Page 33 of The Sins of Silas (The Otacian Chronicles #2)

Chapter Thirty-Three

LENA

“ L ike I said before,” Dani said the subsequent daybreak, “I don't trust these bastards. Not one bit.” Her eyes flicked to Vi. “We should spy. Turn into flies and follow in case anything goes awry.”

“Turn into a fly?” Viola asked anxiously, crossing her arms. “I've never turned into something so small before. I don't know if I can muster that much energy.”

She pulled her lips to the side. “Okay, fine. How about a bird?”

Viola nodded slowly. “A bird I can do.”

The Warlock's gaze drifted over us all. “I'll be able to sneak in with you guys. Vi can watch from the outside. If they seem chill, great. Otherwise, I have a way of getting you out if things go bad.”

“What, just tearing off heads?” Roland questioned. “Faltrun's army is triple that of Forsmont, and this time, we don't have your kind here to help us.” His worried gaze went to Silas. “What do we do if they wish to turn you in? Keep us prisoners? Kill us?”

Silas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Dani spoke instead. “I'll be bringing in my magical inventory. If I need to, I can cast an invisibility spell. I could slit necks without being seen.” She roughly patted her bag. “I will have a lot in my arsenal.”

“How can a fly carry a bag so large?” Hendry asked after chugging from his waterskin. It's clear that even he, the calm and collected one, was anxious about this endeavor.

“The best way I can explain it without confusing you is this: whenI shift, it's almost as if my other forms are in a closet. I can dress them up as I wish, and when I switch, they keep the same clothes on.”

“Where do you go?” Elowen asked. Her gaze shifted to Viola. “Is it like that for you, Vi?”

Viola smiled at our friend. “That's a good way of putting it. I've never tried the body of another, so I never tried dressing them up.”

Dani threw her hair up in her high pony as she spoke. “If you wish to appear as someone else, not just a different version of who you are, you can wear exactly what the person you're trying to imitate is wearing. It's not the same for us Warlocks.”

Viola cocked a brow. “Because you can only shift…not innately cast illusions.”

“Bingo, babe. Again, this is a perfect example of how Mages are more powerful. You can combine your shifting gift with your illusion magic.” Dani grinned, then motioned at herself. “Come on, now. Try to turn into me.”

“What?” Vi took a step back, her purple braids bouncing against her back. “I've never— ”

“You can do it,” Dani said confidently. “And think, if you can shift yourself into one of the guards, that could prove incredibly useful. Plus, it doesn't take as much energy as being a large or teeny creature. C'mon.”

Vi took a steadying breath, focusing her vision on the Warlock. Our entire group studied her, Silas especially, as if waiting to see if this power was really true.

After examining Dani for a few moments, Viola exhaled, squeezing her eyes shut before her body morphed into another. In but a blink of an eye, there were two Dani's standing before us.

“I'll be damned,” Merrick muttered, his thumb dragging against his lip ring.

“Do me next,” Roland pleaded, a wide grin on his handsome face.

Viola turned to him, chuckling. Even her laugh was Dani's. She focused on Roland and then did the same, tuning into the sexy soldier beside me.

“That is crazy,” Edmund breathed, eyes darting between her and Roland.

Viola's hazel eyes—Roland's eyes—drifted to Silas, focusing only for a moment before she turned into him next.

His mouth fell open at the sight, staring directly at his doppelganger. “Say something,” he instructed in awe.

“Something,” Viola spoke, and I got chills at the sound of Silas's voice coming from her lips.

“Bloody amazing,” Dani admired. “Don't wear yourself out too much.”

“Why didn't you teach her of this before?” Silas questioned further. “This could change everything. ”

Dani scratched the back of her head. “Honestly? I assumed she'd know she could do that already.” She posed with a grace face. “Aren't you guys grateful you got me?”

I smiled. To my surprise, Silas laughed through his nose. “I never thought the day would come that I'd be grateful for a Warlock. Or a Mage, for that matter.” He sucked in his lips, then swallowed. “Thank you—all of you. Thank you for joining me in doing this.”

Seeing a sliver of vulnerability from the Prince made my face fall. Seeing his humility…his charm. That was Quill who spoke just now.

