by Laken Cane
She lowered his head to the cot, stared down at him for a painful second, and then stood.
Everyone around her, including Brasque Dray, stepped back with widened eyes and paling faces.
They were right to be afraid.
“If his hat is not in my hands in two minutes, I will tear your throats out and eat you as you die.” Her voice was gentle, calm, and almost sweet. She smiled around at them. “Go.”
They didn’t move, just gaped.
“Go,” she screamed, and grabbed the two guards unlucky enough to be closest to her. She tore out their throats and advanced on the others as her victims fell. “Go!”
She wanted to kill them all. Wanted to hurt them, devour them, kill them, then bring them back to life so she could do it again.
And they knew it.
They broke apart and ran, stumbling in their hurry, and not one of them looked at Brasque for permission.
They went to find a fucking hat.
Even the shimmer lord trembled beneath her fury. “Rune. No. This is exactly what she wants.”
She might have listened had he not shot out his claws, perhaps as an automatic response to the threat that was Rune Alexander—and that goaded her already enraged monster into a frenzy of bloodlust and madness.
Her monster burst loose from the confines of her caution and sanity and went after the lord of the Flesh Shimmer.
There would have been nothing sweeter than ridding Skyll of the man before her. Nothing better than tearing into him with her claws and fangs and bathing the ground with his blood.
She caught movement from her peripheral and spun around to see Matthew Matheson running toward them.
There was only terror in his face. “You cannot kill him. Please.”
Rune shook her head like a maddened bull, trying to clear her mind. “He’s full of evil. He needs to die. The world needs him to die.”
“No,” he said, gently. “You are emotional. Your friend has been…” He glanced down at Owen, disapproval and disgust in his eyes. “Has been tortured. It’s understandable that you would want vengeance.”
He walked closer, not the careful walk of someone who feared her, but the walk of a child who sensed no danger. “But my lord is not the enemy.”
“Have you seen the dim?” she asked him. “Have you seen the people he tortures?”
His face softened. “As you would punish the ones who hurt your man, so would my lord punish the ones who hurt his people.”
Brasque watched the exchange, unmoving, silent.
She hated him with everything inside her.
“Rune,” Matthew coaxed. “He is the only shimmer lord we have left.”
“What did Owen ever do to him?” she asked. “What would warrant such extreme sadistic torture?”
He nodded toward his lord. “Ask him.”
She turned up her lip. “I wouldn’t believe his lies.”
Brasque held out his hand. “I can show you. Take my hand.”
She paused. “You’re not of magic.”
“Oh yes, yes, I am of magic. All shimmer lords contain a little of everything, my dear.” He sobered. “Take my hand.”
She lowered her hands but didn’t retract her claws.
She was scared.
“Princess,” he begged. “Take my hand. You need to understand.”
It would hurt him.
She didn’t know how she knew that, but it was true. Whatever he was about to do would hurt him.
She pulled in her claws.
And she took his hand.
The power burned through her, hitting her body with little droplets of fire, but it was a mere annoyance on the edge of her mind, there and gone.
Because she was once again on the path.
Sort of.
Chapter Twenty-Two
She was inside Brasque Dray’s mind.
His memories were her memories, his thoughts her thoughts.
“Why?” she asked. “Why can we do this?”
“Because you are flesh of my flesh.”
“You’re my father?”
“I am one of them.”
“Nicolas—”
“Lent his seed in the making of the princess.”
She shuddered. “You?”
“I lent my flesh.”
“What does that mean?”
The path swirled and burned and flashed, and she forgot her question when she saw Owen being forced into restraints in the dim.
“No,” she cried. But when she reached out, she touched nothing.
She was nothing.
Nothing at all.
“Owen,” she cried, and he stilled his thrashing and looked up as though he’d heard her.
But soon the questions began.
The torture began.
She wanted to run, but didn’t know how to. Back in the world the shimmer lord held her hand, and unless he released her, she was trapped in his mind.
Trapped.
“Hush,” he said. “Listen. Watch.”
“Five,” the shimmer lord said to Owen. “Five returns.”
Owen said nothing.
“Owen of emotions,” the shimmer lord continued, pacing back and forth before the restrained man. “You weren’t created with that ability. We cannot figure out how you achieved it. None of my doctors have the answer.”
“I am the sky,” Owen whispered. “I am the air.”
“You are dead,” Brasque told him. “Do you know—of course you know—that when you left, the ones I set you to guard were taken. They’re dead. You killed the ones I loved.” His voice was so calm, so…reasonable.
“I am the land. I am the sea.”
“I need one thing before I take your eyes,” the shimmer lord continued, ignoring Owen’s words. “I need to know why you came back. You could have stayed there. You could have avoided this risk.”
Rune’s heart picked up speed, beating so hard she was afraid it would burst through her chest and splat upon a floor that wasn’t there.
“I am the sky,” Owen murmured.
“Why did you come back?” Brasque screamed, suddenly and desperately. “Why did you come back when you knew you would be taken? Is it a trick? What is the plan?”
“I am the air.”
