Page 64 of A Storm in Every Heart (Enchanted Legacies #2)

Without a word, Magnus brandishes the knife with a lazy little flourish. I try to jerk away as he reaches for me, but the straps bite into my wrists, cutting off circulation.

He presses one hand into the table by my head, and raises the blade above my chest. The knife tip hovers for a moment as he steadies his aim, then he plunges the blade down, cutting deep gashes into the tattoo of Odessa on my chest.

He doesn’t cut deep enough to reach my heart, but he may as well have.

The pain is instant and total. It’s a white-hot spike that shoots up to my shoulder and explodes behind my eyes.

I scream and the sound scrapes my throat raw.

Blood seeps out around the blade, mixing with the sweat and salt already pooling on my skin.

I thrash and yell in agony, while Magnus looks on with blank curiosity.

And so it goes, for what feels like days.

I fall in and out of consciousness. Sometimes I awake to find Magnus there, and he injects more burning poison into my arms, other times the room is empty and I drive myself half-insane trying and failing to pull myself free.

At one point, I’m awake long enough that I try to use magic, but the burning sedative makes it impossible.

I keep thinking about how my father must have died right where I’m lying now. He had more magic even than I do and was hundreds of years older, but he died anyway, and so will I.

I black out and lose track of time.

Magnus returns again and again, injects me with more poison, and then stabs knives through various parts of me. Once, he drives a blade all the way through my wrist, pinning my arm to the table.

He doesn’t seem to want to kill me, just to cause pain.

I don’t know what he’s waiting for—if anything.

He never asks me questions or tries to get any information from me, which makes the torture feel almost arbitrary.

I don’t know if he’s motivated by hatred for my family, even after all these years, or if he just enjoys torturing.

After a while, I stop caring either way.

When I’m conscious, I try to think about Odessa, because her face keeps me grounded in reality. She reminds me that there’s a reason I want to survive this, and wouldn’t be better off just closing my eyes and willing the pain to stop.

I remember her dancing at the Ashwater estate on Alix’s thirtieth birthday, hair and dress twirling, and catching my eye before glancing away.

I remember arguing with her when she wanted to fight during the battle in Thorne’s castle.

Glaring at each other, while I wrestled with this overwhelming protective urge I didn’t know how to explain, and I remember her kneeling on my bed in my dark room, looking up at me with fire in her eyes.

I remember other things, too. Or maybe I’m imagining them? In my head, we’re walking down the hallway in my palace in Hydratta. We’re sitting in the sun watching a race. She’s standing on the deck of a ship, smiling at me. We’re lying on a beach together, and she’s bending over me, crying.

A part of me knows these visions never happened, while another part is sure they’re real.

“Oh my gods!” Odessa yells in my head. “Kastian, can you hear me?”

I try to blink up at her. She’s crying, and her tears keep splashing my face.

“Kastian!” Odessa says again, sharply. “Wake up!”

More tears hit me. I blink again and stare up into her face, then frown, confused. It’s not Odessa, and she’s not crying. A strange, dark-haired woman is leaning over me, splashing water on my face.

“Fuck!” the woman curses under her breath. “Hang on, I’ll get more water.”

She leaves, and I try to call after her, but can’t make my mouth work. I must fall into unconsciousness again, but wake up again a short time later to more water splashing my face.

“Sorry,” the woman says again, “I don’t know how to do this if you can’t sit up. Can you open your mouth at all?”

I don’t know why I feel the urge to obey this strange, disembodied female voice, but I try to open my mouth. It burns, like the bones in my jaw are scraping against each other, and I groan.

“Good, that’s enough!” the woman says.

I feel a splash of water hitting my face again. Some of it gets into my mouth, and I swallow a few times, then force my eyes open, blinking rapidly. I try to focus, and a vaguely familiar set of green eyes swims in front of me. “Lyra?”

“Oh, thank gods!” Lyra says frantically. “I thought you were dead.”

Confusion overwhelms me. I haven’t thought about Lyra Von Bargen in over a century, so why is she here in my hallucination? Bring back Odessa.

“Dessa?” I croak.

“She’s in the castle,” Lyra says quickly, tipping more water into my mouth. “She’s fine, I think. Well, she’s locked up, but she’s not hurt.”

Good. That’s good.

I swallow a few more mouthfuls of water and blink again. I’m starting to realize that this isn’t a hallucination. Magnus’s daughter really is leaning over me, pouring water into my mouth. Maybe I should be concerned that she's working with her father, but I can’t find the energy.

How long have I been here?

“It’s been three days,” Lyra says, as if reading my mind.

Only three days? I would have sworn it had been an eternity.

“I don’t know what to do to help,” Lyra hisses, almost like she’s angry with me. “I can try to get a message to Odessa’s family in Vernallis, but it would take days to get there, and my father will force her to marry him before then. The wedding is supposed to be tomorrow.”

I try to force my mind to focus. Three days. Wedding tomorrow. Odessa.

It takes a long moment for that idea to sink in. When it finally does, rage floods me. I try to make my mouth move, but nothing comes out except another painful moan.

“Is there anyone closer I can contact?” Lyra asks. “Do you have friends nearby?”

My mind is sluggish, slow to connect her words to meaning, but I force myself to focus.

“Jett,” I croak.

Lyra’s eyes go wide with anxiety, and she looms over me, swaying in and out of focus. “Is that a person? Where do I find them?”

My eyes flutter closed again, and Lyra splashes a large amount of water on my face. “Focus, Kastian! Who is Jett? Where do I find him?”

“Border town,” I manage. “By the river.”

“Border town by the river,” she echoes, “…that must be the village near the Weeping Quagmire. Alright. I’ll try, just don’t die before I get back.”

I try to thank her, but the words get caught in my throat. Before I can make another sound, the vision of Lyra shifts again.

I must really be hallucinating, because I swear that Lyra morphs into a tall, bearded man right in front of me.

Lyra doesn’t come back, and the next time I wake up, I wonder if she was ever really here at all.