Despite the tattoos and scars, despite the anger and resentment, that sweet prince who I had seen addressing his kingdom all those years ago was still in there.

My friends also seemed astonished by his comment. Era smiled to herself from her spot in front of him on their horse.

Perhaps he showed her that side of him…perhaps she was the only one who knew Quill now.

My heart lurched in my chest, and I glanced down, rubbing my hands together to attempt to warm them. My ice was pleading to be released.

Viola goggled at him, then shifted back into herself. “Thank you, Prince, for giving our people a chance. We are grateful for you, too.” Her smile grew. “I never thought that day would EVER come.”

Another laugh, and Silas smiled softly at her. When his gaze drifted to me, his happy expression faded away.

I gave him my best attempt at a smile, but the sadness overwhelmed me…seeing his arms around Era's waist.

“Alright, gang,” Edmund chirped, though his hands shook slightly. “Let's do this.”

As we strode up to Faltrun, arriving that afternoon, my nerves increased. The odds of having such a pleasant experience as we did in Forsmont were highly unlikely.

“Give us all the info, boss man,” Roland had said to Silas a couple of hours prior.

So, he did. The leader of Faltrun was a man named Dimitri Cortev, son of Elvero Cortev, their previous King. While the Cortevs have kept their independence, Silas insisted their leadership was nothing like Forsmont's.

“Even when I met Leroy in the past, I knew he was a just leader. I had respect for him.” Silas's face hardened. “But Dimitri…something has always rubbed me the wrong way about him.”

“He's a drunk, we know that much,” Hendry commented, mismatched eyes constricting in disgust. “Perhaps we can use his inebriation to our advantage.”

“Or he'll be less likely to listen to reason,” Merrick interjected. “I imagine this could go either way.”

“Dimitri craves power. He just doesn't have the means to achieve it like my father does.”

“Partnering with a mini-Ulric…seems like a great idea,” I mumbled.

Silas slid his gaze to mine. “Better with us than with each other, wouldn't you agree?”

I swallowed, the heat of his gaze too much for me. I nodded and focused back on the road .

Now, we were striding up the gates in Faltrun. Silas greeted them just as he had in Forsmont, the guards here, in their colors of gold and green, studying us warily. We were granted entry, being closely watched and followed as we were led to the castle.

As I focused on the people who roamed the streets of this immense kingdom, I couldn't help but notice how different the energy was here. Like Otacia, this place was split by class. The beggars on the side of the road held up tin cups, pleading for some spare bronze. Drunks were sleeping on the roads, and bards were performing on various corners. I attempted to listen to their poetic words, but my nerves were so high-strung that I could only focus on the clacking of our horse's hoofs as they walked us forward on the broken roads.

Dani was flying around us—I could hear the incessant buzzing. She fit right in here; the filth from the lower class had multiple flies surrounding this area.

How could the King here allow his people to live this way? In Otacia, there was poverty, yes. There were areas worse off in the Outer Ring. But never was it like this .

The horrid areas didn't last forever, fortunately. As we found ourselves closer and closer to the enormous brick castle, beggars turned to shoppers. Filth turned to well-kept roads. Weary faces turned to large smiles, though those smiles lacked the genuine spark that those in Forsmont wore.

I didn't like it here.

My eyes found a sign crafted out of driftwood, a business called The Artist's Guild .

The words of Ryia La’Rune came to me, visions of the painting in Castle La'Rune seizing my mind.

Death by a lover's fire .

I frowned.

Only through fire can the phoenix be reborn from the ashes.

I thought surely that was a coincidence until I remembered the name of the piece.

Rebirth.

I sucked in a breath, not wanting to appear crazy and have another outburst like before.

Rebirth…could that painting have somehow symbolized the awakening of the God of Rebirth? Ryia had mentioned it was a painting commissioned here. What was the artist's name? Did the artist know something? Or was it simply just a painting inspired by ancient myths?

And why, once again, was there a hint residing in Otacia?

I exhausted an exhale as I dismounted Donut. When I glanced at Merrick, who looked at me in question, I shook my head. Theories could wait until later. Surviving this encounter was all I should focus on.

My eyes flicked up to the blackbird perched atop the stone gargoyle looming above. Viola.

