CHAINED
There was such a loud noise in my head. Such a painful, wicked noise that pulsed through my blood, that stretched through my nerves.
It screamed. It yelled. It crooned and cawed and called for me.
So many voices, so many sounds, so many words. They stormed in my ears, they echoed in my bones. Laced around my mind, caressing the edges of my thoughts, begging to be welcomed.
The world was so silent as I was tossed in a corner, so hazy the lights swam in my vision.
More screaming. More yelling. More power went into my blood trying to control me.
Leon and Rhiannon were here, too. Chained in the same corner, each at my side.
The voices grew louder. Louder louder louder. I hadn't heard the chair being dragged across the familiar front room, hadn't heard the thudding of his boots as he approached us.
I hadn't felt him appearing behind me in the Tower until too late. Hadn't sensed a drop of magic until he'd stepped out of the shadows.
Maybe I had been too engrossed in the monsters carved into the walls. Maybe I had been too lost down my own thoughts and plans.
I should've noticed him. I should've felt him prowling in the folds of the world waiting for me. I should've—
He'd been the one to deliver the box to my rooms this morning.
He'd been the one to hand me the shirt soaked in Blake's scent. Not just his scent…there had been something else.
The auras behind the Nightbleed doors shouldn't have been small and quiet. They should've been bright and loud. They had been dim even in the council room.
It wasn't because of some protective spell.
There had been something else with that shirt.
A drug. Something that had slipped into my system for seven hours. Something that had silently diluted my senses.
He'd put it in there. He'd waited for me, followed every move.
He sat on the chair, the edges of the ankle he placed over his knee hazy in my vision. Leon and Rhia were hazy, too. But it was fading. This loud haziness was fading, slowly.
I could feel the gentle tug through the mating bond. The gentle words brushed down another bridge—the one I'd kept built with Rhia since the first day we arrived.
Alive. They were both alive.
The haze and mist trickled away but I would have known that face even if I were going blind. Would have known that cologne, that edge of a smirk, that voice with or without the unbearable tension in Leon's muscles. In his bones.
The unsteadiness faded away, whatever that had been coursing through my blood coming out of my nose. It burned. It burned.
That small tendril of shadows smelled every bit like Blake. It scurried to the scarred hand waiting for it, wrapped around his fingers, went into his flesh.
The world became steady. My senses picked everything, every spell guarding the room, every thought as Mealin leaned in, elbows on his thighs, grinning from ear to ear.
He looked so much older as the chandelier reflected its light over the hard planes of his face. So much wickeder.
Every muscle in me locked up, every part of me tightening to the point of pain as Leon stared at his father, fighting every spell, every lick of magic pinning him back to the wall. Not an inch—he didn't shift an inch, couldn't push the magic swirling in his mind away, either.
The smell of burning flesh filled my lungs, broken grunts echoing in my ear. My bones.
Mealin was still grinning as he leaned even closer, his eyes darker than they'd ever been. So dark, so black that there was nothing mortal in them. Nothing alive.
"Welcome home, son.''
That sound—his voice…
Every bit of magic in me spiked up, tried ripping through every wall, every barrier I built. They barely obeyed, barely shrunk as I shoved them deep.
Mealin turned to Rhiannon then, grin going wider and wider, such a clean, wicked satisfaction on his face. "Daughter.'' A quick gesture of the hand as he stared at me, "Your Majesty.''
He knew. Perhaps had done so from the very start. If he'd told Blake…
Rhiannon did not blink as she stared at the monster who had killed her mother and tortured her brother. Didn't not move, did not breathe too loudly.
I knew why. I knew why neither of them dared pushing to the end.
The kalazin. The poison they'd taken at the edges of Cantelot's port months ago. It would take seconds to work would the spell sense the danger.
Her voice had been so calm as she leaned her head against the wall, so cold. Every breathe was tailored, every stare was well studied. "Hello, Mealin.''
Her father laughed, the very sound of it filling the room, the air. "You've grown a spine at last, I see.'' A breath of magic dragged his chair closer to her, his foot next to my hand.
I couldn't move a finger. The nirikh throbbed harder.
"Tell me,'' he traced a finger along her jaw, ''you're not that scared, small girl hiding behind her brother anymore, are you?"
Not a word. Nothing but that cold, unwavering stare.
