Abolisher
7.

Guards entered the dungeons today.

Vendrik hadn’t the strength to even brace himself as their steps echoed in the stones of the empty hallway outside his cell.

Four—he counted, before he slightly lifted his lids to catch four silhouettes sliding into his cell with a warrior’s grace. Four, to handle one man. Even as each ounce of life was leeched out of him, Vendrik huffed out a laugh.

Which, in turn, earned him a jab to his stomach. He doubled over as pain shot through his weak body, chains shackling his arms up clanked to the stone.

Another punch came, to the jaw this time. Vendrik tasted the blood before it slid down his lips, his neck.

And they went on.

These men—he recognized them, had fought alongside them multiple times.

Jainre, Luca, Birex, Susac.

Even as he couldn’t perceive their faces in the dark cell through the fuzzy sight, Vendrik recognized the way Luca landed a blow—his sharp knuckles did more damage than the impact. Birex was a giant, his massive arm could dislodge Vendrik’s head off his body in a single blow if struck right. But he would do no such thing—simply because he wasn’t commanded to. Susac was slimmer than the rest, but fought with a deadly grace.

Jainre was the shy one—the loyal one. He just stood beside and watched as the others did the work. But he wouldn’t say a word against it, no—that loyalty was more useful to Queen Felset than to Vendrik, even if it killed him slowly, churned his goodness.

Vendrik didn’t blame him—he blamed none of them. They were just trying to survive and avoid a merciless end.

All four had come together, because they knew even in this condition, even with no life, if anyone had come alone, Vendrik would have been the one to emerge from the cell. But four … he couldn’t handle four.

And this beating … precautions were necessary before they freed his hands from the wall. And they weren’t gentle when they did. Vendrik’s wrists bled before they were constricted in different chains. Each muscle in his arms strained when they came down—bones seemed to groan in pain—from having been up for so long. Vendrik couldn’t help the grunt, even as he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction.

None of them said a word as Luca practically dragged Vendrik out of the cell—others following suit. Then out of the dungeons.

Vendrik’s eyes burned at the onslaught of light, and snapped shut. And just as soon, a sack was shoved over his head, blocking his sight entirely.

Luca tugged at the chains harshly enough that Vendrik scrambled a step forward. He felt wet grass beneath his feet as they walked, the cool wind grazing his bare torso like ice on scorching coal.

He heard the rustle of trees, tasted the sweetness of morning air as it seeped into his waist-length hair and grazed his sweat-slick scalp. As it coiled his wounded, bleeding wrists beneath the chains.

Eternity—he’d been in those dungeons for eternity. He didn’t care how long he’d been there, how much had he been tortured, his fire suffocated—not really—not as long as his agony resulted in Ryle’s freedom. Not as long as his friend was free of that bitch’s clutches at last, hopefully plotting her death.

Vendrik would gladly pay the price for Azryle’s salvation.

He’d watched his friend getting broken, and made, and broken again. Watched as he was abused every day, tortured. Watched as he’d been toyed with over and over and over for three centuries.

No more.

Only, Vendrik feared—if the Enchanted Queen tried going in his mind, to compel him, and have him obey—

A voice bellowed in his head, Run. Escape. Now.

Vendrik would have, had he not been so utterly weak. Had he not been so unequipped to fight. And yet, his body prickled, and he shuddered with a strong restraint, as each instinct in him began commanding his body to run, run, run.

He felt the guards stiffening around him, their hands going for their weapons. Alert at that slight shudder.

Fear—they were still afraid of him. Even now, as he was drained and bony, these men remembered the brute Vendrik had been all that time ago, when he and Ryle had fought side by side and slain armies and baeselk.

Another thought struck him then.

Why hadn’t the queen tried invading his mind to have him comply? Why hadn’t she simply used the oath and commanded him to answer all that she wished to know?

Before he could even scramble for an answer, voices drifted over to him. Not even voices—just a vague sense that more people were present here, wherever he was. They were still in direct sunlight—there was still grass beneath his feet …

His senses edged; instincts went on alert.

The Enchanted Queen was present here.

Vendrik felt her like death lingering near him, like a great power towering over him. Felt it in his skin as if needles had been pierced there. The hair along his arms rose.

Vendrik’s legs buckled, before he was pushed to his knees—they slammed into the ground with a brutal impact. This time, he reined in his grunt.

The sack was snatched from his head, and Vendrik opened his eyes slowly this time, in an attempt to spare them from the burning. It took moments for his sight to adjust.

Felset sat across from him, in a throne carved with wood snaking out from an enormous tree behind her.

She wore a gown so dark that it seemed to ripple night around her, like eclipsed rays of sun. Her skin so pale that it seemed to gleam in the morning’s light. And eyes … those beautiful big eyes … still bronze, and yet … dark in an awful, profane way—that had the fear igniting in Vendrik.

