‘I want you to keep me.’
Nidra’s neck turned crimson. She made Gallows clasp her hips as she wriggled faster. ‘Tell me you want me.’
‘I want you.’
‘Tell me… I am better than Sera.’
‘You’re better than Sera.’
Nidra’s breath hitched before a curling, high-pitched sigh crawled from her.
Pearls of sweat trailed down her body. She bit into Gallows’ neck. ‘Hmm, perhaps I will keep you.’
Nidra climbed from him and pulled her dress over her bare skin. With shaking hands, she decanted water into a glass and swallowed it. ‘That’s all for now, dog.’ She strolled to the door, the colour fading from her skin. ‘Take as much water as you can drink before my puppets throw you back into your cell.’ Exhaustion set into Nidra’s words like blood seeping into sand. ‘You’ll thank me.’
??th Day of ????
‘Sera…’
Old Town Square had grown cold.
Tyson bent down and got onto one knee. As he did so, he noticed the birdsong vanish from the air. The wind halted as well, as though the world held its breath.
‘Sera. When we met, I wasn’t much more than a scruffy slack-witted kid from Dustwynd who got into more scrapes, fights and ass-kickings than I want to remember. I mean, I of course realise the Gods gifted me with these rugged good looks, legendary bedroom skills and a humble sensibility to coast through life with…’ He looked up at her, expecting to see her smile. She didn’t. ‘Uh, anyway. The only ambition I had was to get out and see the world, explore…
‘But I was wrong, Sera. I should have been seeking you. Seeing the world doesn’t mean a thing if you’re not by my side.’
He felt the eyes of everyone else in the Town Square on him. Tyson couldn’t see them all, but he sensed that their faces had suddenly grown pale and lifeless, like boutique mannequins. The blood rushed through his veins, heart pummelling his chest. Something was wrong.
‘You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You… You’re my best friend, and my soulmate. Seraphine Luvandis—will you marry me?’
The full moon beamed down at them standing there, washing the Old Town Square in an inky silver-blue. An icy gust sheared Gallows’ skin, snuffing the light and heat from the ignium lamps.
‘Ty,’ she said. Her skin was as thin and pale as paper—like their lifeless audience. He found his body trembling, but not from the chill. Words formed then dissolved in his throat. She caressed his face with her hand, its touch absent of any warmth.
He struggled to his feet, feeling an immense weight press on him.
‘What… What’s wrong?’ he stammered. Moonlight spilled away, and the whole sky turned black.
‘Everything,’ she said. ‘Our plans… Our future…’ The skin on her face cracked and peeled.
‘I…’
‘Did you believe in it?’
The foul smell of rancid, burning meat invaded his senses, cloying at his eyes, seizing his throat. ‘Sera…’
‘You lost me, Tyson.’ Her voice hissed. ‘The day you sailed away.’ Flames sparked from her flesh, soft and gentle at first, like the reflection of the ignium lamps on the pond.
‘Don’t say that!’ He wanted to say more, so much more. Fire draped around her in waves. Their spectators, silent and still, melted away into the blackness.
‘Gods, Sera! Sera!’ Her skin charred and crackled as the fire spread. He grabbed at her, frantic, but his fingers grasped only air.
‘It’s too late.’
‘No! NO!’
She reached out a hand to touch his face. Flames danced on her fingertips. ‘I’m gone, Tyson.’
‘SERA!’
The life burned out of her in front of his streaming eyes, until she was nothing more than embers carried on the wind.
Nidra’s influence infected even Gallows’ dreams.
‘I’ll stain your soul,’ she’d said. At the time, Gallows believed Nidra’s words were just hyperbole—but seeing Sera burn before his eyes like that, even in a dream…
Gallows vomited.
He cowered in his corner, back against the wall, eyes burning and breaths shallow. Nidra’s words slithered in his head like a viper.
‘Your city will fall, Dalthean.’
The Idari would invade his home. They would seize the kingdom’s ignicite reserves and use them to fuel their war machine. They would march across all of Imanis and raze it to the ground.
