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Page 57 of The Deathless One (The Gravesinger #1)

Jessamine spent a few days feeling sorry for herself, mostly because she was quite certain that she was going to die in here.

They’d forgotten to bring her food for an entire day now.

That she could handle, but the water? She’d started standing underneath that window and catching the noxious liquid that splattered in.

Not vomiting the moment it hit her lips was impressive, but it took more effort than she wanted to admit.

Eventually, she just wanted to give up. Nothing was going her way, she wasn’t ever going to get out of here, everyone she’d ever trusted had betrayed her, and in the end, did any of this matter?

She was supposed to be dead. Dying one more time was probably just fate intervening with a swift This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to happen.

But those thoughts lasted for all of a few hours before she pulled herself back together again. Because she wasn’t the kind of person who could give up that easily. And if anything would make her mother roll over in her grave, it was her daughter backing down from a fight.

She didn’t have her spell books or any ingredients, but she was still powerful in her own right. She could still do something with herself, so she started stacking crates, one on top of the other, creating a stair that wasn’t remotely safe or sturdy, but it would do.

Then she crawled up to the window and stuck her hand out into the rain. Peering outside, she could see they weren’t on a street after all, but an interior courtyard. That was good. There was still rain here, though, and she could use that to her advantage.

Muttering a common chant, she cast an old spell that she’d found in one of the books a while ago. It wasn’t much of a spell, really. Just a way to send messages between witches using natural elements, like drops of water.

The rain would take her request to Sybil. It would tell her where Jessamine was, because with this spell, she also cast aside everything she had claimed before. She was no longer a woman who didn’t believe in the gods. The gods weren’t dead.

There was still one out there.

Dropping the pad of her finger to the metal grating, she sawed her flesh over a rusted edge. “I believe in him,” she whispered at the end of the spell. “The Deathless One is the god I worship, and in his name I dedicate this pain and blood.”

It wasn’t much of a sacrifice, but it bound her to him in a whole new way.

She was no longer just a gravesinger now, she was a worshipper.

And if she was lucky, maybe that meant she was now part of his coven.

Any other god would have scoffed at the meager spike of pain and the smear of blood that was quickly washed away by the rain.

But for her? It was everything. She hoped he could feel it, too.

She didn’t have to wait long. Nearly an hour later, there was the pitter-patter of feet and a dark face that leaned down to look through the grate. “Would you look at what they trapped in the sewers again?”

“Sybil,” she breathed. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

Raindrops gathered like pearls on the twisted strands of Sybil’s hair. She had a mask over her face, and already there was magic crackling around her body, cloaking her in shadows as she crouched outside the window.

For all that the Iron Knuckles thought they knew how to contain a witch, they clearly didn’t know how to keep them out.

Sybil grinned, her eyes crinkling from behind the mask. “The Deathless One already sent a message to me, love. It took me almost a week to get here once I convinced myself to leave the manor. But your last little spell brought me right to you, which is perfect. Now, do you want to get out of here?”

“I mean, yes. But how are you going to get me out?”

“Magic.” Sybil yanked the mask down and shook her head. “How else?”

“I don’t know any spell that can turn me invisible.

They’ve got all the lights on in the hall.

I can see them underneath the door.” She eyed the space between the bars.

“And I’m too big to fit through those. If Elric was here, I suppose I could crack all my ribs to get out and then he could piece me back together, but I haven’t felt him in ages. ”

“Neither have I. I suppose you just have to trust that I remember enough spells to get you out.” Sybil stepped back a bit, her hands in front of her and more of that magic boiling in her chest. “He gave me just enough, I think. Now if you don’t mind, run as soon as it’s big enough.”

“As soon as what is big enough?”

Jessamine tripped over her own feet, trying to get away from the wall as it rumbled.

The very stones of the building, the metal and wood that held it together, groaned as magic forced the entire building to move, creating more space around the window.

Just enough for the bars to break free, and suddenly, she could definitely fit between them.

“Trust,” she whispered, before bolting up the crates.

Shouts already echoed through the halls behind her, and she knew there were only a few moments before someone blasted through the door.