Brasque motioned and one of the executioners strode from the shadows. He held what appeared to be a long iron rod. It glowed red on one end.
Rune closed her eyes, but it didn’t matter. She could still see.
“I am the land.”
She shook her head. “Stop, Dray. Stop.”
But he did not stop.
He beckoned the torturer on, and the hooded man shoved the burning end of the rod under Owen’s ribs.
“I…” Owen lost his breath for a minute. “I am the sea.”
“Strip him,” Brasque commanded, and the torturers were quick to divest Owen of his boots, then they cut his clothes from his body. Lastly, they took his hat.
With his wrists fastened above his head in heavy shackles, Owen was whipped until his back was a raw mess, for what felt to her like eternity.
Wicked, bloody, scream-filled eternity.
Eventually the screams stopped.
And Owen never said a word.
“So strong. But he can’t last forever. Strap him to the wheel,” the shimmer lord commanded. His voice was slightly dim, as though he had begun to fade from her mind.
Oh, how she wished he would.
Lashed to the huge wooden wheel, Owen regained consciousness. He began to chant once more.
“I am the air.”
Chant, and eventually, to moan.
He was whirled slowly around before them on the torture device, and as he whirled, the executioner used a heavy hammer to smash and break his bones. Elbows, fingers, ankles.
He didn’t scream. Maybe he couldn’t.
Rune screamed for him.
“This is only the beginning,” the shimmer lord promised. “Answer my questions and I promise you a quick d
eath. Why did you come back?”
But Owen would not answer.
And maybe Brasque didn’t really care. Maybe he just wanted his revenge.
“Do you know how I found you?” Brasque asked, when Owen’s hoarse screams had dwindled. “No? I’ll tell you then. See, I am happy to give answers.
“I found you because you have the scent of the princess all over your body. You reek of her.” He leaned close to Owen’s ear. “Idiot.”
Rune shuddered.
Finally, Brasque found something that Owen could not withstand.
One of his men gripped Owen’s penis with a device that looked like large pinchers.
“One squeeze and…” Brasque shrugged. “Well, you know. You have one last chance to talk.” He nodded at the torturer, who began to slowly squeeze the pinchers.
Owen tried to shrink back, tried to pull away, but he could not.
And that was how the shimmer lord made him talk.
Owen laughed, but the laughter was full of sobs. “Fuck you.”
“God, Owen,” Rune murmured.
Brasque watched him calmly. “Why would anyone as powerful as you want to leave Skyll? You became a weak little boy there. I gave you everything you could have wanted.” He curled his lip. “And look at you. You still haven’t regained your strength. You knew I’d eventually find you. Yet you returned. I wasn’t able to drag you back. Believe me, I tried. I couldn’t figure out why you stole the disease, why you wanted to infect the Others. I had planned to send someone much less experienced than you, and he would have done everything right. Instead, you stole it, ran from me, and caused the deaths of those most precious to me.”
Owen. Owen had brought the sickness.
Owen had killed the Others.
Owen had poisoned Lex.
“So what made you return? Answer the question,” Brasque demanded, his voice cold. “Answer now. I won’t give you another chance.”
“I came back to be with her,” Owen yelled, his voice as raw as his back.
Brasque frowned. “Her?”
Owen averted his eyes.
“Ah,” Brasque said. “Ah. Five is power hungry.” He put his fist to his lips and walked a few feet away, thinking.
When he went back to his prisoner, he was smiling. “You wanted her to fall in love with you and choose you as her king after she destroyed Damascus. After she destroyed all of us. You would have convinced her to purge Skyll of shimmer lords. That’s why you waited so long to unleash the disease. You needed to first make her love you. But you fell in love with her. You fell for our princess.”
“No one ever fought for me before,” Owen said. “But she did.”
Rune wept.
She wept for him, for herself, for the world.
“You’re a fool.”
“Skyll deserves better than you. Our people deserve better than the evil of shimmer lords.”
“There is no good and evil, boy. We’re all good, and we’re all evil. We all do what we believe is best for our world. All but the witch, who wants to rule supreme. Same as you. To me, you are the evil ones. You are the corrupt ones.”
Once again, he leaned close to Owen’s face. “You betrayed me.”
“I did what I had to do.”
The shimmer lord shrugged. “It doesn’t matter why you did it, only that you did. This part, I will do myself, in retribution.”
Brasque nodded at his men. Two of them held Owen’s head in a relentless grip, and Brasque Dray dug out his eyes.
“Now,” he said, though Owen was no longer able to listen, “you can never again leave Skyll. And when I kill you, your death will be the true death.” He stared for a long moment at the mess in his hand. “What can be worse than that?”
What, indeed.
And then, finally, the shimmer lord released Rune’s hand.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When she regained consciousness she was curled up on the ground, sobbing in horror, her hands covering her face.
Too many thoughts screamed for attention, but the pain—the emotion—trumped them all.
“Rune,” the shimmer lord said, “you are too soft. I don’t know which of us gave you that. It certainly wasn’t me.”
