Page 93 of By the Flames of Her Fury

I saw nothing.

The three of us stood in an uncomfortable, tense silence until I dipped my head to the two of them, then turned on my heels. When I dared to glance back, I watched with an aching chest as Starke slipped inside her room and shut the door.

43

Vera

FIVE YEARS AGO

Kane Scarven slipped inside the laboratory and shut the door. His massive frame overshadowed Mortep’s, and his slick, brown hair looked greasy under the torchlight. Those piercing eyes found mine as his smile widened. “Good morning, Vera,” he said in a deep, commanding voice. “It’s been a long time.”

Why was he here? I hadn’t seen the governor of Drakorum since they captured me two years ago. His presence couldn’t mean anything good.

“Mortep has told me of your developments.” He slowly circled the chair I sat in, a lion assessing its prey. My muscles clenched involuntarily. “All six magics, at long last. Incredible.”

I stayed silent. Whatever this meant, whatever they wanted from me, they’d have to fight for it.

“Show me.” Scarven tilted his chin. “Stride across the room.”

I looked up at him through narrow eyes, swallowed hard, and spat at his feet.

Mortep moved toward me with a needle, but Scarven held up a hand to stop him. “You have the Duma spirit, I must admit,” he said with a chuckle, circling me again. “You get that from your mother. Your father was never quite as strong.” He was at my back now, but I didn’t dare move. His breath washed over the side of my neck when he whispered, “He barely put up a fight. It was far too easy to rip his head off with my bare teeth.”

My stomach clenched. I gripped the arms of the chair, chest tight, breath quivering like a bowstring. Scarven leaned in closer, until his lips grazed my skin. “Your mother was harder, but I still broke her in the end.”

I snapped. With a snarl, I whirled to face him, fire igniting along my arms. “What did you do to her, you piece of⁠—”

In a flash, his hand cracked across my cheek. Pain ricocheted through my head as it snapped to the side. I hissed, sucking in a breath and tasting the coppery tang of blood.

He wanted to see my magic? Fine.

My striding power was still new to me, but it settled in my chest next to the others, purring and ready to be used. I imagined myself several feet across the room, then tugged on my magic. It pressed in from all sides, compacting my bones until I disappeared into nothingness and reappeared on the other side of the laboratory.

Before Mortep or Scarven could react, I summoned my shadows and light, throwing it back at them in a blast of power. They sailed through the air and crashed into the stone wall.

Stalking forward, I forced my shadows into ropes and wrapped them around their necks, pulling tight enough to choke. But my victory was short-lived. With a rasp, Mortep put his own blood on his tongue and whispered a spell. Vines came out of nowhere and clutched my throat, my hands, and my feet, lifting me in the air until my head crashed into the ceiling. Thorns sprang from the vines and pierced my skin. Grunting back my pain, I watched, helpless, as drops of my blood sprinkled the ground.

With a growl, Scarven got to his feet and smoothed out his jacket, quickly composing himself. “Let her down.”

Mortep’s vines released me, and I slammed to the ground. My nose crunched against the stone. My Shifter healing kicked in, and the pinpricks in my skin stitched themselves together as my nose cracked back into place.

Scarven lifted me by the throat. “Mere pain isn’t enough to get through to you, is it?” he murmured. With his other hand, he snapped his fingers at Mortep, who appeared at his side. “Show her.”

The Alchemist whispered another spell, and flames ignited on the ground. Within the smoke rising from the blaze was a cloudy vision. I was staring at someone’s back. I could tell it was a man, but couldn’t see a face. He stood in a cell, knees on the ground, with one of Scarven’s lion-masked guards next to him. A sword was poised at the man’s neck. His arms were tied behind his back, and I caught a glimpse of a scar on his forearm.

72.

Swift. I thrashed in Scarven’s grip, panic burning through every cell, every muscle, every thought. “Don’t—hurt him—” I gurgled, barely able to breathe with his fingers digging into my neck.

“That is entirely up to you,” he said. “Why do you think we’ve kept him alive? He has no use for us but to control you, my phoenix.” Lowering me to the ground, he finally released his hold. I gripped my throat and sucked in lungfuls of air.

“Do we understand each other?” Scarven said, brushing dirt off his shoulder.

“Y-yes,” I stammered. “Just don’t hurt him. I’ll do whatever you want.”

He smiled, teeth gleaming. “That’s a good girl. Now, sit down.”

I staggered to the chair, still seeing that sword at Swift’s neck with every blink. Had that been real, or just a mirage? Mortep was also an Illusionist. He could make me see anything he wanted, real or not. This could all be a big ploy.