Page 66 of Witch’s Ruin

A bow twanged. My eyes went wide, pain exploding through my middle. My mouth opened in a silent gasp. I staggered back, looking down. The head of an arrow protruded from my belly. Twang. Twang. Twang. More pain exploded all over me. In my chest, my arm, my thigh. A split second later, I took a gasping breath, releasing my torrent of magic, to protect me, to save me, to obliterate everything in this garden—

Nothing happened.

I hiccuped, falling, knees slamming against the cobbled path as I drilled down, pulling. An animalistic sound rose in my throat, eyes blackening, veins spreading across my skin. It was there. I could feel it, within reach. I gulped down another drag of air, clawing at the arrows. It was fire—agony. Every subtle movement made me hiss.

Unwittingly, I looked up at the king, my eyes blurred. A tear broke free, slipping down the corner of my cheek. Was this really where he planned to kill me? But…he’d said…

The king stood there, watching my struggle, his lips flat. It was the gaze of a victor. “I find Nebrine to be quite useful against demons.”

“No!” I managed to hiss, the word barely audible. I pulled at the arrow in my center, trying to wrench it free. The edges of my vision darkened. Twang. Another. This time, I fell face forward, catching myself on my hands. The last thought in my mind was of Rixon. Of how much I loved him, of what our last words had been, of what my death would do to him.

Then everything went black.

* * *

I wasn’t dead—my first thought. I swallowed, my throat sandpaper dry. My tongue caught on the roof of my mouth. I worked it until moisture returned. My awareness followed. Groaning, I flopped over, nuzzled into the blankets, looking for the feel of Rixon’s warmth—

I jerked upright. Everything in me ached, the echoes of pain still singing through me. I scrambled backwards, until my back struck a solid wall. The surroundings of a cell came in and out of focus.

Everything rushed back and my breath quickened. “No…” I croaked, voice rough. “No!” I lifted my hands, searching for arrow wounds, but they were already healed.

My wrists clanked. My eyes widened.

“Nebrine.” The hiss on my tongue belongs to a demon. I tugged at the shackles, scrambling from the bed. I dug for my magic, tunneling. A deep well waited, vast and eager, glowing white twined with black, accented by wisps of red. I plummeted all the way to the bottom, until I saw the very essence of what I was—what I had become. Then I pulled.

My stomach swooped. Nausea crawled up my throat. I gasped, trying to release the torrent within me. Only, it slammed against a barrier.

I staggered backward, my knees hitting the bed, falling into a sitting position. “No,” I whispered again. “No, no, no!” My limbs shook, unable to sit still, I jumped to my feet again. My mouth opened. I screamed, letting fury wrap around my voice. A voice that didn’t sound like my own.

I rushed to the small mirror on the wall, just above a tiny sink. My fingers brushed over my face. It was still mine, mottled with blackened veins. My eyes, black orbs, stared back at me. My hair, dark as night, flowed around me, ethereal, nearly floating.

I made an attempt to calm my breathing, to think rationally. How long had I been here? Rixon would have noticed my absence. I pulled on the bond, tugged hard, signaling as I did with demons.

It resisted, as if…

I looked down at the shackles. A laugh bubbled up from my chest, turning hysterical, manic. He’d figured it out. Somehow, when I hadn’t. The king had caged my magic.

“That fucking little…” Trudy had seen what I was, earlier. She’d told the king. I would kill her. When I got free, I would wrap my fingers around her pretty little neck and twist until it snapped—

I blinked, pushing the violent thought out of my mind.

Heaviness settled deep in my limbs. I went to the bars. Nebrine bars. They stood floor to ceiling along the far side of my cell, looking out to a corridor. “Rixon?!” I called. “Hello?”

There was a scuff. A shoe, perhaps. “I am a lady witch of the Citadel,” I shouted, letting my voice carry down the empty hallway. “I command you to release me—immediately.”

No response.

“Let me out!” I screamed, letting the thing inside me surge to the surface.

Still, nothing.

I began to pace, calculating. The silence pressed in around me. Rixon would discover my absence. He’d come searching for me.

My jaw clenched. I couldn’t let it come to that. My wielder was meant to protect me, yes, but I had more magic than any witch in existence. A strangled laugh burst from my chest. Magic that was now warped. Demonic. I slumped down on the bed. My magic…my poor magic. What good would it do me now?

I’d have to rely on something else. I began searching, looking for something sharp, or perhaps something I could use if someone came into my cell. My confines were not what I would have expected. They were comfortable. A plush bed, a small sofa, and table with two chairs off to one side, a sink and toilet on the opposite end. There was a small pile of towels, washcloths, and even…clothes.

“You will find that royalty is treated better than most prisoners.”