Page 35 of By the Flames of Her Fury

“Ground wormwood and hemlock soaked in spring water and strained. I’ve found it to be far more effective when administered straight into the bloodstream,” Mortep explained in his clinical demeanor. “Now, hold still.”

“Effective for wh—” Songbird’s question was cut off by a loud cry. “Wh-what’s happening? What are you doing to me?”

My stomach churned. I had a feeling I knew what was coming.

“Your Shifter blood allows you to heal too easily. This will temporarily disable those abilities,” Mortep said. “Bring me the brand.”

I closed my eyes and swallowed. I wished I could say something, do something, or get far enough away to block out the sounds of what came next. My fingers traced the rough edges of the scar on my forearm. The burn had healed eventually, but the 72 was still etched into the skin, now a dull pink over the years.

Her whimpers were the first sign. “Please, no—please don’t do this—pl—” Her words turned into a scream, and even through the stone, I heard the sound of sizzling flesh. The scent of hot embers and iron coated the inside of my nose, and her shrieks rattled around in my brain. I had to grit my teeth to refrain from shouting, knowing anything I said or did could be used against either one of us.

When the sizzling sound faded, her screams dissolved into pants.

“There we go. Perfect,” Mortep said. “You and I are going to make such progress together, little bird.” More metal clattered, and suddenly her silhouette was back in my field of vision as Mortep chained her to the wall. Her body was limp, her hair hanging down and shielding her face.

“Rest,” Mortep said, his voice unnaturally soft. “You’ll need your strength for what’s to come.”

Footsteps padded from the cell, until the only sound was her frantic breaths. My head was glued to the hole in the wall like my stare would magically make her move. “Just breathe, Songbird,” I whispered. “Breathe with me. It’ll pass, you just have to breathe.”

She inhaled and exhaled in choked spurts as I guided her in deep breaths, in and out. Slowly, they became steadier, and she seemed to settle.

“Can you talk?” I asked.

There was nothing at first. And then, “I—I’m okay.”

I exhaled slowly. That was the furthest thing from the truth; nothing about this was okay. Closing my eyes, I leaned my forehead to the stone above the hole. “I’m so sorry.”

After four years down here, I knew that was the least helpful thing someone could say. My sympathy didn’t make anything better. It didn’t change the fact that her mother was banished.

I stayed there, pressed to the wall. “Mine took a couple months to heal, but it stops hurting in a few days,” I said quietly, thinking of the magical brand. “I promise, it gets better.”

“Why have you been so nice to me?” she asked. “From the very first day, even when you didn’t know me.”

The question caught me off guard. “Good people don’t need a reason to be kind to those who are hurting.”

“Anyone who’s kind to me always wants something.” She sniffed, then winced with a sharp inhale. A moment later, she added, “My brother always said not to trust someone unless you know exactly what they’ll gain by betraying you.”

“I don’t want anything from you, except…I don’t know, just someone to talk to.” I shrugged. “It’s been nice.”

“You like talking to me?”

“It’s slightly better than the wall.”

At that, she actually chuckled, which took a weight off my chest. “And throwing peanuts at myself wasn’t nearly as much fun,” I added.

“Well, I may not be able to beat you at that, but at least my number’s higher.” She sighed. “Mine says one hundred ninety four.”

My humor faded into the shadows. “I’m sorry, Songbird,” I murmured. “About today and about your mother. What she did was so brave. I can see where you get it from.”

She scoffed. “Look where that got her. It wasn’t worth it. She should’ve stayed away.”

“She’s your mother. She loves you, and a love like that…it defies logic. It defies your own sense of survival. You can’t blame her for trying to rescue you.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But it doesn’t change the fact that if it weren’t for me, she’d still be home with my brother. She’d be safe.”

I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see me. “You can’t let them convince you any of this is your fault. If you want to be sad, be sad. If you want to be angry, be furious. But not at yourself. At them. You don’t deserve any of this.”

“Neither did she,” she whispered. “Neither do you.”