Scorched Treachery (Imdalind #3)

by Rebecca Ethington

  Chapter Three

  I ran through the halls toward the screams, the shouts increasing in strength and number the closer I was to the battle. I couldn’t deny the throb within me that wished to run into my father, to end this before it even had a chance to begin.

  Each step I took thundered through the underground tunnels, shaking lamps and doors, each step recharging my magic and sending magical currents surging through my body.

  Flashes of light filtered along the dark stone that surrounded me, the screams chasing the shapes as they rippled through the once dark halls. I passed a raging fire, not willing to see what was keeping the blaze going. I turned and ran, my feet taking me toward the loudest concentration of noise where I was sure I would find the battle; but the state of the hallway in front of me froze me in place.

  This was where it had begun. I could tell by the splatter of red on the walls, the screams that still lingered in the air, and the lifeless bodies of my friends that littered the ground, left to die with no one to hold them.

  I stepped around them, my eyes trying to look away from each heartbreaking expression but unable to do so.

  I fought the panic that rose in me, the hopelessness that tried to take hold, instead choosing to let my anger and conviction fuel me. I tiptoed around at least twenty of my friends; selfless people who had taken me in and loved me after my father had tried to kill me. My father. He had brought enough Trpaslíks into Imdalind to begin and end a massacre in one swipe. My logic begged me to hide, to wait until the battle slowed, until I could find Talon and we could escape.

  I turned into another hall as I pulled out my phone, my feet picking up pace. My heart beat erratically as hate and anger fluctuated through me in a surge that only hyper-activated my magic.

  The phone rang in my ear as I ran, the loud thrum vibrating through my head and mixing with the frantic beat of my heart.

  "Pick up," I growled to myself, turning a corner as I made my way towards a seldom-used row of apartments. "Pick up, Jos! Jos, pick up the phone!”

  “Wynifred! What’s going on?” I had never been so happy to hear Ilyan's voice. I could have kissed him, cried into him, and thanked him for saving us, but I knew he couldn't save us. I wasn't calling for a savior; I was calling with a warning.

  “Ilyan? Oh thank heavens!” I yelled into my phone, one knot in my stomach loosening while another one tightened.

  “Wynifred?” Ilyan boomed, his commanding voice seeping into me through the phone. “Where is Talon?”

  “They got him, Ilyan," I panted as I ran, my eyes threatening tears. I would not cry, not right now. I hated that Ilyan asked the one question that would trigger the emotion in me right now. "They took him. I think...”

  I turned from the darkened hallway into a place that was never used, a place I had hoped I could hide, only to find my father standing in the middle of the dark stone walled room. My words dropped off my tongue as I saw him there; the fear that twisted through me lessening my power for a moment. It was a moment too long.

  A loud crack echoed through my ears as a powerful attack impacted on my spine and sent me across the large room to collide with the rock wall in front of me. My head hit the wall, my bones and joints rattling hard enough to vibrate through me in a claw of pain. The pressure increased as I hung there, Timothy and Ovailia’s laughter loud in the quiet space.

  “No! Please don’t!” I screamed, feeling them come right up behind me. The force on me increased and my scream followed, louder this time.

  “Father! Please don’t!" I shouldn't beg. I knew it was pointless. "Don’t let them hurt me.”

  The words left my mouth and I was flung through the air again, my hands sparking as I attempted to find someone, anyone, to attack. But the movement was too quick, the flight too short, and before I knew it, I was stretched out on the hard floor, my father restraining my hands above my head and Ovailia standing over me in an oppressive straddle.

  I looked away, desperate to see anything other than the wicked sneer of the blonde above me, only to see the still lit screen of the cell phone reflecting off the dark stone.

  “Ilyan!” I screamed, knowing I may not be allowed to live after this point, and hoping that my last warning was not my final goodbye. Ovailia's eyes went wide, her head whipping around in fear as I yelled her brother's name.

  "Run!" I yelled.

  It did not take her long to locate the light, one pulse of her magic destroying the small box. I only hoped my warning had reached them before the line had gone dead.

