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“Void Prince,” I hiss, shuffling close to the bars separating us. He doesn’t lift his head. I don’t dare raise my voice any more, as our guards can likely hear me as it is. “Natharius, look at me.”
Despite the holy manacles shackling our wrists, the dark magic tethering us together is as strong as ever. The demon is forced to raise his head and meet my eyes, though his lip curls from having to do so.
“Tell me,” I continue, lowering my voice, “is there any way out of these cells? You will answer me truthfully and tell me any suggestion you can think of.”
The demon pauses and then smiles. “There is no way of escaping your death, if that is what you wish to know. If a Void Prince such as myself cannot escape these chains, how could a puny little mage ever hope to?”
I stare at him, hoping that the manacles have somehow weakened the compulsion of my command. That Natharius has resisted enough to lie. Because if these bindings haven’t subdued the dark magic between us, the Void Prince is telling the truth. And there’s truly no way out.
Desperately, I try squeezing my hands out of the manacles. I don’t know what enchantment Ahelin has placed over them, other than it suppressing my connection to aether, but the metal seems to cling tighter to my wrists the more I struggle. Either that, or trying to force my hands out of the manacles has caused my wrists to swell considerably.
When it becomes clear yanking my hands out of the manacles will do me no good, I instead try bending the steel bars of my cell. The two priestesses standing guard by the dungeon’s doors briefly look up as I attempt to wrestle with them, but then they lower their heads and resume their silent vigil. And they have no reason to interfere. Golden light blooms across the cell, preventing me from moving them even a hair’s breadth. I don’t have the physical strength to bend steel to my will. My magic would be a different question—if I could currently use it.
I give up trying to force apart the bars sooner than I gave up wrestling my hands out of the manacles. The only crack I can find in the surrounding stone of my cell is the one running through the ceiling, but I can’t reach it. I doubt even Natharius would be able to in his current form.
When the doors finally open once more, I’m lying down in the center of my cell and staring up at the ceiling. My blood runs cold at the sound of voices and footsteps, and I bolt up to a sitting position.
A flurry of white and gold silk filters into the dungeons. Countless priestesses swarm forth. At their helm is High Priestess Ahelin.
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TheHighPriestessmarchesforth. My heart pounds at a frightening tempo.
This is it.
Soon I will meet my end.
Ahelin’s gaze sweeps between Natharius and me. She presses her hands together and closes her eyes. “Sohira.”Golden light pours out of her and spirals into both of our cells. The wards dissipate into glittering dust and both doors swing wide open.
She turns to her entourage of priestesses and gestures to us both. “Seize these wretched creatures,” she commands. “By the Mother’s light, we shall purify the world of their evil.”
The priestesses swarm into my cell and drag me to my feet. They’re more cautious about entering Natharius’s. One of the older priestesses seems bolder and leads the way. Though Natharius snarls at the priestesses manhandling him, he offers little resistance. Not like me. I scream and kick, refusing to let them escort me to my death. But without my magic, my efforts are futile.
The back of my head slams into a priestess’s jaw, and the room spins. Dark splotches gnaw at my vision.
The priestesses seize the opportunity. While I’m momentarily disoriented, they wrap cloth around my mouth and my next screams come out muffled. They also secure their grasp on me, holding my arms in place. I kick out as best as I can while they shove me out of the cell.
High Priestess Ahelin watches my struggle, and her nose wrinkles. “I suggest you come quietly, witch. Or else we will bind your legs and carry you to your execution.”
My execution.
A tiny part of me clung to the hope that perhaps Yadira was exaggerating. That perhaps the High Priestess didn’t really intend to execute me in front of all her citizens. But hearing those words from her mouth leaves no room for doubt. They slam into me like a sudden blow to the chest.
All I can see is Father’s face. Eliya’s. I have failed them both.
My knees threaten to yield, but the priestesses hold me too tightly for me to sink. Numbness washes over me as they lead me out of the dungeons, up the many stairs, and out of the temple. I’m so focused on the dark thoughts of my demise that I barely notice the shift of my surroundings.
How can this world be so cruel? It already snatched away those I loved. Why won’t it even allow me to avenge them?
A breeze washes over my cheeks, somewhat stirring me from my daze. We’re on the streets now and the citizens hurry to the sides, allowing our procession to pass through.
The crowd jeers at Natharius and me. The news of a demon and its summoner must have spread. People hurl rotten food at us. Mostly vegetables.
A tomato slams into my cheek. The blow doesn’t hurt, but the impact catches me by surprise. The tomato bounces off my cheek and falls to the street, sticky juice oozing out of it. I turn to look in the direction it came from, to see who threw it at me.
A boy stands there, no older than nine. His clothes are covered with holes, some clumsily patched up, and many loose threads hang from the stitches. His expression is brave at first—until I meet his eyes. Our gazes lock together, and his lower lip trembles with fright. His mother’s face creases into an ugly scowl, and she pulls her son away, safely behind the crowd. I don’t catch another glimpse of them.
I stand and stare at where they disappeared. Am I truly that frightening?
