep within my body where he couldn’t reach.
There were moments I left myself. Moments I stood somewhere outside, watching as he grabbed my shoulders and shook me back awake. And then I’d laugh, wild and wicked with delusion. Because that was the only way to keep it away, keep it from sinking in too close to the center of my thoughts.
I was going to die.
I was going to die, and I’d spent my last night begging alcohol to take the edge off my emotions.
I was going to die, and the last thing I’d said to my sister was, Don’t you love me?
I was going to die, and the gray of Pheolix’s eyes kept flashing in my mind. The heat of his body pressed around mine. The grainy silk of his hair caught in my fingers. The brush of his lips sweeping across my mouth. The dark murmur of his voice rumbling at my throat.
Emilius twisted his knife, and Pheolix’s face ripped away.
I growled at the feeling of it, that dull burn low in my stomach where he’d planted his blade. Then my growl dissolved into laughter.
“You’ve never done this before, have you?” I asked, more curiosity than mockery. “Someone else always does this for you.” Although I’d disconnected from my floating body, my words had sharpened since I’d swallowed his sleeping powder, and my skin was slick enough I may as well have sweated it out.
At some point, I’d watched the King waver over what to do with me. It was clear I refused to tell him what he wanted. But I hadn’t expected him to fight himself in the fallout of indecision.
His shoulders loosened slightly. He frowned, avoiding my eyes.
“Cain usually does it,” I guessed.
“Yes, well, I can’t trust a word or action from Cain, can I?” He shoved himself upright, taking a smooth drink from his glass of liquid amber. I watched the liquor swirl.
I knew enough about the body to understand my wounds were fatal when I began craving water above safety. I’d reached that point minutes ago .
His brows lifted. “Want this?” he asked, holding the glass out to me, watching my half-open eyes track its movement through the air. “Tell me who Cain is, and I’ll let you have a drink.”
I snorted. “It’s not who , it's what . And I can’t tell you. Even I don’t know exactly.”
“Does your sister?”
I shook my head, feeling myself falling once more.
Falling deeper under the surface, into the quiet dark, my eyes hovering low.
Emilius dropped to a knee and twisted the knife again, snapping me awake.
My mouth opened, but I’d already screamed as much as my lungs would let me.
I panted instead, the taste of iron thick over my tongue, my breath hard and fast and desperate as I stared into his brown eyes.
Something crashed in Emilius’s quarters.
The volume of it was enough to break the brutal spell between us.
Emilius stood. His fists flexed as he faced the door, listening.
A slam. Wood bursting. Heavy footsteps pounding toward the door. Emilius reached for the knife in my gut, ripping it out of me. I hardly felt it. Blood gushed onto my already soaked dress, hot against my skin.
The room darkened. Muddied. Shapes blurred.
The door flew open, hitting the wall with enough force to jar my teeth.
A figure tore through the threshold. It wore only black shadows over its face and body, and they shifted and flew behind his back as though they’d been sewn to his flesh.
It didn’t stop in the door. It sliced into the room as though it had forced the door open at a run.
But it paused to look at me.
“What the fuck did you do?”
“Get out.” Emilius demanded as the shadow drove toward him. My blood dripped from his knife. He pointed it at the figure. “GUARDS.”
But the shadow had already reached him.
Was already ducking under the King’s outthrust fist .
Had already wrenched Emilius’s arm backwards. Stole his knife. Snapped his bone.
Emilius howled in sudden agony. The shadow silenced him with a crack to the jaw. He hit the floor, flat and unconscious. The shadow gripped him by the collar, lifting his limp body, striking him again.
“Pheolix,” I murmured.
He’d kill the King. He’d do it without a second thought. I’d seen him do it before. Some distant, rational string in the weave of my mind tugged. I couldn’t let Emilius die. He probably deserved to die. After the last hour, I wanted nothing more than to smash him into human pulp.
But if Emilius died, all of Thaan’s plans would combust.
Thaan might leave Calder. He'd take us with him. Cebrinne would make her escape to Leihani.
And I needed more time to convince her not to go.
“We need the human King,” I said, fighting to keep my eyes open. “You can’t kill him.”
Pheolix halted. His shoulders slouched, but his body vibrated with rage. Fired metal beat throughout the room, the scent so sharp and hot it stung my nose. It blasted across my face in waves of vivid heat. “I don’t know how I can do anything else.”
“Look at me.”
“If I look at you, I’ll kill him.”
“Look at me.”
A knock came from the other room. Soft, muffled. We wouldn’t have heard it before, with all Emilius’s doors closed.
“Your Highness,” a voice called. “There’s an intruder in your rooms.”
“Look at me.”
Head cocked in defiance, Pheolix met my eyes. The anger twisting his features dissolved, alarm taking its place. Emilius dropped to the rug as Pheolix stood.
“You have to get us out,” I said .
“Your Highness!”
“Is there a secret exit?”
“Probably,” I said. “But there will probably be guards there, too. I don’t know where it would be.”
The sound of snapping wood made Pheolix fling his attention over his shoulder.
“I have a way,” he growled. “But I need both hands. Or at least one hand. I can’t carry you in my arms. Can you hold on?”
“Yes.” The lie was rough and dry in my mouth. I’d lost the feeling in my fingers long ago. Pheolix knew it, too. He frowned at me, thinking.
A loud thud, more wood splintering.
Pheolix grabbed Emilius’s discarded rope.
He stepped over the motionless king, crossing the room in angry strides, flinging the glass doors wide.
Arrows from below whizzed over his head, slapping at the balcony’s edge, bouncing back into the night.
He knelt, weaving the rope in a knot I never could have replicated.
The room darkened. His voice was suddenly next to my ear. “Eyes open, heiress. Look at me. Don’t look anywhere else.”
My eyes had already drifted shut, but they widened as his arms curled under my legs and around my back, lifting me cautiously. Fire lit in his gaze when I didn’t wince.
I felt us move. Wind cooled my skin as he stepped outside. Pheolix ducked under a gust of arrows slicing the air, their current tugging hair away from my face.
“Heiress,” he said, tilting his head to look more closely at me.
“If you fall, I’ll let go of the rope. If you fall, I’ll drop.
Do you understand?” He jostled my shoulder gently, forcing my eyes open.
“Heiress. Heartstopper. Selena. If you can’t hold on, you’ll send us both to Perpetuum. Can you hold on?”
His mouth was so close to mine, too temptingly close. I skimmed his jaw with my fingertips, blood encrusted under my nails. “I’m not ready to die. I don’t want to leave Ceba. ”
“Look at me.”
My eyes shifted to his.
Behind us, wood blasted apart. The stampede of heavy boots followed, running down the King’s halls. But I stared into the steel gray of his eyes.
“You’re not going to die,” Pheolix said. He planted a kiss onto my forehead. “Cebrinne would kill me if you did.”
Guards rushed the bedroom, pounding out to the balcony door. Pheolix swung me onto his shoulder, covering my head with his cloak. He wrapped one arm around my hip, gripping the rope with the other.
He ran. And leapt.