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Chapter Fifteen
Kelley
Idescend the stone stairs leading down into the tomb slowly, willing my racing heart to slow.
That’s what this room is now—a tomb. Not a torture chamber.
If I think of it as a tomb, I’ll be able to make it through what comes next.
If Bane were alive and capable of feeling pain—mental or physical—things might be different. I might actually be excited to face him one last time, to look him in his inhuman eyes and inform him that I’m the one responsible for the living hell his existence is about to become. To inform him that he isn’t nearly as clever or all-powerful as he thought and that underestimating me was his biggest, final mistake.
But as it is…
I almost feel sorry for him. He’s a monster, no doubt, but even monsters deserve the release of death.
Iwant the release of death. Not now, but…eventually. And in a reasonable amount of time, not several hundred years from now, after carrying the burden of my unborn baby with me every step of the interminable journey.
I don’t want to be queen. I don’t want to fight Maxim and kill hundreds, if not thousands, of his people. I just want to be left alone to raise my child in a world where it’s safe to be weak or vulnerable. Or simply small or young or unlucky.
But sadly, there is no such world. That place will only exist after I sacrifice everything to create it.
Elsbeth says I will be worshipped as a saint for centuries or longer.
She says I’ll know I made the right decision as soon as we’ve washed the blood from our hands and started to build the world anew. She says the sun will shine brighter and the air smell sweeter than it ever has before. She says I will be filled with a joy so intense it will send tears of gratitude streaming down my face.
I hold tight to that image—that hope—as I push the door open and step into the small, circular room where the witches have been hard at work.
Three gray heads turn my way as I step inside, a mixture of weariness, excitement, and pride on their faces. But I can’t focus on any one of them for long, not with their handiwork strapped to the wall behind them.
It’s Bane, but not as he was. He’s been stripped of his veneer of humanity, and his innate monstrosity is on full display.
His bloodshot eyes meet mine across the room and a roar rumbles from his chest. The sound vibrates my bones, but only the faintest sound escapes his lips. They’ve been sewn shut with thick black thread and likely spelled with some sort of magic. His mouth doesn’t move at all as he bellows. The entire bottom half of his face is still and slack, almost as if the witches elected to leave that part of him dead while they brought the rest of him back to life.
“Don’t worry, he can’t hurt you,” a surprisingly youthful voice says.
I glance over to see a woman not much older than I am at my elbow. Her hair is as gray as that of the two older women a few feet behind her, but her face and body are clearly no older than thirty-five, forty tops.
“He has the same hunger for human flesh as all the undead, but we bound his mouth with a forbidding spell,” she explains. “Even if he manages to escape, he’ll never be able to feed or infect anyone with his bite.”
“But he won’t escape,” the taller woman behind her assures me. “He’s locked tight. Elsbeth has the only key, which will only work when held in her own hand. And she certainly won’t set him free.”
“And eventually he’ll grow too weak to cause any trouble,” the shorter older woman supplies. “You’ll be able to literally bury him alive down here and forget about him.”
“Or bury him undead,” the younger woman says, setting off a round of giggles.
I stare at them until they’re finished.
I can’t image laughing like that—so light and carefree—ever again. I can’t imagine laughing at all.
“I think he’ll require a bit more maintenance, unfortunately. His torture is required for the ritual to work,” I say. “At least at first.”
“Oh, he’ll suffer, no need to worry about that.” The youngest one, the apparent leader, motions toward Bane. “We didn’t do anything about his hunger, just his ability to feed. He will be in perpetual, unceasing torment and you won’t have to lift a finger. It’s really a pretty brilliant solution, if we do say so ourselves. And as Janice said, he will eventually grow so weak he won’t make any noise or move around much.” Her dark eyes dance as she lifts a finger in the air. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not suffering. Just that he won’t have the strength to complain about it.”
Bane groans, an imploring sound that makes me seek out his eyes again.
They’re milky, like I’m seeing them through a fog, but they’re not completely empty, the way I thought at first. There’s still a spark in there, an echo of the man he was before—faint but loud enough to hear.
“He’s still in there, isn’t he?” I ask, my spirits lifting a little.