She threw her body out into the rain just as Sybil released the spell. Breathing hard, the dark witch stared with wide eyes at the damage she’d done while the building creaked around them. They both stared, watching the entire thing sway before it seemed to settle once more.

“Did you almost take down the whole building?” Jessamine asked.

“I think so.”

“How did you do that?”

Sybil looked down at her hands and then back to Jessamine. “I have no idea.”

Blinking, Jessamine slowly nodded. “Right, we’ll answer that question once we’re out of here.”

“What about the Deathless One?”

“We find him first.” She couldn’t leave him here.

Not when she knew that Callum had some other tricks up his sleeve and that he had the page to the grimoire.

Looking between the buildings, she tried to remember where Callum had come out from.

“I don’t know where they’re keeping him, but I can find him. ”

“I’m the one with the magic right now.”

Jessamine would trust Sybil with her life.

So, with a sharp nod, they both bolted into the shadows.

But Jessamine was slower. Weaker. A day without food and water had her breathing harder than she wanted, and sewed a stitch in her side that just wouldn’t let up.

As they snuck into one of the buildings, her heart stuttered with a horrible rhythm that wasn’t really a beat at all.

“Sybil,” she wheezed, holding on to a banister and praying no one would come down the stairs. “I can’t keep going like this.”

“Jessamine, we have to!”

“We don’t even know if he’s here. There are five buildings to look through. Just leave me here. Give me the shadows, and I will keep looking for him. But the two of us here are bound to attract—”

Arms wrapped around her waist.

She immediately twisted, trying to kick whoever had grabbed her. But then she looked up the stairwell to see that Sybil had two men around her, too. One had her around the waist, the other was gripping her head and trying to shove something into her mouth. Fabric? A rag?

“Keep them quiet!” Callum’s voice thundered from a story above their heads. “Cut out the witch’s tongue if you must, but do not let her speak.”

Jessamine froze, limp in the man’s arms as the others gagged Sybil. She didn’t want to make any noise, but she also refused to let them hurt Sybil. If she had to start screaming just to get their attention on her, she would.

Thankfully, Sybil made no noise. She just glared at them with so much hatred, and a tinge of fear that Jessamine knew deep in the very bones of her soul.

She and Sybil were alone. These men could do anything they wanted, and Jessamine was helpless to stop them.

She allowed herself to be dragged through the hallways, struggling only when they entered a large room.

There was an altar at the end of it, covered in a white sheet with bowls set on the floor all around it.

A hundred candles had been lit, all of them flickering with their movement as the man who held her dragged her closer and closer.

It would almost be beautiful if it didn’t reek of death.

Finally, she couldn’t stand it. “What are you doing, Callum?”

“I thought that was very clear. I am doing what I have to do to make sure this kingdom doesn’t fall into complete ruin.” He gestured toward the men wrangling Sybil. “Tie her up and get her out of the way, would you? We could use her magic for this, I suppose. So give me clear access to her chest.”

Jessamine winced as they ripped Sybil’s shirt down the center. Though it bared the jagged crack through her body where her magic was kept, it also bared a breast to their hungry eyes. “This isn’t you, Callum. You already sold the kingdom to another, and now you think you can save it?”

“I promised that he could make this his dumping ground,” Callum corrected, his eyes not leaving Sybil until she was so tied up that he didn’t have to worry about her.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t then save the kingdom from the madness.

I’m going to awaken your god, bind him to me, and then we will be the savior this kingdom has been searching for. ”

All the puzzle pieces fell into place.

He was sick himself, but then he would weaponize the cure. He’d said he would charge a high price, but she hadn’t realized he was going to use Elric to do it.

“You can’t bring him here,” she whispered, not even fighting as the man dragged her toward the altar. “You need me to do that, and I won’t do it. No matter how much you torture me, I will not resurrect him for you. I won’t let you bind him.”

“I don’t need you to resurrect him, and I don’t need your help binding him either,” he replied with a laugh. “The spell calls for a clean sacrifice, which I assume means body and soul. Dunk the princess in the tub over there, would you?”