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But I’ve already moved. I reach the cage and wrap my hands around the bars, pulling them apart. The metal yields easily. I step through the gap I’ve created and walk right up to Aralya.
She doesn’t move.
Is she aware of me? Can she hear anything? Or is she completely oblivious to the world?
I grab the cords wrapped around her body and tear them away.
“Stop,” Ansar cries in the background, but I barely hear him.
He’s found a way to bind her to him using Death Magic. All this time, he’s been siphoning her power to create his undead armies.
Could he really sever her life-thread?
Not if I get to her first.
I glance over my shoulder. Ansar glares at me and holds up his hands. Slowly, deliberately, he plucks one of the red threads, pulling it out.
A low, guttural moan escapes from Aralya’s throat. Her voice is thin and weak, fading to a whisper.
I glance at her in alarm. The hollows of her cheeks have become sunken. Her smooth skin is shrivelling right before my very eyes, becoming desiccated and cracked, like a parched tree.
I need to get her out of here—out of this vile cage, which saps even my energy.
I pull out my dagger and turn, flicking it through the air. It lands in Ansar’s left shoulder.
He lets out a howl, and for a moment, Aralya’s moaning ceases.
Good.
He’s distracted.
I reach up to rip off the dampening irons encircling Aralya’s wrists.
I crush the metal with my hands. Even through my leather gloves, it burns as if I were wrapping my fingers around hot coals.
She collapses into my arms, her body as light as a feather.
I gently lay her on the floor and do the same to the shackles around her ankles, moving as fast as I possibly can. I’m starting to grow weak. I can’t afford to stay in this cursed thing much longer.
It’s staggering to know that Aralya’s had to endure this infernal contraption for years upon years. If I’m feeling this way—head pounding, vision dimming, body sluggish—I can’t imagine how terrible it must be for her.
Gently, I take her into my arms and tear out of the cage; out of theserpenstone-studded cave itself.
I take her into the outer corridor, moving far away from the magical seals and dampeners—until my own vision starts to clear.
We’re in a dark part of the tunnels, where it’s silent and the floor is bare swept earth.
I lay Aralya down. Her face looks weathered. Her body has become worryingly frail. In just a short amount of time, Ansar has drained so much vitality from her.
Her lips are slightly parted.
I bite my own thumb, drawing blood. Then I gently place the pad of my thumb against her lips.
It’s time to wake up. I’ll take you out of here, Aralya.
I can’t help but feel reverence when I look at her preternatural face. She’s themotherof my precious bonded one.
Kaithar and Ciel told me my blood was a gift. They’ve been saying it all along. I was in denial; unwilling to accept what I truly am—until my mother spelled it out for me.
