"Release him,” Viera commands and the hooded sentry holding Reece lets the male go.
Reece rubs his neck. “May I do it then?” he says, his hand dropping toward a sheathed dagger. “May I end its existence?"
Viera considers his request. “Yes,” she says after a few heartbeats. “When the time comes. But not yet. We must have a cure out of her before we take justice. So you will be patient, just as the rest are. Do you understand?”
Reece’s upper lip curls back to show his canines. “I do.”
"Good." Captain Viera—or Priestess of the Moon, or whatever name she's going by here—snaps her fingers, and the two fae holding my arms drag me forward. My bare feet scrape against the rough ground as they position me within the flickering light of the flame. Heat licks at my cheeks, drying the sweat that had collected at my temples. "Hold her still."
The hands gripping me tighten, sending new waves of terror and defiance through me. Both equally useless.
With that, the priestess draws a curved blade that gleams silver in the firelight. Logan growls weakly and I thrash, my instincts screaming to fight, even though I know it's futile against their supernatural strength. Grabbing my arm, Viera twists it to expose the inside of my elbow, and makes a shallow cut along my skin.
The pain is sharp but brief. Blood wells immediately, trickling down my arm in a thin rivulet that she catches with a crystal vial.
“There,” she hands off her prize to a slender female figure with pale eyes shining above her face covering. Celeste.
I can’t see the servant’s smile but I can feel it.
“Start the analysis,” Viera orders. “What the girl doesn’t tell us, her blood will. Not that she will be anything but utterly delightfully cooperative, will you?” The last part is directed toward me.
Before I can even grunt my defiance, a boot connects with the back of my knees, sending me crashing to the ground. My chin strikes something hard—a rock or root—and for a moment, stars explode across my vision, mingling with the colors of the fire.
I taste metallic, warm blood pooling inside my mouth, but my rage and fear drown out the pain. Someone behind me grabs my hair and yanks me up to my knees then forces my head up and back. I try to curse through the gag, but the sound comes out as unsatisfying muffled growls.
"Now then," Viera crouches beside me, her face illuminated by the flames. Up close, I can see the intricate tattoos spiraling around her temples—moon phases and wolf sigils that seem to shift in the flickering light. She smiles and pulls out my gag. "Let's discuss what you're going to create for us."
Chapter 15
Rowan
"Again." Viera orders.
My head is forced into a bucket of water.
The shock of it never lessens—the icy burn in my lungs, the primal panic clawing through my chest as my body fights against the hands holding me down. Water floods my nose, rushing into my mouth through the nasal passage and filling my ears with a muffled roar. My body revolts with animalistic urgency, every muscle straining in futile protest as I can no longer hold my breath and take in the water. My throat closes. The edges of my consciousness blur, black spots dancing across my vision. It hurts.
At the precise moment before I lose consciousness entirely—when the black spots have joined hands and the whine in my skull drowns out all else—they yank me up.
I emerge gasping, choking, water streaming from my hair, mouth and nose as I desperately suck in air. My lungs feel like they're being shredded from the inside.
“What ingredients are needed for the antidote?” Viera asks. It’s a variation of the same question she’s been posing since the ordeal started.
"I don't..." I gasp, water still streaming from my mouth. On the other side of the clearing, Logan lays on his side, his ribcage jerking with his whimpers. His eyes are closed and I don’t think he is aware of where he even is. If he was, certainly his draken would have come to help, wouldn’t it? If the whole thing works the way Kai and Kyrian claimed.
Unless of course they were lying.
Again.
My captors shake me and I realize I’ve stopped talking. I quickly start again, before they remind me with a dunk. "I don't know of an antidote. Why… why would Eryndor need one?”
“For your research,” she replies calmly, as if we are both in on this conspiracy theory of hers. "As you can see, where do you take the shifters for experimentation?”
“I don’t,” I rasp between heaving breaths, my throat raw from coughing. Reece, the traitor, stands with his arms crossed and a satisfied expression on his face. I find enough strength to snarl at him before looking back at Viera. “I don’t experiment on shifters.”
“What about the draken? Have there been any victims whose shifting magic could not be corrupted?”
“I just work with metal. Alone. In my workroom. At the Spire.” I don’t know how to make the truth any more plain than that. But Viera doesn’t want to believe anything that doesn’t match her story. I wonder how much of this war is based on lies and misunderstandings and conspiracies. Wonder if getting Flurry to see the truth might end the bloodshed.