Prevailing Wind had failed. The Idari had turned Dalthea’s own people against each other, and Fallon and the rest were probably dead.
It had all been for nothing.
Screw the war, and screw Aramon Fallon for dragging me into it. Hell, screw the whole damn kingdom.
He should have taken Sera and ran to the other side of the world. He had friends in Nom Ganald, Mercuria, Aludan… They could have gone anywhere, done anything.
‘You’re doing the right thing.’ Sera’s words—they sounded like lies now. Soon Dalthean streets would run with blood. Nidra must have found the weapon she was obsessed with. They can already get inside our heads—what the hell were they after?
If the Idari could enslave enemy troops, then it wouldn’t be long before they sent them into their homelands. Once Dalthea fell, the rest of Imanis would follow—Ryndara, Phadros, Tarevia. The Idari could bleed every kingdom and republic dry without bloodying their blades or risking their own men.
Gallows picked at the leaves and acai berries the kuramanusa had left for him, but he had no appetite. The more he tried to fight it, the more Nidra’s face grinned at him, the more her scent burned in his nose.
‘Perhaps I’ll keep you?’ She was going to parade Gallows through his own home like a lapdog. He wanted to throw up. His throat constricted and his stomach swirled with a tangle of anger, fear and anxiety.
He hurled his plate across the floor. Nidra’s arrogance galled him. Superior officers wouldn’t tolerate one of their own slipping intel to an enemy soldier, yet she did so with glee. Because I ain’t a soldier—I’m a goddamn pet. She doesn’t see me as a threat.
Nidra was a capricious witch. He’d bruised her ego by overcoming her will, even for a moment—and this was his punishment. She’d made him talk about his fiancée, made him tell her how much Sera meant to him. Nidra wanted him to demonstrate where his strength came from so she could use it against him, make him weak.
She’d tear him apart piece by piece. She’d break his spirit. She’d violate him again and again until he was unable to put himself back together. She would dismantle him for daring to fight back.
And if the Idari planned to march on Dalthea, Gallows would never see Sera again—Nidra would make sure of it. She’d seek her out, toy with her—make her suffer before killing her—or force Gallows to do it.
Gallows couldn’t let that happen.
* * *
A day passed.
Gallows made himself eat every ounce of food offered to him. He rested as best he could to conserve his strength.
I will beat you. I will beat you.
He repeated the mantra over and over—screamed it when the shame of what Nidra made him do broiled in his gut.
Sera would forgive him. She’d understand. They’d have a lot of pain to work through, but they’d do so together.
Gallows clung to Sera’s image—clung to the thought which gave him the strength to break free before. He would overcome Nidra, and make her pay for what she’d done.
When he slept, the dream came again—the deathly gaze, the frost-bitten air, Sera fading before Gallows’ eyes.
But the dream was not reality—Gallows remembered the last night they’d spent together, and those were the images which gave him strength—Sera gave him strength. That’s how he would win.
When cell door scratched open, he was ready for her.
Nidra beckoned Gallows to the bed. His heart speared his ribs as he set himself down. Her sweet scent clung to the sheets and turned his sto
mach.
‘Soon, we embark on the voyage to Dalthea,’ she said, one of her fingers pressing Gallows down. He didn’t protest—not yet. ‘Time is of the essence,’ Nidra continued. ‘You’ll excuse me if I don’t undress.’
I will beat you.
The curve of Nidra’s lips expanded. ‘You don’t seem to relish the thought of going home.’ She clicked her fingers and one of the kuramanusa closed the door. She didn’t command them to leave—they stood there, watching. ‘Don’t you wish to see Sera again?’
Gallows didn’t take the bait. ‘Helmsley, Rocco.’ His voice grated. ‘Are they alive?’ If Gallows attacked Nidra and failed, he had to know what steps she would take to punish him.
‘We are beyond small talk, I think.’ She climbed on top of Gallows. Her fingers reached down to the inside of his thigh. ‘Why, Corporal Gallows, you do not seem in the mood. Let’s see if I can change your mind…’
Gallows seized her wrists and pushed her away.
