Page 56 of By the Flames of Her Fury

I helped Everett get to his feet, and we bridged the gap between the ships, landing on the White Moonstone's deck with a squelch. I pulled myself up, but Everett rolled onto his back, resting in a pool of blood as his face grew frighteningly ashen.

“Medic!” I called above the shouts. “We need help!”

His groans sent tremors through my heart. I knew those sounds like they were my own. “You just had to go and be a hero, didn’t you?” I choked, gripping his hand.

“I seem to recall you coming to save me,” he said between grunts.

Two men came forward and lifted him, rushing him below deck to the sick bay. His hold on my hand went slack, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

“Everett?” I squeezed his hand. “Everett! What happened?” I snapped to the medics.

They set him on a small cot and rushed around the cabinets. “We need to treat him,” one of them said. “You have to leave.”

They moved by me as if I wasn’t even there, calling out commands to strip the sleeve off his arm. I gasped when I saw the wound the cannon had left. A chunk of his arm had been taken out, muscle and bone visible from layers of flesh and blood.

Someone stood in front of me. “You need to leave. Now.” Hands pushed my body out the door, but I barely felt it.

He was going to be fine, I kept telling myself. He’d been through worse. We’d both been through worse. But it was still the same, every time. His pain ripped through me—every grunt, every groan, every wince was seared into my memory. I had never been able to handle him being hurt.

The door to the sick bay slammed in my face. I sank to the ground against the wall and buried my face in my hands.

27

Vera

FIVE AND A HALF YEARS AGO

Iburied my face in my hands, kneading my forehead with the heel of my palm to try and dispel the pounding headache.

“Again,” Mortep commanded. He took another syringe from the cabinet across from me. His gray cloak brushed the floor, the hem stained dull brown from mud, blood, and Fates only knew what else. Torches lining the laboratory wall cast shadows over the room, landing in the center where I was strapped to a chair.

With a deep sigh, Mortep said, “I hoped we would have made some progress by now.” He flicked the syringe with his finger, and the magical concoction changed color from purple to red. “But it appears that’s not the case.”

“Then why bother?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“Because you continue to be a mystery, and Lord Scarven and I do not care for mysteries.” His near-white eyes held mine as he brought the needle tip to my arm. I writhed against my restraints, but as usual, they were locked down tight.

“We know you have great power,” he said softly. “But I believe there is more. The final two magics. If we can unlock them inside of you, my little bird, that would change everything.”

He was convinced the powers of Alchemy and striding—the only two I hadn’t manifested yet—lay dormant in my blood, and had been attempting to “complete” my magic for months now. If it was true, it would make me more than an anomaly. It would make me a weapon. And it would make them do everything in their power to ensure I never escaped their hold.

The scariest part was…I knew he was right. Those two magics did live inside me, waiting to show themselves. I would feel them sometimes, in the faintest corners of my mind where the magic-dampening cuffs didn’t reach.

And that terrified me.

I couldn’t give in. I refused to give these men what they wanted. That was why I made sure Mortep couldn’t access my powers, no matter what he did. A small piece of metal I clawed from my cuffs was tucked away under my tongue, stifling any magic he attempted to force out of me. I knew in my gut it was the only thing keeping those final two magics from creeping out.

But every day…every day, I feared I wouldn’t be able to hold him off any longer.

He had tried many tactics over the months. Pain, fear, chemicals, starvation, extreme temperatures, the list goes on. His latest idea was the most invasive. He put me to sleep, then used his dreamwalking ability from his Illusionist half to root around my subconscious for answers.

Mortep plunged the serum into my arm. As the sleeping potion coursed through my system, I tried to fight the drowsiness. I steeled my mind for what came next, erecting the walls I’d built so he couldn’t get through to my dreams. This was all I had left. The final piece of me, the last fragment they couldn’t control.

Mortep lifted a bundle of herbs to his lips, then touched my forehead with the tips of his fingers. Against my will, my body relaxed into the chair. “Somnius,” he muttered.

His spell washed over me as sleep dragged me under. My vision blurred, and the torches smeared into ribbons of orange.

I fell.