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Mihal’s eyes gleam with unchecked power. “Risna, since you’ve learned to obey, you will choose one of the options presented before you. If you choose the stake, you will choose death for yourself. I was going to make you choose between yourself and Ioana, but the oracle pissed me off before you arrived.”
Her entire body is vibrating with tension. Behind the throne, I summon an illusion of a cat for her to pin that lethal focus on. It is a reminder of what’s waiting for her outside these walls. Beside me, her eyes close, then open, and it’s like I’ve never met this version of my friend. Her gaze is darkened, deadly, and the smile she dons is wholly unfamiliar.
It’s one that promises death.
Hercule seems to note this shift in her too. He steps closer to the dais.
“What of the whip?” she asks. There’s a bite to her tone, and I find myself wracked with dread.
“If that is your choice, Quill will be whipped.”
Her bottom lip trembles slightly. The friend I’ve come to love flickers to life beneath this new mask as her thoughts have likely gone to what will need to happen after the whipping—I’ll need to consume human blood to stop the silver poisoning from killing me.
“I—” Risna glances at me.
“She chooses the whip,” I say. She winces. As if I would ever ask her to die for me. I take off my shirt and toss it to the floor at the base of the dais. “Let’s get it over with, then.”
Torchlight illuminates the scars already marring my body. What are a few more?
Mihal leans back in his throne. “Then pick it up, Risna.”
She runs her shaking hands through her hair. “I can’t—”
“Just do it,” I command.
Mihal’s mind is decided, and arguing with him is pointless. The sun has already begun to rise over the horizon, and I’m desperate to get back to Rory before she wakes.
“Quill—”
“You have to.” I fix her with a pointed stare, trying to convey everything that is at risk if she doesn’t. We can’t drag this out anymore. “Now, pick up the whip and use it.”
Mihal’s nostrils flare as she reluctantly reaches for the whip. When she swivels to face me, red stains her cheeks. The loss of a friend combined with this… it’s too much for anyone with a heart as kind as hers.
“You’re too soft for your own good, Risna,” Mihal croons. “Dry your tears. A few silver lashings are easily remedied by mortal blood. Oh…” His calculating grin widens. “Unless the affliction takes hold. Either way, I suppose it’ll all be over before the both of you know it.”
She doesn’t so much as move to wipe her tears away. “How many?”
“How many lives did you and the Mors Soluta snuff out at Adelphi’s rite?”
“I lost count,” I say, drawing back my shoulders.
Risna’s grip falters as Mihal says, “Then Risna darling will do the same.”
“A punishment such as this is unjust,” she says hotly.
“I could always make you do something far worse,” he hisses. “Would you rather your childe take his place?”
Her gaze flicks to me, and I’m hoping she can read the warning in my own.
Let it go.
“As I thought.” Mihal rises. “Kneel, Quill Godrickson, and accept your punishment for failing me.”
Stone-cold hatred rages through me.
I will kill him.
And a part of me will enjoy it.
