Page 93 of Bride of Ash & Dust

“Magic,” Fyrris whispers, answering his own question. He’s staring at the chain the way I imagine a parent would stare at their infant asleep in the cradle. “It’s the greatest injustice in this world, that humans are denied the magic those inferior races flaunt so easily.”

He steps closer. Heat, or something like it, washes over my skin. Some horrible part of me wants to reach for that writhing silver chain, to feel its cold links against my skin, to let whatever sick energy pulses through it soak into my body.

I push back in the chair. The manacles burn against my wrists.

“You’d be surprised how few of us can sense it,” Fyrris says. “That was my life’s work, finding those of us who have the gift, taking magic from those who didn’t deserve it, and giving it to those of us born to wield it.”

My fingers wrap around the arms of the chair, and I squeeze until my knuckles turn white. I don’t know anything about magic, but I’ve never been particularly sympathetic to someone claiming to take from those who don’t deserve what they have.

Fyrris finally turns to look at me. His dark eyes are wide and wild, like he’s burning from within. I suddenly wonder what happened to the creatures he decided didn’t deserve the magic they were born with. Nothing good, I suspect.

“You could have been part of it,” Fyrris continues. “You. You could have been great.”

“That’s too bad,” I growl.

Fyrris shakes his head, my sarcasm lost on him. The chain in his fist rises and stretches toward me, the end swaying like a viper. My back digs into the chair as I try to put as much space as possible between me and that damned thing, whatever it is.

“If it’s any consolation,” Fyrris says, “you’ll still be a part of something great. Do you know what a conduit is?”

I shake my head but don’t reply. The more time Fyrris spends talking, the more time I have to think of a way out of here.

“Think of a stream,” Fyrris continues, as the chain rises and sways toward me. “If, say, you want to power a water wheel, the stream flows through the paddles, pushing the wheel. But what if that’s not enough? What if you want the wheel to move faster?”

I shake my head again. My skin pulls tight as the chain climbs over my legs. Panic claws at the back of my throat; I try to shove it down.

“That’s when you add a conduit,” Fyrris says.

He’s so close now I can smell him, old sweat and the faint whisper of mint. He smells cold, somehow.

“If you build walls on either side of that stream,” he continues, “the water isn’t just going to flow, you see? It’s going to run.”

I swallow hard. “What do you want me to do?”

Fyrris laughs again. This time it’s sharp and hard, like a blade in the dark.

“Do?” he says. “My boy, you are completely untrained. You aren’t going to do anything.”

“Then what am I?” I ask. “The stream or the wheel?”

He smiles at me. “You’re the walls,” he says. “I’m going to run the magic through you.”

With that, he drops the silver chain in my lap. It burns; I clench my jaw against the scream as every part of my body seizes with a kind of pain I’ve never felt before. The manacles around my wrists begin to glow. Slowly, I trace the path of the thick silver chains from my wrists to the strange table, where silver wires lead to dozens of bolts in the stone wall.

“Oh, one more thing,” Fyrris says as his hand drops to the folds of his robes. “Try not to scream.”

He pulls out a second silver chain, then drops it in my lap. Magic scorches my body. My back pulls tight, and my head bangs against the chair.

I don’t scream until the fourth chain.

Chapter 51

Zarek

YOU BOW TO ME

There’s something wrong with the world.

It’s the light, partly, and it’s also the way the air feels against my skin. And the strange golden glow rising from my arms. Hells, that weird glow is rising from my chest too.