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A va’s throat burned as she screamed and thrashed against the two guards carrying her to the other side of the tent. She tried to kick and flail as they laid her on a large wooden table with metal cuffs at the head and feet.

Whatever they were about to do, she was determined to fight against them.

To make it as difficult as possible. Panic fueled her as she turned her head and bit one of them on the arm, tasting iron as her teeth sank into his flesh.

The soldier yelped in pain and her head spun as he punched her in the jaw.

Now subdued, they secured her wrists and ankles to the metal cuffs and left the tent.

Nausea gripped her as she took in a smaller table next to her, displaying jagged knives, rusty saws, forceps and other tools whose purposes she could only imagine.

The instruments reflected the orange firelight as if vibrating with the thrill of promised pain and suffering.

The horrors of Deidamia’s war camp personified. Right there before her.

Her hands were clammy, and her throat tightened as she realized the purpose of the set up. Heart racing, she frantically looked around as if help would materialize out of thin air, eyes landing on Remy. He placed his hand over his heart and gave her a nod as if signaling he was there for her.

“What are they going to do?”

“They will try to unlock your magic. Yes. Yes. That’s what I think.”

“I don’t have magic. I told you.”

Remy shook his head. “Your blood. Magic. The daemons. They need more. More portals. For more conquering. They will try to make you have your great tribulation.”

“Great tribulation?”

“Fae are born with lesser magic. But the great tribulation… that happens to the powerful ones. Those destined for more. When they go through something big. Something bad. It stresses their body, and the big magic comes out,” Remy whispered.

“But—” She took a deep breath. “You’re saying they’re going to torture me into having a traumatic experience, so my magic comes out?”

“Yes, Ava. I’m sorry. Sorry sorry sorry.” He shook his head, tears welling in his large eyes.

As Remy finished speaking, Andras entered the tent followed by Deidamia and a savage looking soldier she had not seen before.

He evaluated Ava with a look of excitement and cruelty gleaming in his eyes.

As if he was looking forward to her torment.

His dark greasy hair was pulled back in a ponytail at the base of his skull and his mouth was full of yellowed broken teeth.

Deidamia stopped at the head of the table and looked down at Ava, gesturing to the newcomer.

“This is Vazgeth. Most of the other soldiers call him The Scourge as he has the stomach for cruelty and enjoys it more than most.” She trailed her nails gently down Ava’s cheek, delight flickering in her icy eyes as Ava squirmed.

The pounding of her heartbeat drowned out the other sounds of camp, her hands shaking and palms sweating.

Andras stood at the foot of the table inspecting his nails as Deidamia stepped back, allowing The Scourge access to his table of instruments, then walked around to the other side of Ava, stroking her hair.

“Now Ava, dear. This is going to hurt,” she explained. “We promise not to kill you. You’d be useless to us dead.”

Ava’s lower lip shook as her eyes blurred with tears. “Please let me go home,” she said. “I promise I won’t tell anyone about you. You can stay here, please!”

But Deidamia didn’t even acknowledge her words. “You may begin,” she said as she nodded at Vazgeth and continued to stroke Ava’s hair.

The Scourge picked up a glowing red hot poker that had been sitting among the coals of one of the braziers. Ava shook uncontrollably as he crept closer and swung the poker back and forth, purposely taking his time. His lazy steps became a hollow sound in her ears as nausea rose in her throat.

The soldier stopped, a gleam in his eye as he stood over her, while Deidamia watched eagerly.

Andras observed from her feet, still looking completely unbothered, arms crossed and tapping his foot almost impatiently.

Deidamia lifted Ava’s shirt, exposing more of her torso, and before she had a chance to prepare herself, there was hot searing pain below her rib cage.

She arched upward, screaming in a way she didn’t know was possible, as the hot iron pressed on her skin. He removed it after a few seconds and she gasped, sobbing. The agony of her flesh ripping coursed through her as it stuck to the scorching metal.

Before she had a chance to recover from the first, Vazgeth pressed the poker onto her torso a second time, then a third. She screamed again through her clenched teeth as he moved to her stomach. The burns blended together as he continued his abuse, painting her skin in anguish .

