Page 143 of Prince of the Phantom Sky

Magic was no longer forgotten history.

Silence passed, and Samuel’s chest burned brighter as he choked, unable to gasp for air. The armour tightened, constricting him, his hands numbing. But he didn’t fear death. No, death would be a relief. He feared the very hand gripping his chin, more so than Barron and his son.

“You will tell me what I want to see when I want to see it!” Vivian demanded.

“I see him dying,” Theron’s stare swivelled to Samuel. “Very soon.”

Vivian scoffed and released her hold on Samuel. He crippled, bowing over and spewing at Theron’s bare, gangrene feet. Cool air swept down his throat, and he gasped, gagging as that putrid taste coated his insides.

“There are other ways to make you talk.” Vivian waved a hand and a broad male appeared round the mast, strolling in the same deadly cage, like it was nothing more than a fuzzy blanket.

“Let’s have some fun.” His lisp grated Samuel’s ears and he tensed, an arid memory haunting him. Of branded foreheads and mounds of hot blood. Darkness ushered it away, soothing him, reminding him he only needed the here and now.

A helmet with a slit obscured his face, and gloves encased his clawed hands as he grabbed Samuel, shoving him to his knees. He obeyed without a word, his mind already retreating to the pit. The darkest of the dark. The quiet, icy numbness that protected him from everything.

“I’ve been looking forward to this,” the guard sneered, grabbing Samuel’s hair.

“Callan!” Theron yelled, his face twisted. “Don’t do this!”

Callan laughed. “You’re no prince of mine anymore, Eli. I follow a new king now, and he is a god.”

He revealed a sword, wielding the weapon effortlessly. Tugging viciously on Samuel’s hair, Callan exposed his throat.

“You’ve no idea who I am, do you?” Callan goaded him. “I can see it in your eyes. Your resistance to the magic is wiping your mind, taking who you are, one memory at a time. All you had to do was give in, embrace the darkness inside you.”

Samuel ground his jaw. “N-no.” Vivian startled at his response, her eyes flaring.

Callan sneered. “Just a pathetic sailor, like the rest of your crew. I’ve been looking forward to this for so long.”

Sailor . . .

Crew . . .

Instead of slicing his throat, Callan levelled the sword to Samuel’s right eye, the end nicking the thin skin of his lower eyelid. He internally screamed as it plunged deeper, slicing open the flesh. Red consumed his vision, sloshing as the vessels burst in his eye. Vivian’s command prevented him from screaming, but his jaw unhinged, voicelessly crying from the agony.

“Stop!” Theron cried, his voice cracking. “I’ll try. Just stop!”

Blood poured down Samuel’s face and Callan stepped away. He rounded Samuel’s back, and placed the sharp edge of the weapon against his neck. It was wet, a mix of ocean spray and blood coating the sleek silver. Salty and hot.

“If you fail, he dies.”

Vivian’s catch of breath was unmistakable, and she nervously glanced at Callan as Theron screamed against the pain.

“They made him kill Ivar! How can you do this?”

Ivar. Samuel shook, his muscles trembling, writhing beneath the surface of the armour. It tightened, forcing his body still as grief struck true.

He had killed. He was their weapon.

“I am always on the side that wins.” Callan pressed the blade against Samuel, the sting bringing him out of the fog of red-tinged despair.

“I’m so sorry,” Theron mumbled. “Forgive me, Captain.”

He roared, the agony of summoning his power breaking him as his dislocated arms rolled. Stained veins on his face rippled, and his dark eyes turned entirely black, the whites disappearing as his head shot up. Streaks of dried blood were smothered in fresh liquid, now pouring and dripping onto the weathered deck.

“Tell us,” Vivian demanded. “Tell us where Kora is. We need to know where we can attack.”

The air shifted, and Theron blinked rapidly as a shimmer unfurled in the space before him. He yelled again and the shimmer increased, his sight projecting.