Page 3 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams (Fated to the Sun and Stars #3)

He grabs my hair, yanking it back hard enough that I cry out. I see the spark of satisfaction at my pain on his face.

“I’m not frightened of anything , girl. Why would I be, when every person I meet is just another fool to be used, another worm beneath my shoe?”

He releases me with a shove, and I nearly topple over again, catching my balance just in time.

“You too will be of use to me,” he continues. “I’ve seen the prophecy. Somehow, you’ve found a way to make yourself unusually powerful. You’ll tell me how, so that power can be returned to its rightful owner.”

I force myself to scoff, even though my scalp is still stinging from where he grabbed me.

“What’s the matter? Afraid a stupid little girl is stronger than you?” I say.

He snarls and leaps forward to lay his hand across the top of my skull.

White-hot pain erupts from his touch. I scream, but the noise is lost in the explosion of agony coursing through me.

I’m being torn in two, with one side being pulled through my skin, into Caledon’s hands.

I look up into a pair of black holes, like two gaping maws waiting to swallow me up, too hungry to ever be satiated?—

Then Caledon releases me and steps back.

The pain fades, and I see the voids for what they are—his eyes, fixed on me like a starving beast. He’s flushed and flexes his hand at his side as if he’s having to hold himself back from touching me again.

He started to drain me of my magic, but then stopped himself.

“No one is stronger than me,” he says through gritted teeth, straightening up in front of the mosaic of Ethira. “No one is better. I am no mere man, wretch. I was born to be so much more. The whole world will bow to me in good time. That is my destiny.”

I understand now. Caledon doesn’t believe any of the stuff the Temple spouts about sacrifice and discipline, but he does believe in himself .

Why would he need more power when he’s already the most powerful man in the land?

Because it will never be enough. He truly thinks he’s superior to us all, and he needs the magic to show it, to prove that he’s the best .

“ Your destiny, girl, is to tell me how you got this power. How you became the subject of a prophecy that talks about untold amounts of celestial magic. You will tell me what I want to know, and then you will give me what I’m owed.”

I imagine the return of that white-hot pain, and I start to shake. After that, I’m certain death would feel like a sweet relief.

Don’t give in, Ana, stay angry.

Leon’s voice in my head is right. If I stay angry, if I focus on how much I hate this man, the panic won’t overtake me.

And I do hate him. I hate him for the sake of every child like me, murdered by his hands, just so he could hoard more power.

For the sake of the twin-blessed children, snatched from their families and mutilated so they could serve him better.

And for the sake of every other person born in this land who lives in fear because of his twisted laws.

If nothing else, before I go, I will make sure he feels the full force of that loathing.

“I’ll tell you how I got my power,” I say quietly, letting my head sag. “It’s simple really.”

He leans in closer, waiting for me to spill my secrets.

I whip my neck up and spit in his face.

Caledon reels backward, his expression a picture of revulsion. He raises his hand, and I think he’s going to grab me again, but he changes his mind. He takes a deep breath and reaches for the hem of his cloak, using it to delicately wipe his cheek.

“I should’ve known better. Animals lash out when cornered. But you’re in my house now, bitch, and you’ll be brought to heel.”

He claps his hands, and Tributin marches back into the room with a dozen of his fellow clerics.

“I had hoped you might have seen the error of your ways and would be ready to repent,” Caledon says to me, having reverted back to that soft, mild voice from before.

It sounds even creepier to me now. “But your soul is still too corrupt to accept any light. But fear not, my child, I will peel away the darkness from you…piece by piece. For as long as it takes. Anointers Friener and Pestil here are going to help you.”

He gestures to a pair of clerics who step forward.

The two women are both perfectly neat, their hair tied back in tight buns without a strand out of place.

Their hands are clasped in front of them, and I notice they share the same kind of delicate, long fingers.

Caledon snaps his fingers, the signal to start rolling something toward the room—I can hear the clatter as it approaches.

“Friener and Pestil are two of the clerics who prepare our acolytes for submission to Bastion,” Caledon explains.

A terrible, clutching dread rises in me, reaching new heights when a cleric passes through the door, bringing in a trolley of metal instruments, some of which I recognize from the sterilizing room at the acolytes’ training site.

I kick and throw my elbows out as hard as I can when the other clerics descend on me, grabbing me and dragging me toward the altar underneath the mosaic.

They throw me down onto the slab of stone, yanking my hands over my head and my feet downward so they can secure my ankles and wrists to the cold marble.

By the time they’re done, my throat is raw from screaming curses. Of course it makes no difference. I’m bound. Helpless. Completely exposed. And so much worse is coming. I turn my head as far as I can, and my eyes fall on the knives and saws on the surgical trolley.

I thought Caledon would just kill me, but my power isn’t enough for him.

He wants to extract everything of value from me before I go—not just everything I can do but everything I know.

Pestil’s long fingers hover over the gleaming metal instruments, weighing and considering, until eventually she selects something that looks like a vegetable peeler.

Her hands are perfectly steady, no hint of tremble or hesitation.

“We’ll start with the surgical approach,” Caledon says to me as Friener tugs my shirt up to expose my stomach. “And if that doesn’t work, we’ll see what some magic can draw out of you.”

Pestil lowers the thin edge of the instrument to the patch of skin below my navel.

“Don’t move now,” she says. “Or I might take too much off. ”

I look up into Ethira’s face, silently begging him for help, apologizing for all the doubts I ever had about him.

He just keeps staring down at me, distant and emotionless, as the metal slices into my skin.