  "Nice try," Ovailia said, her voice heavy with indifference and anger. "But sadly, I don't think it’s going to work." She smiled, and her face lit up like a maniac. Ilyan would get the same light when going into battle, but instead of giving hope, this one twisted my spine and rippled through my stomach.

  I ground the feeling down to my toes, letting it come to rest inside of me in a place that I didn't care about, and squared my jaw at her.

  "You have no idea what you are up against," I snarled, happy to see her recoil a bit at my taunt.

  "Oh, don't I now?" she said, her crazed energy coming right back into her face. I heard my father laugh from above me, the pressure on my arms increasing as he pulled them, the tendons in my shoulders pulled to their brink. I winced, even though I tried not to, and Ovailia laughed right alongside my father, the ringing of her cell phone drowning out the noise.

  "I think I know exactly what I am up against," she said as she pulled the phone from the pocket of her designer jeans. Timothy's hold on my hands lessened as one of his hands moved down to cover my mouth.

  "Now, princess," he said, the once sweet pet name spoken with acid, "don't try anything stupid." His hand cupped the entire lower half of my face, the pressure arching my neck back and making it difficult to breathe while also pushing my head painfully into the stone floor. I fought against him, yelled against his palm, but the pressure of his hand hurt worse the more I fought. I stopped struggling with a whimper.

  "Nothing stupid," Timothy repeated before increasing his grip even more. I winced and breathed in sharply but kept my mouth shut.

  Ovailia smiled at me before putting the phone to her ear, her face and voice changing the second the line connected.

  “Ilyan? Ilyan, where are you?" Ovailia said, her voice thin as she pushed emotion into it. "Please tell me you are all right.”

  She began to pant as Ilyan spoke, the movement of her voice making it sound like she was running.

  “They took her,” Ovailia said sharply, her voice panicked. She looked at me before firing a stream of light into the wall of the room, causing a giant explosion that rocked the floor of the cave. “They took Talon too; I don’t know where he is." She gasped, panted, winced, and screamed softly each action perfectly placed to make it sound like she was fighting someone.

  I knew I had to fight Timothy whether I wanted to or not. She was lying to Ilyan, leading him into a trap. My father's grip increased and I winced again, the action silencing me.

  “I wouldn’t fight if I were you,” Timothy hissed in my ear, the heat of his breath uncomfortable against my skin. “You wouldn’t want something to happen to that mate of yours.”

  My body relaxed as if on a switch. I could still feel the beat of my heart, hear the static of my stress as my brain clung to the panic, but my body relaxed. I felt like a puppet, a foolish little girl who could only do what her father said.

  "Timothy dragged Wyn off,” Ovailia finished, her false exhaustion picking up.

  “Father, Timothy," Ovailia said, and I heard Timothy's faint chuckle from right above my head. "There are hundreds of them.”

  Hundreds. I knew it was true. I had seen the bodies, smelled the blood and the smoke. Edmund had planned this attack well. It was to be his final attack. He wasn't going to let anyone survive. He wouldn’t stop until he killed them all.

  “I don’t know how they got in," Ovailia continued, giant crocodile tears rolling down her perfect cheeks and crac
king in her voice. She smiled at me, the tears glistening as she flipped her hair. My stomach clenched, and I felt my magic crackle between my fingers in anger. I hated her. I regretted never saying it before, never seeing who she truly was before. She was evil.

  "Our whole city... I don’t know how many are going to make it out.”

  I groaned and fought him again; I didn't care that he had told me not to. I heard Ovailia's words and knew she was telling the truth, though not quite in the way that she tried selling it to Ilyan. I wanted to claw at her face, to stop this, no matter how futile it was. Timothy stretched his arm out and away from my head, pulling my arms until I felt the tendons in my arms pop. I screamed, and he released his hand from over my mouth just long enough to let the sound flow through the phone. It was all part of their game.

  I panted as the tendons in my arms began to repair themselves, the pain lessening as my magic covered it.

