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Good. If he’s irritated at me, he’s not paying attention to the men.
“I have been at this for many, many years. Most people simply do not see the full potential. Others see the potential but don’t know how to use it. Still others know how, but refuse out of some misguided notions of morality. I assure you, there are those out there who are aware of the potential power in your veins and in the veins of all the fae. They simply lack the ability, for one reason or another, to do something about it.”
“That’s comforting.”
Roanac chuckles. “You have spirit. I wonder if I’ll be able to detect that in your blood. It’s a shame, really, I was almost hoping that you would be sniveling and pleading for your life so that I’d feel grateful for killing you. And yet… it shows your ancient blood that you’re maintaining your composure.”
“My blood has nothing to do with it. I just don’t like it when men get all up on their high horses with me. I’m kind of done with you guys prancing around like peacocks thinking you’re all the best thing since sliced bread.”
“Mmm. Admirable courage. It’s a pity that this whole extraction process goes the way it does.”
“And how’s that?” I lift my chin up stubbornly. He’s one of the few men who truly towers over me, given my overall height. I hate that he’s this big. It’s going to make it harder for me to take him down.
But damn it, I’ll try.
“You really want to know?” Roanac seems amused by this.
“Why not? I want to know how I’m going out. How my candle’s getting snuffed. I hate being uninformed.”
“We do seem to so hate the unknown,” he acknowledges, almost musingly.
Great, if he’s one of those guys who fancies himself a philosopher, I’m going to puke on him. I haven’t eaten so I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way. Ugh.
“Basically, what this contraption does is it identifies and filters out the pure magical power in your blood from the material parts of you. The blood itself. It extracts it. And then it feeds the power to me. It took quite a long time and many experiments to get it right.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t waste the blood of any ancient fae testing it on them,” I point out. “How do you know it’ll work on me?”
“It’ll work,” Roanac replies, stubbornly.
These types really can never admit the possibility that they might have gotten something wrong. “If my blood is so special and different, then it might react to the magic differently. So how can you really be sure?”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Roanac insists. “If I can’t have your blood, then you’re no use to me dead or alive, so really, what does it matter? I appreciate your attempt to cleverly plead for your life without appearing to. I understand wanting to save face, but it’s useless. I know what I’m doing and even if I wasn’t certain this would work, I would be willing to try it on you.”
He gives me an almost friendly, pitying look. “You really do not matter to me at all besides as a source of power. I know, hard to hear, but there it is.”
“Forgive me if I take a moment to weep,” I say, deadpan.
Roanac chuckles. “Your feistiness is to your credit. Now, I must warn you that you won’t be surviving this clarification process. I had hoped that the subject would do that. Partially because if your body could then generate more magic after I took it the first time, I could have an infinite source of power. And I suspected that someone carrying the pure blood of the ancients would be someone worth keeping around. Alas.”
He shrugs. “And so here we are. The clarification process simply drains too much energy out of you. And I suspect that separating the host from their magic so thoroughly is a detriment. We are, after all, magical creatures. Or you are, at any rate. Magic must be necessary in some way to your DNA, to your survival.”
I hear one of the men growl, I think North, and Roanac starts to turn to look toward them.
Shit. I don’t know what the men are up to, but I know it’s something. I can’t let Roanac see what it is and find out that they’re escaping.
There’s no way I can fight him physically on my own, especially with my hands bound, but I don’t need to win this fight. I just need to distract him.
I launch myself at Roanac with a scream, bringing my chained hands down to hit him hard as I can in the head.
Roanac is startled, at least, and he stumbles back for a second as he stares at me. “I should’ve expected you’d fight,” he says, almost conversationally, and grabs for me.
As he does, over his shoulder I see Raven lunging toward a shade. The shade brings up its sword, and Raven sticks out his hands at just the right angle for the sword to cut through his chains, breaking the magical connection between the two crystals embedded in the cuffs and freeing him to use his magic.
Raven dodges, grabs the arm of the shade, and yanks the sword right out of its hand, using the pommel to smash his crystals.
Immediately, his gargoyle wings sprout out of his back, and he roars. The sound reverberates through the chamber and even I’m wincing at the noise.
Roanac backhands me and my head snaps around. I stumble back, dazed, stars dancing in my eyes. Roanac turns, snarling at Raven. All of his calm demeanor is gone and the savage asshole he really is has come to the forefront.