We walked up the steps to the front entrance of the castle, Viola watching us closely just as the fly buzzing around us zoomed inside.

Elowen was stiff as she walked beside me. I brushed her arm in comfort, and she gave me a worried smile. Edmund's gloved hand was around her hip, and his boots were effectively hiding his enchanted limb. Of course, all of us Mages were glamoured.

The inside of the castle matched its outside: bare, grey brick, cream floors, and warm sconces. The walls of the hallway we were led down were lined with Faltrun's flag, art pieces that probably cost thousands of gold pieces, and knight armor that stood menacingly. Less of a modern feel like Otacia's castle.

Wooden doors before us creaked as the guards guiding us flung them open, leading us into a banquet hall.

My jaw dropped at the sight of the long table—big enough to seat maybe thirty people. On it was a spread of enough food to feed an army: soups, breads, and pies. Vegetables, pastries, and every meat imaginable. There was a pig's head, for fuck's sake.

At the back of the room was an elevated throne, a man sitting sloppily in it. We walked past the table as we approached him, and my mouth watered. No one else was in this room except for two guards on either side of the King.

Who is this feast for?

“The Prince of Otacia,” Dimitri drawled as we approached, rotating the silver goblet in his hand as he eyed Silas. “What is your excuse for blessing us with your presence?”

His long, frizzy hair was jet-black. His ice-blue eyes popped against his tanned skin, and they were half-lidded, suggesting that the man had consumed a bit too much alcohol or perhaps a substance of some kind.

He didn’t appear old, perhaps in his late thirties, but his skin showed signs of aging, the bags under his eyes more prominent than expected for a man his age.

At Silas's pause, Dimitri's eerie grin grew, and he gestured to the banquet table. “Come—sit. You must be famished from your travels. We were just setting up a feast to celebrate our recent triumph.”

Silas's brows lowered. “Oh? And what is that?”

Dimitri stood, swaying slightly. “All good things to those who wait,” he insisted, raising a finger. He slowly paced to the head of the table, the guards escorting him and watching closely in case they needed to grasp his arms to prevent him from collapsing.

The guard to his right hauled out his chair, but I noticed that his eyes remained on me. He was handsome, so much so that it seemed bizarre seeing him stand behind this King. He was older, probably in his forties, but his skin was smooth, nothing but the crinkles of his eyes giving away his age.

Dimitri Cortev plopped himself down, chugging the remainder of his drink as we all took a seat.

“I come to seek an alliance with Faltrun," Silas said in the drawn-out silence from his spot at the table, eyes hardened on the drunken King. None of us dared to touch any food.

Dimitri's vile smile grew slowly until he was in a full drunken laugh. “You and what army?” His eyes widened, his bright blue eyes piercing as he continued in a mocking tone. “You're a witch sympathizer now, is that it?” His gaze danced over us all. “Do you travel with any now?”

Silas's frown deepened. “No,” he lied.

The guard to his right would not stop staring at me, his green eyes almost wide. Almost. He was doing his best to school his expression, but I could see through it.

Dimitri smirked, waving his goblet in the air. “More,” he ordered to the brown-haired man intent on gazing at me. “Send Polly in, will you? She's my favorite.”

The man listened, finally breaking our stare and hurrying out a door. He was gone only momentarily before a woman with a wine bottle in hand followed him back into the room.

The woman with auburn hair wandered in, her cheeks hollow, her eyes distant. But the frightening thing wasn't just the pointed cartilage of hers that was visible, but the wicked metal binding her wrists.

Cuffs. Otacian cuffs.

Elowen staggered back in her chair, the legs screeching, and it was enough to have Dimitri calling Silas's bluff. “No witches, eh?”

Silas's eyes grew. “You've partnered with Otacia already.”

That sinister smirk grew. “Over a year ago, princeling. Your father supplied us with these cuffs just over a year ago. An effort to sway us. It sure as shit worked.” As Polly filled his glass, he brushed her arms with his mouth. She bit down hard on her lip, shaking slightly. “With those nasty Undead running around, it only made sense to partner with the King,” he murmured, eyes trailing over Polly's body.

I was going to be sick. How was Silas not aware of this?

“You saw an Undead over a year ago?” Silas asked quietly. According to him, it had been just over half a year that they had been dealing with the necromancer's creations.