She couldn’t do this, wasn’t strong enough.

There was no way she could withstand this torture.

How would she get out of here? She was wrong wanting to come here. Eorhan was terrifying and though she wanted to learn about her heritage, this wasn’t worth it.

If only she could go home.

You are home, Luna said.

“Where are you?”

I’m still looking for help. The animals don’t know me. I have to find one who will trust me. Just hang on.

“Hurry.”

Vazgeth set the poker down amongst his tools and reached for a set of rusty forceps. Already delirious from the burns, Ava didn’t think she could take any more but he grabbed her pointer finger and held it still as he used the forceps to grasp her fingernail and yanked it out.

She almost passed out. The pain was so intense she didn’t know where she was, as if someone had impaled her finger and the anguish snaked all the way up her arm.

This was so much worse than the burns. She whimpered and cried, delirious and writhing against the restraints.

If the injuries didn’t kill her, the pain surely would.

She tried to be strong, tried to push through but she couldn’t focus.

As her torturer prepared to pull out the next nail, she heard a small “psst” from Remy’s cage. Turning her head, she met his eyes and he tilted his head slightly as if saying “I’m here. I got you. Watch me. Everything is going to be okay.”

So, she did. She maintained eye contact with him through her tears, vision swimming, as The Scourge yanked out another nail and this time she passed out.

Ava awoke hours later, lying on the ground in her usual spot though her arms were no longer above her head, a longer chain connecting to the floor instead, allowing for slightly more movement.

She was alone in the tent with Remy, no sign of her abusers. Someone had removed her clothing and replaced it with a tan sleeveless shift. There were no undergarments underneath and the wool scratched her body. Her bare feet were dirty and her hair unbound, tangled and flowing down her back.

She pushed herself up and inspected her hand first, noting the two fingers the nails had been removed from were bandaged and sore, though not as sore as she would have expected.

She lifted her tunic and looked down at her torso to find bandages where she was burned. She touched them lightly and winced.

“They stopped after you passed out,” Remy said, startling Ava. “The healers took care of you.”

“Oh,” she said, voice hoarse from her screaming. “Where are my clothes?”

“The healer asked to change you. To heal you better. Oh Ava,” he said, voice rising. “That was bad. Bad bad bad.”

She shuddered as her eyes caught on the table where she had been strapped. “Yes. It was. How long have I been out?”

“Two days,” he said.

Two days? The healers must have given her a tonic.

That explained why she felt so groggy. Remy gestured to a plate on the ground before her holding a piece of stale bread and a cup of water, she immediately consumed both, gulping earnestly to quench her unending thirst. The bucket had also been left and since she had no remaining dignity, she used it and lay back down on the dirt.

“Ava?” Remy said.

Whispering back with the last of her energy, she replied, “I don’t want to talk right now, Remy.” Then allowed herself to be swallowed by sleep.

Her new routine of torture went on for weeks. Burns, cuts with daggers, broken fingers and toes. A couple of times they even waterboarded her, like something out of a movie. It was worse than she ever could have imagined.

Sometimes she would last an hour or more, attempting to fight through the pain, swallowing her screams until they burst from her lips with no remorse, using Remy to ground her. Other times she would pass out and succumb to the torture within minutes.

But her magic never came. No changes happened that she could see or feel. This so-called great tribulation a mere myth to her.

Today’s particularly gruesome torture session had nearly incapacitated her and had her begging for death.

The Scourge burned her body several times, including the bottoms of her feet, and sliced her belly with jagged knives.

Then she was strung between two poles and whipped, Deidamia taking over at one point, releasing her frustration that nothing seemed to be working to induce even a flicker of power.

This time Ava didn’t pass out due to a tonic Deidamia forced her to consume, keeping her conscious for the whole session in hopes this would be the difference. That her magic would finally appear.

Ava didn’t even have Remy to ground her this time, as they had brought her to a separate tent. Away from her only lifeline in this world.

But the torture hadn’t worked and in anger the group left, leaving Ava hanging, blood dripping down her ravaged back. It was hopeless. Her plan of escape a figment of the past. She would die here. Die in this filthy tent surrounded by daemons and evil. There was no possible way she could get free.