  “I can try,” Ovailia said, her voice more disappointed than anything else.

  She nodded once to Timothy who stretched my arms again. What little repair my body had been able to produce shattered as my scream rent through the air around us, the rumble of explosions overlapping with the sound of my pain.

  “And you, Ilyan.” Ovailia smiled and tucked the phone back in her pocket, her wicked eyes never leaving mine as she bent closer to me. Her hair fell around her like a curtain, the effect increasing the terror I felt at being trapped between the two of them. I sucked in breath as Timothy released my mouth, the hold on my hands loosening just enough to let my body begin to heal.

  "We will destroy you," Ovailia said, her voice hard. I just met her gaze. I had nothing to say to her. I could rebut. I could be scared and give her what she wanted. I did none of that. I did, however, choose to laugh. It wasn't the wicked laugh of my father or the taunting laugh that had just graced Ovailia’s lips, it was light and joyful, the change in mood jarring. Ovailia's face fell and she looked around, her shoulders stiffening in expectation. I took my opportunity and slammed my bare foot against the ground, the rippling energy moving around us again, sending Ovailia off me and causing my father to fall away. His hands released my arms as he fell into the ground.

  I didn't wait. I spun away, regaining my balance as quickly as I could, and stumbled away from them.

  I called out for help, trying to ignore the gripping panic that was trying to stop the beat of my heart, and spun around to where Ovailia and Timothy were attempting to get back to their feet. I sent a stream of energy toward them, hoping to restrain them before they regained their bearings, but Ovailia caught sight of what I was doing and blocked my weak magic with a powerful shield of her own.

  I immediately moved to attack, sending a bright light toward them, only to have Timothy block it as Ovailia sent her own attack in my direction. I dodged and blocked the attack a moment before it would have hit me, only to see another force in my direction.

  "Come on, princess," Timothy taunted, "let your ol' dad give you a present!" I blocked his assault, but just barely. I could feel the heat graze my shoulder as the muscles in my arms tensed, the warning of what my father's magic would do to me as clear as if he had said it. The attacks kept coming, one after another, and I knew what they were doing. I wasn't fast enough, wasn't strong enough, to fight off one, let alone both of them. I had walked into this fight knowing I was too weak, my anger fueling my desire, but now my only option was to play defense. I couldn’t attack. I could only hope to hold off their attacks long enough to give myself enough time to escape.

  I fell to the side, sending heat through the ground with my skin contact, the earth responding to my touch. I rarely had control over what my touch would do in these caves, but this time, I focused. I forced the magic into my desired outcome and watched as they crumpled to the ground, their mouths opened in horror as their bodies heated up from the inside.

  I picked myself up and ran, stepping over them in my haste to get away, to find Talon.

  I spun around the corner and slammed into the thick barrel chest of a man who smelled of death and smoke. I didn't need to look up at him to know who it was. I pushed my hand into his chest and sent a stream of fire into it, only to be met by a shield that blocked my pointless attack.

  "My, my, Wynifred. You would think that after a few hundred years, you would know better," Edmund hissed, his thick fingers curling around my tiny forearm.

  I tried to pull away, but I wasn't even sure why. There was no escaping now. His fingers met the small indentation of my spine through the skin in the back of my neck, and I felt the white-hot heat of his magic shock into my spine. His magic surged, numbing each and every one of my nerve endings and muscles before I could move even so much as an inch. I felt the ripple of the attack move through me before everything went dead, my body going limp as I fell into his arms. He held me against him, my head lolling. My unfocused eyes came to rest on the bruised, bearded man Edmund had been dragging around by the chains attached to his wrists.

  I couldn't even move my eyes, I realized. I just stared at the intense green gaze of the battered man as Edmund placed a smooth stone on my tongue, his magic pulsing just enough to force a reaction that would make me swallow it. The tiny stone slipped down my throat and toward my stomach. The further it traveled into my body, the more numb and unresponsive my magic felt.

  An omezující stone. The rare rock that was given to prisoners as a magical restraint.