Then his eyes landed on what was sprawled before him.

Shards of glass piled up in a clean circle.

His heart began speeding.

Four warriors flanked the queen—two on either side. All of them Vendrik hadn’t seen in years and years. Hadn’t heard from them.

One on the left was holding Maeren, a knife’s blade pressed to her throat. Vendrik stilled. There was no fear in her eyes, no will to fight for her life. Only—

Regret. A cunning, slaughtering regret simmered in her pine-green eyes. And then it was gone just like that.

Luca whispered beside him, “You try anything clever and she loses her head.” Nothing but a ruthless bite in his words.

All of them were oathed to the queen lounging in her throne, leashed to her. Not the way a certain ripper had been once—no, not even close.

“No, of course not,” spoke the queen in her soft manner, the trees seemed to grow somber in her voice’s wake.

But Vendrik couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe as he felt a familiar power surging towards him, coiling his mind—

She was in his mind.

He could feel her presence there, like a lion watching its prey. Waiting.

But Vendrik didn’t fail to notice that she wasn’t advancing, wasn’t gripping his mind as she’d done with all these others. She was only seeing everything happening there—but …

“For Azryle Wintershade suffered so wonderfully that everyone else’s suffering feels like a dull play,” Felset continued. “I’d be willing to try if you excel his exquisiteness though.” There was a slight smile dawning on her lips. Small and cruel.

Calm.

Deadly.

“Are you ready to speak, Favamst?”

For a moment, the world dissipated, sounds vanished, the weight of the missing ring in his third finger suddenly heavy and unbearable.

Favamst.

Fire-hearted.

Lilith had given him that name, that identity. Lilith had given him that life—that joy that had once come with the name.

Now, all that came was pain and sorrow. A phantom weight of a lost life.

Felset saw it all—scented it, felt it. And the smile on her lips only grew.

He stiffened. But kept his mouth sealed, his eyes trained on the glass shards piled before him.

The queen sat forward, narrowing her eyes—and he could have sworn the day dimmed with that small movement. “Where did you send my ripper?”

Vendrik waited—for the words to come hurtling out of his mouth at the pure command from his queen, for his tongue lose its rein and reveal whatever he was left with but—

Nothing. There was no tug, no awakening.

Felset’s jaw ground, and this time, he waited for the blow.

Still nothing.

Instead, the queen’s lips curled in a cruel smirk. Then, “Show him.”

Susac stepped forward from behind Vendrik, and hurled something white before his knees.

Vendrik sucked in a breath. His heart inched up to his throat.

An enormous, gilded feather.

Something in Vendrik’s chest tightened to the point of pain. Binou—

“The griffin was a present, Favamst.” Felset angled her head—a pure animal movement. “Sadly it was turned into a sacrifice.”

No. No, no—

“You don’t have many beloveds in this world,” continued the queen, as she motioned to look at Maeren. “Only Prince Azryle, and this wretched piece.” Maeren stiffened at the insult, her throat bobbed against the blade. But wisely, she kept her mouth shut. “Last piece left of the dearest Lilith, too.”

Vendrik was breathing hard now, struggling against the words stuck in his throat, choking him, each inch of him felt utterly vulnerable—useless. Lose one to save another—

“Your bravery resulted in Lilith’s death, you wouldn’t want her sister’s blood on your hands, too, would you?”

Vendrik upheld his silence as his gaze slid to Maeren involuntarily. The wraith was still as death, her pine eyes trained on the grass before her feet. And for a moment, he wondered if she was avoiding meeting his gaze, as if that would make this despicable decision any easier.

Upon Vendrik’s silence, Felset heaved out an annoyed sigh and leaned back in her throne, and Vendrik didn’t fail to notice the quick glance she cast in Luca’s direction, who still loomed over Vendrik’s shoulder like a solidified shadow.

Then the shadow moved, and grasped Vendrik’s hair in a brutal grip. Vendrik grunted as Luca yanked his head back, exposing his throat.

Vendrik thought a sword would come shattering his neck, but—

Stench of something burning sneaked into his nostrils a moment later.

For moments, Vendrik ignored it.

Until his back—where his aflame hair touched—began burning.

Vendrik began panting through his clenched teeth as fire rose and rose and rose to his scalp, burning everything it touched in its wake. Until he let out a yelp. He couldn’t rein it—

“You can control the fire, Vendrik,” said Felset. “You can stop this right now.”

No, no, no—

Vendrik’s screams grew as pain lanced through him and his skin scorched. All the sounds dwindled in the world and white glazed his sight.

He didn’t remember what befell next. Only the blinding pain, only excruciating agony rippling in the flesh of his face, before he fainted.