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RAYNA
“Rayna,” my father croaked out.
I ran to him, slamming to my knees and tugging at the manacles that bound him with panic clawing up my throat.
“We’ve got to get you out, we’ve got to free you, how did you get here, what—” The words poured out of me in a flurry as I tugged and tugged and tugged, but the manacles didn’t come loose.
Why wasn’t Fabian using his Object Summoning magic to break them? In his blacksmith shop back in Alderwick, I’d watched him manipulate countless tools made of metals just like this with ease.
“They won’t break,” Dyonisia said from behind me. “I’ve had my best Shape Shifters and Element Wielders work together to create an amplified kind of steel resistant to other magic. He will remain here until you learn to orchestrate your new power with enough finesse to pass a Final Test.”
Ripping my eyes from Fabian, I stood and rounded on Dyonisia. My chest heaved.
She had done this—brought in one of the people I loved most and chained him to this decrepit piece of history—as a way to hold something over my head. For some reason, she wanted me alive more than she wanted me dead, but she also wanted me to know that Fabian’s life meant nothing to her.
Rage flickered across my vision. Hot and visceral, it crashed over me at the sight of her observing the two of us, imprisoned in so many more ways than one, as if we were a vaguely interesting game of pentaball.
“You bitch.” My voice shook. My whole body shook as I scanned that shroud of antipower that protected her again. I couldn’t use any magic against her because of it, but I could use my own hands.
And at that realization, my rage spurred me into motion.
Without warning, I rushed forward and scooped a golden candlestick from the ground before I brought it back and rammed it straight at Dyonisia’s face.
She sidestepped just in time, but one of the sharp-edged arms grazed her cheek, and she shrieked as her skin shredded. I raised the candlestick again.
“Rayna, stop!” Fabian rattled his chains behind me. “She’s going to…”
Too late. Dyonisia’s antipower came spearing toward me and hit me straight in the chest. Pain exploded through me. Burning, fracturing, deadly pain. I arched my back, feeling my body fraying at the edges, realizing that my fear of using my knives had prevented me from taking my one and only shot…
Alright, enough, I told my mind as the fantasy drizzled away. Being a Mind Manipulator meant all of my imaginings came to life in ways they never had before, and that one had been particularly vivid.
But no. I hadn’t actually attacked Dyonisia. I was still facing her from across the room, chest heaving, the word “bitch” dying out on my tongue.
I considered my knives again, always strapped to my thigh but never used since Garvis’s death. I hadn’t been practicing my aim. If I threw one at Dyonisia now and missed…
“Careful,” she said in a low voice, watching my expression carefully. Could she feel my anger pulsing? Could she see what I was contemplating in my eyes? “Unless you want to join the other exiled ones, that is. I have big plans for them after my last batch disappeared.”
My breathing went ragged. Flashes of fire and smoke and blood rippled behind my eyelids. Screams reverberated in my ears. “Are you saying you’re planning on destroying another one of your own villages?” I breathed.
“It’s called a test, child. How can I create the thing that will save us all if I do not test it out first?”
She was insane. Insane. Talking as if she were some kind of hero, doing everything for the benefit of the rest of the world. I already knew she wanted to build an army against Mydusia, and yes, Mydusia was horrible, but Dyonisia would be just as wretched on that Sorronian throne. If she wanted to come across as some benevolent savior, all this experimentation, testing, and torture wasn’t the best way to get there.
At the sound of Fabian’s labored breathing behind me, I forced a modicum of calm back into my voice.
“Just unchain him. Please. He’ll cooperate, I promise. He’ll stay here and teach me how to control my Object Summoning and… and I will be the best elite you’ve ever had.”
Dyonisia threw back her head and laughed at the sagging ceiling. “Oh, my dear, you have got to work on your lying skills. Even your own mother was better than you at that.”
Both Fabian and I ceased breathing for a moment. The word mother seemed to hang over our heads like the vampire bats once had, a dangling piece of bait I refused to take a bite of. As much as I still wanted to know about the lost princess of Sorronia and how the hell she’d wound up here, in this old classroom, falling in love with my father, I wasn’t about to beg Dyonisia Reeve for details.
“Why?” I asked her instead. “Why did you bring him here?”
I already knew the answer. I knew using Fabian as my mentor was just another way to control me, but I needed to hear how she’d spin it. If I wanted to be a spy, after all, I needed to do less talking and more listening to my enemies.
“I thought you might need some…. parental comfort,” Dyonisia said finally, her expression unreadable, “after you stabbed your lover in the heart.”
My own heart rattled again. Was this another instance where she truly thought she was a sympathetic benefactor, or did she suspect Coen was still alive?