  I felt it as it lodged itself in my stomach, my numbed body unable to fight it. I felt my magic slow to a stop, freezing in place before it traveled to surround the rock – where it would stay until I could find someone powerful enough to remove it.

  I could feel the wetness of my silent tears roll down my cheeks, my body accepting my defeat without my permission, accepting my loss.

  "Wonderful," Timothy said as he came up behind us. "I was hoping someone would grab the little whore."

  Timothy grabbed my hair and pulled my head back, my eyes drifting to the roof of the cave tunnel, unable to focus on their own.

  Edmund chuckled at my father's comment. His rumbling voice vibrated through my head as he hoisted me over his shoulder and carried me down the hall, my desire to find my mate pulling me in the opposite direction.

  Chapter Four

  My body was still numb. Edmund had carried me into the dungeons below Prague after he had incapacitated me. The dark space was cold, wet and smelled of mildew. I had wanted to look around, see what horrors had made this place forbidden, but my eyes still would not respond to my commands. I stared into the darkness as my hands were bound and chained above my head, the chain extended until I was pulled to a stand, my weight supported by my wrists, my weak legs not able to hold me. Even though I could feel the stone against the balls of my feet, I couldn’t move my legs to try to stand against it.

  They left me there, alone, strung up against the cold stone. I hoped that the mysterious power I shared with the stone of these walls would awaken and ignite, but the rock Edmund had forced down my throat had done its job. I was powerless.

  I stayed like this for hours, with only the darkness for company, and an occasional movement or whimper off to my left. I wasn't sure if it was a rodent or the battered man that Edmund had been dragging around behind him.

  Time passed. I was sure that if I could feel anything, my shoulders would be on fire, my wrists screaming and broken from supporting me for so long, and my legs numb from lack of movement. I felt nothing, saw nothing but black.

  I don’t know if I had passed out or simply slept, but the clanging of chains woke me, the subtle pressure of fingers against my spine. I heard the sound, felt the touch, and everything inside of me woke up.

  I had been wrong. It wasn't pain in my arms and legs that the numbness had taken away; it was agony. Without my magic to numb the sensation, it quickly moved to torture. I screamed as my brain registered the pain, the sound echoing off the dark walls. My scream hung in the damp air even after the wide fist collide
d with my face, leaving more pain at the heavy impact. I screamed again at the pain, only to have another punch join the first. I whimpered, and this time the hand hit me with a wide palm, the message as clear as day. The less noise you make, the less you are hurt. Say nothing. I did not need the words to understand the lesson that that hand was teaching me.

  The chains that suspended me clattered again as they were moved higher, extending my body until I was on my tiptoes, the stone cold and uncomfortable against my back. I screamed at the movement, whether I wanted to or not, the sound loud for a moment before the same hand smacked my cheek, the face of the hand’s owner swimming into view.

  "Silence, princess," my father sneered, his lip curling underneath his large moustache. "There are consequences."

  He slapped me again, his movement unprovoked except in warning. My cheek stung, and my body screamed, but I said nothing, refusing to give him rise to the occasion, to let him win. I just stared into his eyes, the irises as dark as mine, waiting for more. But none came, and his smile only increased.

  "Aren't you going to say hello to your father?" he sneered. "I think I have taught you better manners than this."

  I stared at him in silence, my eyes wide as I taunted him, as I dared him. If I was anyone else, I would have whimpered and given in to him, but I couldn't, something deep inside wouldn't let me. Timothy's eyes narrowed at my defiant gaze, his confidence wavering at my stubbornness. Good. He may kill me, but I was going to put up a fight until the very end.

  "Say, hello," he sneered again, the stubbornness I had inherited from him forcing him on. I shook my arms; the fire burned through my arms, and I winced, my taunt lost as pain seared through me only to settle in my spine. I couldn't stop it. A groan escaped me as I fought back a scream, my jaw clenching painfully as I attempted to keep the scream behind my lips.

  I should have just screamed. Timothy's fist collided with my face, turning the groan into a scream – a scream that triggered another impact of Timothy's fist against my cheek.