“You think I can’t handle my own mother?” The Nightingale delivers a swift kick to my gut, and I curl over. With no air to scream, all I can do is heave, trying desperately to force breath into my useless lungs. “What would you know, anyway? You don’t even have a mother.”
She backs away, snarling, and flies a fist into the wall before pacing the room. The other blurry shapes—the Turquoise Knight and the two guards—keep their gazes locked on me.
Slowly, I push myself up to all fours. My body screams in protest, blood dripping down in a steady stream. If I don’t bind this soon, I’m going to faint.
“There’s no way out for you. Why do you bother getting up?” she chides.
“Because I have something to fight for. I have someone to fight for.”
Through the pulses of pain, I think of them. Kel, Ezryn, Dayton, and Farron. I think of Castletree and my friends. My father. Even the Prince of Thorns. Then the Enchanted Vale, a place I finally belong. And that is worth fighting for.
Tears stream down my face. Worth dying for.
The Nightingale kneels before me, snatching my jaw and bringing the dagger to my throat. “Why am I toying with you? A cat with a mouse. You’re not worth it.” She studies me like someone might study their reflection in a mirror. Her hands shake.
“W-what are you fighting for?” I whisper. “Tell me that, at least. Will my death help you with it?”
Her blue eyes widen. That color … Something painful clenches in my chest.
“Your death will quell the nightmares,” she says softly. “Your death will finally bring me peace.”
The cool metal presses harder against my throat, but I don’t close my eyes. I keep them locked on her. “I hope it brings you that, at least.”
Tears brim in her eyes and her hand shakes on the knife. “He’s not right. I can do this—”
She drops the dagger. And then we’re staring at each other.
A clatter sounds to the side of the room.
The Nightingale stands swiftly, dropping me to the floor. The elevator doors open, revealing a member of the Queen’s Army. They’re covered in blood. She exchanges hushed whispers with him, then turns.
“You, with me.” She gestures for the Turquoise Knight to follow her, then turns to the two guards. “Don’t let her escape. And don’t touch her until I return.”
Then she enters the elevator and descends.
I clamber back, grateful for this brief respite. Quickly, I tear the ends of my dress and tie them in a knot around my waist, staunching the blood flow.
My mind feels hazy with terror and from that magic suppression potion. I turn to her makeshift station. She wouldn’t have an antidote here, would she? And if she did, how would I know which one it is? I’d just as likely poison myself as find the cure. Water helped me before with the other flowers, but I don’t see any in this room. Besides, water cleared the pollen from my nose, but the Nightingale forced me to ingest her poison.
I can’t get out through the door, not with the host of soldiers outside. The window? Throw myself out? Could I transform into a bird like Eldy? But if I can’t even reach my elemental magic, I doubt I could reach that unknown power.
Last, my gaze shifts to the bow in the center of the room. Everyone who touches it burns up instantly, not the slow rot like the other weapons. That’s what Kairyn had told me. What was the name of this again?
The Bow of Rad—
Large hands grab me by my bloody arm and yank. One of the guards starts dragging me across the floor.
“The Nightingale said not to touch her,” his counterpart voices.
The one who grabbed me slams me down on a slab of stone that used to display one of the weapons. My ears ring with the force. His hands press so firmly on to my shoulders, I can barely move.
“I’m not going to kill her.” He tilts his head. His armor is filthy, covered in dirt and grime. He turns to me, smiling. “I’ve already broken one vow of honor.”
“What?” Ice fills my blood. “P-please. No.”
The other guard stares at us, me on my back, his companion above me. He does nothing.
“You’re pretty, even covered in blood.” The guard licks his cracked lips and tilts his head so strands of sticky hair fall across his brow. “Can’t wait to see it smeared across your pink skin.”
In a burst of anger, I scream and kick out my legs. Connecting with his armor, I feel my knees bruising but don’t stop. It makes little difference in his hold. Then I snarl and spit, sending a gob of saliva smack on his cheek.
He sneers, but it’s the other guard who yells, “You fucking cunt!” Blinding pain explodes across my face as he hits me.
I choke, vision going blurry, the warm stream of blood running from my nose. Two sets of hands cover me. Disgusting, groping hands. I hear clinks of armor falling to the ground. The tearing fabric of my dress, and rough fingers digging into my legs.
And I scream again. A scream filled with so much terror, I barely recognize it as my own voice.
96
Ezryn
I push open the large metal doors to the monastery. One of the Queen’s Army stands there, wearing leather armor with a spear slung across his back. He opens his mouth to speak, but I don’t let the words fall.
I drag the sword across his neck, pushing myself inside the building as he chokes on his own blood. The entrance hall has three more soldiers. Their weapons aren’t even drawn.
Giving a disappointed shake of my head, I launch at them, striking two across the back of their knees. I quickly dodge the one who finally draws his spear. He stumbles, off balance from the miss, and I push between the gap of his armor, piercing his kidney.
He drops.
There’s the creaking of metal, and the elevator shoots up, carrying a bleeding soldier. His wavering gaze meets mine. He’s only delayed the inevitable. I’m not surprised, nor disappointed. I’ll start at the bottom and tear apart every inch of this damned place until I get her back.
Regardless, I wouldn’t have used the elevator.
She is here, but the bond is weak, like a part of her is not answering my call. Every floor must be checked. Every level must be purged.
I take my first step up the monastery stairs, sword still slick with blood. There is no point cleaning it now.
Voices shout, and four more of the spear-wielding Queen’s Army charge down the stairwell. There’s confidence in their faces. They think having the high ground will give them the advantage, that I will be frail without my magic.
They’re wrong.
The chant of their charge turns to a scream as I lunge at the first, the stairway only wide enough for one abreast. I throw him over my shoulder, and he clatters down the stairs, neck snapping at an odd angle.
The one behind stands horrified for a single second, but I am unbothered. Guts spill from his stomach with his jaw still dropped. The third turns to flee, and the kill is easy enough through his back.
The next level is a long hall, much of the same, waiting soldiers. But these men have heard the screams from below. And fear makes them sloppy.
I’m barely breathing hard as I walk up to the next floor.