Then he sighed and put his hand, heavy and hot, upon her shoulder. “Or maybe it was. Come, my child. Let us plan.”
Her mind was swirling like a vortex about to suck her in. She wouldn’t have cared if it had. She needed to hide for a while.
She needed Z.
But Owen made a sound, a cry so completely lost that it pulled her out of her own misery and into his.
She stood and stumbled to him.
One of the guards held Owen’s hat against his chest, and as she advanced upon him he tossed it toward her.
She buried her face against it, inhaling the familiar scent, and thought of happier times with Owen Five. Then she placed the battered hat gently on his chest.
He was still broken. He couldn’t touch her because his fingers were shattered. He couldn’t have lifted his hands anyway because his shoulders were dislocated and his elbows had been smashed into shards of bone.
“He betrayed you as well,” Brasque said, his voice gentle, sympathetic. “We both trusted him. Loved him, even.” He started to lay a hand on her shoulder but she stopped him with a look.
She wanted to kill Brasque Dray. Wanted to kill him so very badly.
But she held back for one reason.
She had no idea what killing Dray would do to the world. To the worlds. She couldn’t decide if his death would be something Damascus wanted.
Almost certainly it was.
And if the witch wanted it, it had to be the wrong thing to do. Had to be.
Didn’t it?
She wanted to do the right thing. She had no idea what that was.
Owen had deceived her.
He had betrayed Shiv Crew.
He’d brought the rotting disease to her world.
She should have hated him.
She didn’t.
Not then.
She dropped to her knees beside him. “Owen,” she whispered.
He was awake in his dark hell. He turned his face toward her.
She caressed his cheek, then leaned over to kiss his swollen lips, gently. So gently. Then she kissed his bloody eyelids. “I’m here.”
He didn’t ask her to kill him.
He didn’t say anything at all.
Once more she opened a vein for him. “Drink, baby.”
If she fed him enough times, surely her blood would heal him.
Surely her blood would bring him back.
Sounds of distant fighting—booms, strange shrieks like twisting metal, unfamiliar roars—began to drift to her.
“Her armies are attempting to breach the walls,” Brasque said. “Again. Soon, they will succeed.” He started to say more but Matthew interrupted him.
“The witch has your people,” he told her.
“My friends?”
He nodded, still not looking at her. “She has three of your friends.”
Rune was not surprised. Not at all.
She stood, pinching the wound on her wrist so it would close. “I’ll need a cart for Owen and a horse to pull it. I’ll want a horse for me as well. And some guards.”
“He’s dead weight,” the shimmer lord said. “He’ll slow you down.”
“We’re going to Magic Shimmer.” She looked at the guards, all standing at attention. “Some of you bring me supplies—you know what I’ll need. Stow them in the cart.”
Brasque nodded. “So it begins.”
“It began long before I got here, dude. I’ll kill the witch and then I’ll be back.” She stared at him. “You and I are going to talk.”
He bowed his head. “I’ll be waiting, Princess.” He eyed his personal guard. “Stay with her, give her anything she wants, and see her off.”
“Where are you going?” Rune asked.
“I’m going to prepare your army.” H
e paused. “I’ve raised them for this day. They’re not my army, Princess. The men and women of my army are out protecting this shimmer. Some of them patrol the borders, and some of them are walking these grounds to protect my people. This is your army. They will know what to do.”
And he hurried off, Matthew at his side.
She glanced around at the guard he’d left with her. “I need to feed from one of you.” She kept her voice level. “Doesn’t matter which one.”
They dropped to their knees.
“It would be an honor, Princess,” one of them said, and the others murmured assent.
The same guards who’d watched as Owen was tortured—watched as many men and women were tortured—offered up their blood and their service without hesitation.
She pointed to the one closest to her, and when he wasn’t enough, she let him stumble away, high on her bite, and beckoned to another.
When she had drunk her fill she wiped her mouth and went to stand by Owen. “Four of you will come with me. I’ll need personal guards.” She gestured toward Owen. “Not for me, but for him.”
And it wouldn’t hurt to have a ready supply of blood.
“You,” she said, her stare on a man who reminded her somehow of the twins. “What’s your name?”
“Ian,” he answered.
“I’ll take you, Ian. Choose three of your friends to join us. Say goodbye to your people and let’s get the hell out of Flesh.”
He quickly chose three guards.
“One thing,” she said, when they stood before her, armed and ready. “You’re to treat Owen Five like you would treat the most precious thing in your lives from now on. You’ll give your lives for him, if you need to. His safety will be more important to you than mine.” She glanced around at them. “If any of you don’t agree with that, step away and let someone else take your place.”
No one moved.
Her skin prickled and she shivered.
“Someone walk over your grave?” Ian asked, unsmiling.
“Yeah,” she answered. “And I think her name is Damascus.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Owen rested comfortably, despite the bumpy ride. Her blood would wear off, like the drug it was, and he would once again suffer. But right then he was comfortable.
That eased her mind a little.
She had questions for him—the most burning one concerning Elizabeth’s death—but she would ask him nothing until and unless he healed.