Dimitri gave a fake look of sympathy. “Aww. Did daddy dearest never tell you that? Good thing, considering what a traitor you've become.”

My eyes fluttered around the room, desperately searching for Dani.

“Now, will you surrender? Or shall we have a little blood bath?” His hungry eyes trailed down the Mage prisoner. “Poor Polly here will be forced to clean up all the blood. I do enjoy seeing her bent over, though.”

Her eyes filled with tears, but her expression remained blank.

I'm going to kill him. I'm going to fucking kill him.

Soldiers bearing the cuffs advanced, and I had seconds to think. We were fucked if we lost our magic. Then again, Dani and Vi were in hiding, the Warlock buzzing around this room with the Faltrunians none the wiser.

We could escape and have the upper hand. If Vi shifted into a guard, perhaps their thumbprint could free us.

I could slit Dimitri's throat…burn him alive in his sleep. He'd never see it coming.

Reeling back my homicidal thoughts, I said, “There's no point fighting.” I looked at all my friends. “We've been bested.”

Silas slowly turned to me, and a silent conversation was passed between us.

“You sure you know what you're doing?”

I have a plan. Trust me.

He swallowed, then nodded slightly.

“Wow, that's it?” Dimitri snorted. “When did the Prince of Otacia become such a pussy?”

Silas's lip curled, but he kept his eyes on mine.

Trust me.

The brown-haired guard just watched me, and his eyes flared as the cuffs secured my wrists and my true appearance was revealed. Merrick and El were next. The only thing I could be grateful for was the fact they remained detached.

Dimitri clicked his tongue. his eyes roaming over us all as our glamours faded. He licked his lips, grasping Polly's ass, her lip trembling. His eyes met mine. “I may have use for you,” he said to me, his lip curving.

My heart sped up, sweat beading my hairline.

No. I will not be violated again.

Never again.

“Over my dead fucking body,” I spat .

Silas's gaze burned into mine, our eyes never leaving one another. His eyes spoke to me.

“I will not let anything happen to you.”

The Otacians were not put in any confines. Their weapons were simply stripped from them, as were ours.

“So, what's your plan?” Silas gritted out, eyes finally darting to Dimitri as he was tugged out of his chair by a guard. “You hand us over to my father?”

Dimitri chuckled, the sound grating against my bones. He laughed so hard he began hacking up a lung.

After he composed himself, his grin grew. “Oh, you have no idea what's to come, princeling.”

We were dragged out of our seats, roughly shoved forward. I had no idea where we were being led, but as I heard a buzzing in my ear, my nerves calmed. Just a bit.

The green-eyed guard just watched me. Gods…did he wish to use me as Dimitri suggested? How fucked up were these people?

We walked for a while through various stone hallways. I tried to memorize them all…tried to remember how I could find my way back up here when the time came.

The last door we were brought to was metal, and it was unlocked with a key. We descended the steps, my heart sinking at the sight.

Hundreds of my kind were kept in the enormous cell beneath the fortress, with iron bars and the same familiar cuffs on all their wrists. Gaunt-looking faces studied us with little emotion. Men, women, children—all frail and broken.

All with shaved heads .

And the smell…by the looks of those trapped here, baths were a rare luxury. And they must see to their needs somewhere close by.

Faltrun wasn't turning over Mages to Otacia like they were supposed to.

Faltrun was enslaving them.

We were shoved in, and as my eyes skated over these people—my people—I whirled, grasping the iron bars.

“You fucking bastards!” I shouted as the barred door was locked. “You will pay for this!”

The asshole with the key just disregarded me and began his assent up the stone stairway, the rest of the guards following, leaving only one who just watched at the far end of the room.

My grip on the iron bars tightened, and I fought the urge to shed tears.

We were fucked. So, so fucked.

Then again, if Dani or Vi could manage to free us, all of us, we'd have a fucking army on our hands. A weak, starved army, but an army none the less.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by a voice, a shaky voice.

A voice I hadn't heard in so long.

“Lena?”

As I turned, my knees buckled at the sight of short, white hair and broken, brown eyes.

At the sight of Torrin Brighthell.

Enslaved in this cell.