One faltering breath, one reaching arm, and she cast the flame from the sconce onto the first head. The ends of burnished, flickering fire barely caught against long, pale hair. A male, one Luella did not know.
It was easier that way—burning the first head in line, a stranger to her. With the force of her body, she shoved against the base of the spike, and so, they fell.
In a line, one after the other, the spikes tipped over, just as the flames began to catch in truth, turning the hair to ash, before licking against skin. Flesh sizzled and popped, and it reminded her so much of how Graves’s skin had melted into shadows and dripped onto her. She shuddered.
One after the next, the heads succumbed to the fire.
It could not be stopped, even by a god.
She felt him at her back, his fury, his icy chill that was so juxtaposed to the heat against her cheeks. The base of the sconce was scorching her palm, but she didn’t drop it—remembering.
As the flames devoured the line of heads, Floris’s words echoed in Luella’s mind, making her eyes drift closed as a lone tear fell down her cheek.
If I ever met such a fate, I would want to be burned. I’d rather die in anguish than have my body used after my soul had departed.
"Rest now," Luella murmured just before shadows grabbed her.
She swung around wildly, grip firm on the sconce, and she pressed it forward, yelling, "Stay back!"
The dark, slithering shadows cowered from the flames in her hand.
The Tenebrae’s eyes grew black as pitch.
"The fire may stop my shadows, but never me. Wearing this flesh"—he touched his chest, as if his body were something to be donned, like a cloak or blouse—"I do not have the fears that the dark does."
She stumbled back. He prowled forward, each step sure, until he was right before her, and he grabbed the base of her neck, fingers locking around the collar, forcing it deeper, deeper into her neck. She gasped at the prick of pain, at the unease and unrest churning inside her, and all the ways she just wanted tohurt him. Like she’d been hurt.
He grabbed the sconce from her, lifted it to his lips, and blew out the flame with a sharp puff of air. The sconce fell to the throne room floor with a loud clang.
Luella wheezed, and she felt her lips curl into a smile as the throne room filled with the scent of burning flesh. It was like skinned meat roasting over a fire, and if she ate meat—which she didn’t—she certainly would not after this. The smell clung to her skin and burrowed deep inside her with every breath. She did not gag. She breathed it in and looked him in the eye.
"I should punish you for this," the Tenebrae hissed, right before her face. Their noses nearly brushed, and her toes threatened to dangle as he used the force of one arm to hold her aloft.
Her right wing fluttered helplessly, and the mere action sent ripples of pain shooting throughout the muscles in her back. She was acutely aware of her missing left wing, the burned stumpwhere it once was. The curled, limp fingers of her right hand. She was so broken. So, so broken. But?—
"What else can you do to me?" she whispered.
His other hand shot out, gripping the top of her right wing. For the first moment in her pitiful heroics, she felt sharp fear.
"I should take your other wing for this insolence, but I will not. Do you know why?" He shook her. "Answer me."
She hated him—more than she hated anything or anyone. "Why?"
"Because the memory of those heads being set aflame will haunt your dreams. Mark me." The Tenebrae moved closer, voice an echo of loving adoration, as he traced the tip of his nose down the line of hers, until they were pressed closely together. This close, she saw the shifting darkness in his eyes. The faint hint of green that threatened to peek through, concurrently with the brief softening of his hold.
The corner of his lips tipped down, his grip loosened, green shone, and she pretended Vale was right here, holding her. She wished to be held.
Then the green vanished, and bruises bloomed on her fragile flesh from the force of his touch.
Luella’s lips curled in muted agony, because she knew he was right.
She had to know, though… "Were they alive?"
"Why should I answer you?"
"You should n-not," she uttered, "for I will give you no reason, save my captive curiosity. Were they alive?" What possessed her to ask, when she knew he would not answer? She stared deeply into his eyes, searching for green. Green, which was life, which was real. There, she saw it. Hints. "Caliban?" Luella prodded gently. "Do you know if they were alive?"
He gasped, fingers flexing around her throat. "No?—"