She giggled. ‘You can stop the charade, dog, I know you enjoy this. There is no shame here. Why pretend? There are no lies between you and I; I hear the noises you make—I see how I make you buckle with ecstasy.’
I will beat you.
‘I know you prefer me to her,’ Nidra continued. ‘And I’ll hear you say it. Without force, I’ll hear you say it.’
I will beat you.
She pushed herself on top of him—and like a thundercloud expanding across the sky, her power pressed over him. She dampened his protests, drowned his will.
Nidra arched down and bit his neck, her breath coiling around him.
Then the torment began anew.
But deep inside, like a dusting of gold in a coal mine, something of him remained.
I will beat you.
Gallows watched through his own eyes, separated from himself like a soul torn from its body. He listened to his voice as she commanded him to say things, felt her skin as she made him touch her.
But the spark was growing into an inferno.
Sera did that—she filled him with a fire he’d never known before. They’d argued on the day they met—she’d accused Gallows of smuggling a forgery of Aurien tal Varaldo’s infamous portrait The Scholar into Dalthea from Val Candria, even going so far as to accuse him of planning to switch it with the genuine one hanging in Dalthea’s Musicians’ Guild. She did not take it well when Gallows admitted she was only half right—the forgery had been hanging in the Musicians’ Guild for years, and Gallows merely sought to right the wrong.
The argument lasted hours, and by the time they were done, they were alone in the customs office. He remembered how Sera’s silver jewellery charmed the light from the moon.
‘We’ll rule… as gods…’ Nidra’s panting voice floated over him.
Sera…
The Perceptor writhed faster, her skin aglow with sweat.
The night I proposed, how you danced, how I took you in my arms…
‘I’ll march… through your home… with you on my leash, dog…’
The night we met, how your jewellery shimmered…
‘Your countrymen… will worship me…’
…and the smaller memories—the ones that spring up from nowhere and surprise you… The first time I cooked for you… The night you showed me your fancy apartment… When we talked of moving to Kingsway together…
‘Yes… Shall we visit Sera with you… on my arm, dog?’
…the way your face screws up when you laugh, how your eyes light up at Wintercast, the way you pleaded for me to give you more coins to throw into the opera house fountain…
‘Stop.’
By her look, Nidra was as surprised to hear Gallows speak the word as he was.
He seized his chance.
Gallows hurled Nidra onto the floor—she rolled and sprang to her feet, retreating like a scared dog. Gallows ripped the sheets away and dived to the table where she’d forced him to eat with her. The dinner knife felt good in his hands.
Nidra screamed something but it was white noise to Gallows. He was fuelled by instinct alone—he couldn’t know how long he’d remain free, if he’d remain free—he had to act now.
She recoiled from him. Gallows was pleased to see her scared.
‘Stop, dog!’ she screamed.
‘No.’
Nidra’s face paled. ‘How… How are you doing this? Tell me! You two, get him! Now!’
‘They won’t be enough.’
One of the kuramanusa grabbed Gallows from behind and dragged him to the floor. He booted Gallows in the ribs.
Gallows thrashed there as both slaves rained stomps and punches onto him.
But like a cornered wolf, he snarled, tore free and slammed one of their heads against the wall. It split like an egg shell.
The other one lurched back in fear before lashing out—but Nidra fed her prisoners better than her slaves. Gallows gripped his thin wrist, twisted his arm with a satisfying snap, and left him howling on the floor.
Rage fed Gallows strength and fuelled his muscles. He turned on Nidra.
The ornate tattoos on her face squirmed like worms. She floated backwards as Gallows advanced on her. ‘Turn the knife on yourself, dog!’ Her voice split like a crack in ice.
‘No.’
From the sleeve of her dress, she produced a blade of her own—a long, thin stiletto—but it looked uncomfortable in her hand. ‘Your friends will pay for this insult, dog. Harm me, and they—’
Gallows’ knife slashed her dress.
‘Get up!’ she called to her slaves. ‘Kill him!’
