Page 12 of The Chains You Defy

Balling my fists, I snarled at Fig. No matter how angry he was with me—unjustifiably, I might want to add—this blow was too low. If looks could kill, he’d be a very dead fae this very instant, and honestly, he deserved a gruesome death, regardless. “Fuck you.”

“No,fuck you, Dion. You’d better get a handle on yourself. I understand your position, and you’re out of your mind because of what happened, but we’re all fucking worried too. That’s not a Dion-exclusive privilege, godsdammit. And when we’re in fucking Ivreiana, you can’t pull stunts like the ones of the last weeks. Your antics aren’t only endangering yourself and us, but also Nayana, for fuck’s sake. We can’t afford to be visible, especially not with your magic depleted or your strength diminished. None of us is keen on babysitting an entitled prince dead set on getting himself and everyone else into trouble.”

“I’m going to get my bags. Make sure the others are ready to leave this shithole in half an hour.” I simplychose to ignore Fig’s last comments before I’d explode on him. Fury was rushing through my veins, burning hot and bright with the force of a thousand suns. If he weren’t my ally and needed for the upcoming rescue mission, I’d have ended his existence for speaking to me like he had, without a question. Everyone had a breaking point, and mine had been reached ages ago.

Yes, maybe I was weakened to the stage of constant exhaustion, and the threat of a magical burnout loomed over me like a dark cloud—most likely due to the fact that the binding to my Amplifier hadn’t been able to settle properly after the rite had bound us together. Antas had babbled something about residual divine magic wreaking havoc on my powers and that the mystical signature had nowhere to go. What exactly he’d meant was inconsequential to me, but the aftereffects were getting harder to bear with each passing day.

My chest burned like fire, and the wrist bearing my ceremonial marks throbbed when I thought about the rite—which had been the moment everything had started to go downhill.

Antas had warned me—several times, if I were honest—that not telling Nayana of my heritage before binding us together forever would lead to nothing good, and on a rational level, I’d full-heartedly agreed. Still, I hadn’t anticipated such a catastrophic fallout.

I’d expected her to loathe me a little and make every day for the foreseeable future miserable, but her bolting—and actually succeeding—had never crossed my mind. Funny how the eternal pessimist that I was had been slightly optimistic for once—and then, just as if the Triad had wanted to have a laugh at me, optimism had kicked me right in the ass with full force.

Why had I thought for just one second that something good could ever happen to me, especially an occurrence as great as the tiny woman who’d wormed her way not only under my skin and into my heart but had also branded my black soul with her essence and had made me believe for one kiss I could have more? That she’d honor me with her acceptance of who I was. Thanks to her, I’d been convinced for a glorious moment that my life could change for the better. All in vain.

Growling, I shook my head and forbade my watering eyes to leak. Crying wouldn’t help, nor would falling apart. There would still be plenty of time for unraveling, should the gods be so cruel and take Nayana away from me permanently.

And should they dare so, they had better be ready to say goodbye to their worlds—I’d make sure nothing remained but the same wasteland I would become without my Nayana. Maybe I hadn’t been wrong in calling her Jama; only as it turned out, she wasn’t poison to me, but could very well emerge as a universal toxin by destroying everything through me as her proxy.

I stalked upstairs, leaving Fig behind without waiting for his confirmation—in the end, I still was his superior, no matter how much he rebelled—and entered the small bedroom I’d slept in last night. Not very well, though—my constant worry, together with the underlying smell of mold emanating from the walls and carpet, had been enough to battle my fatigue successfully.

My bags were already packed, but I pulled out a change of clothes. I had the old man’s blood all over me, and even though the red stains couldn’t be seen on the dark fabric—one of the reasons I liked black best—I’dprefer not carrying the senior’s stank with me the whole day.

After walking over to the dingy washroom, I quickly stripped down, grabbed a washcloth, and cleaned myself. My tired and weary eyes connected with my gaze in the mirror before I concentrated on the task at hand.

I frowned when some blue and purple spots—as if I’d spilled ink on my chest—didn’t come off, and I scrubbed over them, but to no avail. I’d gotten halfway used to the red lines, but these were new.

The washcloth fell to the floor as I froze with realization. No, this wasn’t possible—nothing had changed, so why now?

Fucking shit. I couldn’t deal with such complications now. And above all, I wasn’t going to unpack the purring satisfaction lingering deep inside my consciousness. Possibly, I would never be able to do so.

Only one torch burning in my vicinity was enough for me to squint my eyes together in pain. The light was too bright for someone who was kept in constant darkness.

A hissing noise spilled from my lips before I could stop myself, and one of the guards—was that the redhead from the wastelands?—pulled me up before I had a slight chance to recover. However, his grip wasn’t as hard and malicious as that of the other wardens who’d barged into my cell during the last days.

“Hurry, Nancy. The boss is waiting, and you know how valuable he believes his time is. I won’t take a lashing because you’redallying, as usual.”

“I’m being as quick as possible, Tavor. But there’s no merit if the captive breaks during transport, is there? If you think we’ll get punished for being a few moments late, imagine what the penalty would entail for damaging the prisoner before he can.”

The endeavor was most likely futile, but I stored the names of the guards inside my brain. The redhead dragging me—indeed, the one from outside Amalach—was called Nancy, and I got the impression he was used to being treated as inferior by his peers. His name was vaguely familiar, but Tavor—he was new to me.

My eyes slowly got used to the light, and despite the pain burning through my body and especially my ribs, I memorized the appearance of the guard I hadn’t encountered before today.

Tavor was a big brute, with oily blond strands falling over his face. That his hair had been in dire need of a wash already a week ago was obvious, even in the dim torchlight. His mouth was frozen in a perpetual snarl, and his stained clothes had seen much better times. Stumbling, I almost crashed into him, and I gagged out of reflex.

For a second, I mourned the loss of the scent reminding me of Dion—the one I’d woken up to—in favor of the rancid body odor both of the guards radiated; although, if asked, I’d guess Tavor was the reason for the majority of the smell.

I didn’t even try to fight their maltreatment.

Within the last days, I’d quickly learned to preserve my energy and not give in to the illusion I could overpower two grown, well-fed men. I wasn’t strong enough to escape, and even if I’d broken free, they would have caught me faster than I could blink.

On top of everything, I didn’t have to be a medical genius to comprehend that if I made one wrong move, my injured rib was likely to break, and the fracture could pierce my lungs. Maybe such a quick death would be preferable to whatever else Feroy had in store for me, but deep within the sea of hopelessness in my soul lived a tiny, stubborn spark of hope refusing to die. And as stupid as the sentiment sounded, my earlier dream had ignited the glimmer into a small flame.

The torture chamber wasn’t located too far away from my cell, barely twenty steps.

A massive door crafted from dark wood stood open, and a wave of panic washed over me. I could display a brave facade as much as I wanted, but no bluff would be enough to convince myself—or anyone—that I wasn’t terrified to the bone. The room behind the entrance was a place where nightmares were created, and the guards hauled me inside without mercy.

Sconces lined the wall, and every second of them held a flickering torch, their light unveiling the horrors this chamber contained. What had caused the countless dark discolorations staining the uneven stone floor was evident, and even if I lied to myself, the heavy smell in the air gave away that more blood had been spilled here than just from one or two victims.