Page 81 of The Sins of Silas (The Otacian Chronicles #2)

Chapter Eighty-One

LENA - THIRTY DAYS LATER

I ’d grown used to being enveloped by darkness, nothing but the occasional sound of dripping water keeping me company as I sat alone in the corner of my cell. Sometimes, like today, I would hear creaking and groaning from up above, which usually meant someone would be coming down to interrogate me.

But this time was different. This time, they hauled me out of my cell for the first time in a month, lugging my broken frame up several concrete steps. I felt like crying when the cool nighttime air kissed my skin.

I was surprised I was still breathing, but as they tied my weak and starved body to a rack in some outdoor courtyard, I knew I would surely die. I knew that as the machine pulled and stretched my limbs to unnatural lengths, my arms and legs would be ripped free of my body .

I was still, my eyes unfocused as they restrained my limp body on the device.

I had held on this long, and I had not broken, despite the sadistic torture they had subjected me to. But still, I had failed. I would not escape here. I couldn’t save anyone and would not get justice for those I loved.

I hadn’t seen my friends the entire time. I didn’t know what horrors they had also endured. I begged to know if they were still alive, but no one listened to my pleas. It was just the same question over and over and over.

“Where is the Weapon?”

I had choked on a sob as they secured the rope around each wrist and ankle. I had tried with all my might the past thirty days, hoping to see the stranger with the white glow. But he never appeared. Neither did Asael.

Once I was secured to the torture device, the soldiers left the courtyard, leaving me to lay in dread until they returned to harm me. To end me.

All I wore was a thin tube top and underwear, and as I peered down at my body, a muffled cry left me.

My hip bones and ribs were entirely visible beneath my skin. My legs were frail, my flesh all shades of purple, yellow, and brown from the beatings. Scars were littered everywhere.

I am so tired…I don’t want to fight anymore.

During the first couple of weeks here, I wasn’t offered anything but water. I had been given one meal since.

My heavy gaze slowly slid upward, taking in the sight of the thousands of stars twinkling in the sky .

My face began to crumple, and as I accepted that my final moments were upon me, as I stared at the countless pinpricks of light, my mother's words filled my head.

“Count them, Lena. Count the stars.”

I bit down my sob, my eyes squeezing tight, a rush of tears spilling down my cheeks.

I opened them.

One.

Two.

Three.

“It's time to sleep, Lena,” my mother's voice whispered, and I imagined her holding me close. “Count the stars.”

Four.

Five.

Six.

“Count the stars.”

My eyelids had already begun to flutter shut by the time I was in the double digits. As uncomfortable as this position was, at least I was lying on my back. I could only hope that my death would be swift.

A few more moments of counting passed, and my eyes fell shut. I felt myself drifting off, but the light I saw through my eyelids woke me. I slowly opened them, squinting at the source.

The silhouette of a man.

This time, only the magic surrounding him was glowing. Now, I could see his face fully, see his green eyes and handsome features.

Now, I could see my father's face.

“Waylon?” I breathed.

The corner of his lip pulled up. “Not quite, my dear.”

I frowned, studying his face more closely. Without a doubt, he had my father’s face, but instead of appearing to be in his forties, he seemed to be in his twenties. His skin showed no signs of aging, and he spoke with an elegant accent I hadn’t heard before.

“I…I don’t understand.” I shook my head. “You look just like my father.”

He gave me a lopsided grin. “There is a reason for that, which you shall understand soon.” He cocked his head to the side, his touch featherlight against my cheek. “Who am I, Lena? Have you figured it out yet?”

I studied his form, studied the white magic more closely now that I wasn’t actively being tortured. It wasn’t just white magic…but white flame .

And there was only one being said to have such a power.

“Azrae,” I breathed.

The God of Vengeance smiled at me. “The Weapon, Lena. Where is it?”

No. Not him, too.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said gently. “But you need to figure it out if you have any hope of surviving this. Only the Weapon can break you free from here. Only it can stop Ulric.”

Silas’s words played in my head.

“The Weapon is said to be that of a magic no one has ever seen. Magic to stop all magic…or stop all of humanity. Whoever finds it—hones it—will dictate the fate of the entire world.”

“Why can’t you just tell me?”

“The Gods cannot interfere. Not with this.”

I desperately tried to piece it together.

“You…you are the God of Vengeance. The God of Justice…” I blinked. “Your power, your magic, that is the magic to stop all magic. The white flame in Asael’s painting.”

Silas's words filtered through.

“He told us the weapon was in Ames, but if your seer had seen it coming, perhaps he moved it.”

“In Ames…” I whispered.

Igon's words from the Chamber of Time came to me next.

“I must teach her everything I know. She needs to be able to piece it together when the time comes. She must be kept safe.”

I blinked, Kayin’s words rushing to me.

“She is a Mage. A powerful one. Or, I should say she will be. Her power…it is unlike anything anyone has ever seen.”

“You look…you look like my father.” My eyes raised to him. Yes, he looked exactly like Waylon.

Or…Waylon looked exactly like him.

I looked like him.

And the final words that came to me, Igon’s words, are what finally made me understand.

“You are more special than you know.”

“It’s me,” I breathed. “ I am the weapon.”

Azrae’s eyes sparkled with pride. “And how is that possible, dear?”

It was all starting to make sense now. There was a reason Waylon looked like Azrae. Waylon—who was always described as too handsome to be just a fisherman.

“You changed his appearance to match yours…”

“Why?” Azrae pressed.

Waylon’s appearance was altered… because…

“Because I was not sired by Waylon,” I breathed. “I was sired by you .”

The God of Vengeance’s smile grew. “You acquired your power at a young age, far younger than normal. You have grasped magic with ease compared to those around you.” He stepped forward, staring down at me as I lay on the rack. “You sense darkness. You feel it even when your friends do not.” He leaned down, brushing his hand along my face. “Who are you, Lena?”

The gated door to the courtyard creaked open, but my eyes remained on Azrae despite the bodies that began filtering in.

PURIFICATION WILL ENSURE BALANCE, JUST AS HER FATHER HAS.

“I am a God,” I whispered. “I am your daughter. The Goddess of Purification.”

“That is right, my dear.” The God of Vengeance's smile grew proud. “And you shall bow to no one. ”