‘Nidra.’ Gallows gripped the hilt tighter. ‘I think you’re losing your allure.’
The door burst from its hinges. Gallows ignored it and kept advancing on Nidra. The point of the blade scored her forearm, and seeing Nidra bleed only fuelled Gallows further.
A force picked him up and launched him across the room.
‘Grand Perceptor.’ The kiro’s voice was so low and heavy, it seemed to swallow every other sound in the room.
‘Atun. Kill him. Kill him.’
Pain shooting through him, Gallows got to his feet and faced the immense kiro. He was the one who’d subdued Gallows during the ambush. The plates of his crimson and gold armour shifted like the scales of an exhaling dragon.
‘Let me kill her first,’ said Gallows. ‘Then I’ll slay you.’
Nidra cursed, but Atun permitted himself a smile. Without shifting his gaze from Gallows, he said, ‘Your obsession with this cur births weakness in you, Grand Perceptor.’
‘How dare you speak to me—’
‘Silence, witch. It ends now.’
Nidra stomped her foot. ‘He still has uses.’
‘No,’ said Atun, taking a step closer, ‘he does not.’
The big man was unarmed, but that didn’t reassure Gallows. He lunged forward, striking with the knife. It wouldn’t even scratch the kiro’s armour, but it was all Gallows had.
Atun didn’t even register it as a weapon. Gallows thrust for the kiro’s throat—Atun seized the blade and tossed it aside. ‘My people call me the Ironrender.’ The kiro punched Gallows in the stomach. Pain exploded in Gallows’ chest like he’d swallowed an ignium charge.
Before he fell, Gallows twisted away, stumbling back into a corner.
‘Yes, cower, rat.’
Gallows charged at Atun—and to his own astonishment, managed to land an uppercut under the warrior’s chin. Amusement spread on Atun’s face. One-handed, he hefted Gallows up by the neck, squeezing the life from him.
Gallows’ legs and hands flailed out with impotent fury. Swirls of thin and spiking patterns swirled around Atun’s vicious eyes—raised skin, scarring—not tattoos.
He was once a kuramanusa.
‘You…’ Gallows spluttered. Black shadows invaded his vision.
‘Stop,’ urged Nidra. ‘I still need him.’
As if in defiance, Atun gripped harder.
‘I have more power than you do, Ironr
ender,’ Nidra threatened. ‘Shall I demonstrate?’
Atun’s mouth twitched.
With all the enthusiasm of a scuzzer handing his favourite needle over, Atun relinquished his grip and let Gallows fall to the ground.
Gallows hacked and coughed, dragging air into his lungs.
Nidra bent down by Gallows’ side and spat in his face. ‘You cannot beat us, dog. I can manipulate you in ways you won’t even comprehend. You will face the most severe punishment you can imagine for this rebellion. Your precious Sera will know my wrath—more intimately, more painful than you can imagine.’
Gallows’ hand shot out, but Nidra swept it away.
Her hot breath scouring Gallows’ skin, she said, ‘You know nothing of the fury yet to come, dog—but you will.’
* * *
Atun the Ironrender dragged Gallows through the hallway. His vision faded in and out, his heartbeat sluggish and heavy.
Atun hurled Gallows into his cell with a force that justified the kiro’s byname.
‘Only by Nidra’s command are you alive, Dalthean. She should not have indulged you for this long.’ Atun kicked Gallows across the floor. ‘You do not deserve to breathe the same air as us. Remember this.’
Gallows vomited in the corner. He’d lost his one chance to defeat Nidra.
Rocco and Helmsley… If they were still alive, she would kill them. Their blood would be on his hands.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. She’d take her revenge on Gallows by going after everything he loved.
Muscles screaming at him and blood seeping from his wounds, Gallows eased onto his back and shrunk into the corner, the darkness of the cell closing in on him.
As long as I’m alive, Sera’s in danger.
V
She’d chipped away at Gallows like a sculptor with a block of marble.
His cell reeked of blood and puke, but worse was the dread that filled him each time a shadow flitted by the bars of the door.
The Fury Yet To Come Page 8