Page 703 of Coal Hearts

I gave up hoping for goodness to win. I gave up believing we would get free.

Nothing but blackness existed inside me, and I sank deep, deep into it.

No panic.

No fear.

Just a howling, hollowing emptiness that I wished would suffocate me and finish this.

When I didn’t reply, couldn’t reply, Victor muttered a slur under his breath, then looked at the Masters congregated around Peter and me. “It looks as if there won’t be a Diamond Kiss tonight, after all.”

A ripple of disappointed moans. “Ah, come now, Vic. Just because it turned into a shit show, doesn’t mean the main event can’t take place.”

Roland stepped forward, his belly round and black cape dragging on the ground. “How about we put him on the altar and carve him up? I’m sure his blood will be drenched with stress. We could have a snack before the harvest.” He flicked a look at Peter. “Afterward, we can have our little cleaner mop up the mess and then bid on who will be the lucky one to carve out Ilyana’s heart.”

Peter snarled like a cornered animal beside me.

I waited for the surge of sickness and survival. Would I try to fight one last time? Would I ignore the agony of so many kicks and punches I’d endured and throw myself into a final attempt at freedom?

Or...should I just accept?

Accept and let it happen.

If I die, I can find him again.

Shifting onto my bloody knees, I held my chin high. “Do it, you sick bastard. Do it so I don’t have to look at you anymore.”

Peter choked. “Ily!”

Roland bared his teeth, stalking into me with fists clenched. “Why, you little—”

“Enough,” Victor hissed. “Decorum, if you please. I’ve had quite enough of brawling for one night.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as if trying to figure out how to salvage his diabolical evening. Dropping his hand, he looked at Henri again where he lay half on his stomach, half twisted on his side.

The angle of his spine once again filled me with horror that his back was broken.

Lowering to his haunches, Victor pressed two fingers against Henri’s blood-soaked neck, checking for his pulse.

I stopped breathing.

Peter stiffened.

Every Master and guard didn’t move as Victor slowly stood, and a smile spread his lips. Pointing at a bucket full to the brim with seawater by the cupboard of skulls, he ordered, “Dump that on him. Now.”

A guard stepped forward, grabbed the bucket, then sloshed his way to Henri. “All of it, Sir?”

Victor nodded and moved back. “Every drop.”

With a nod, the guard lugged the bucket with two hands, then tipped the entire icy contents over Henri.

I waited for him to wake with a gasp. To splutter and shed the lingering shroud of death.

Nothing.

He didn’t even flinch.

My entire heart fractured.

Victor was mistaken.