His finger reached her chin, brushing just beneath her mouth, a dark smoke already swirling at the tip. "Estelle would have been proud.'' He traced both the sides of her mouth, the edges of her nose. ''Or envious. A future Gold Cloak,'' Mealin drew his thumb against the bridge, the tip,'' it had always been her dream. She was smart, but you…''
He covered her nose with his hand, magic thick and swirling, ready for the order to go into her.
"You're brilliant, Rhiannon. So damn brilliant.'' The magic seeped in, slowly spreading. She chocked, fingers uselessly curling, slipping. "You should've seen this coming.''
Her back arched, her eyes closed, the kalazin a heartbeat away from reacting—
Every spell wrapped around my body sizzled as I pushed myself, burned as I—
His hand was in my hair.
My head hit the marble floor.
My left side was held down so tightly it felt that my bones would crack.
I could barely see his boots, barely feel him stand up as the magic went into me instead, running through my blood, barreling down on my mind.
Rhia's gasp was a relief even when I'd been dragged by the hair, still pressed against the floor. And then my head was yanked as Mealin sat, the chair moved back a few steps.
The horror spreading through me—Leon's horror—was like nothing I'd ever sensed before. So heavy, so gut-twisting as Mealin placed my head on his thigh, still facing my family. He ran his fingers through my hair, every touch sending spear-sharp powers into my skull. They roared in my ears. They filled my lungs. They trashed against every wall, searching for the magic I kept pushed back.
My head didn't tilt, my fingers didn't move, my stares didn't slide as the nirikh burned harder against my throat.
Every movement, every breath…he controlled them. Controlled me.
I could barely contain the sound that threatened to rip my chest apart as his magic searched and searched and searched. It burned. It hurt. It felt like he was slipping within me, diving into every piece of who I was.
I still couldn't move. Couldn't close my eyes to block the faces of Leon and Rhiannon, the unadulterated terror in them.
Mealin kept stroking. An obedient, leashed dog at his side, moving as he willed me to.
"Such an interesting aura.'' His fingers traced toward my nape, my legs trembling, my toes curling in my boots as more and more and more magic flooded me, going in and out, every instant of it like thunder and fire shredding me. "No wonder you besotted both of my sons.''
His fingers didn't stop.
My thoughts halted—
Both of my sons. Both of my sons. Both of my sons—
Blake and Leon, they were…
They couldn't be—
Sons. Brothers. Rhiannon and Leon and Blake were siblings.
The room span, twirled, folded, expanded at once. Every thought, every shred of me swayed as Mealin laughed, the sound searing my skin like wildfire.
The demon leaned in, wrapping an arm around my throat, each inhale stones in my lungs.
"Haven't you realized you all carry yourself the same way?" The amusement in his voice was sickening. He'd been waiting for this day, for the sheer madness and hatred filling the air.
My head was pulled back until my spine almost cracked, the muscles beneath my eyes feathering and twitching as Mealin placed a hand beneath my chin.
The screams building up in my chest couldn't get out.
His powers darted in my blood, in my flesh, pushing against every piece of me.
"Haven't you realized that bit of similarity between them?'' Mealin grinned, sharp teeth glinting. "A mark, perhaps.'' He pulled me by the hair even more until my head slammed against the edge of the chair, between his legs.
I snarled. The pressure in my chest grew and grew and grew.
"Or that unholy fire running in their blood.''
The wildfire.
The same rune inked into their flesh. Not for strength. Not for what Leon believed it to be.
An eye of fire.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
Mealin laughed again, the terror on Leon's face by its own a very prize. And Rhiannon still didn't blink, didn't react even when her thoughts were a total mess.
She didn't know about it—that secret he'd hidden from the world.
"It gave you away, your fire. It always did.''
My muscles tightened, my bones trembled as the nirikh's powers thrummed, pulling me to my feet, the world tumbling with that action.
I tried screaming down our bond, tried—I couldn't even hear my own thoughts as Mealin's magic searched so deep within me. It barreled on my walls, on my mind.
His hand slid beneath my shirt. Beneath the top. Traced steady lines up and down my spine.
Every nerve jerked up. Every shred of me fought to get away of that touch. Of that pain.
"It fed off my life.'' His hand went higher and higher, the poison he slid into my system everything like Blake's powers. "Every day you and your fire lived, you took it from me.''
Deeper. His magic went deeper. It bled through the folds, the realms, the barriers I had built so thoroughly to keep it protected. It was so close to mine, could feel it throbbing.
The hand on my waist shoved me back, his body pressing against mine, making that thing clawing within me boil.
His mouth grazed the skin below my ear. "Where are your powers, Celestia?" His fingers slid from my back to my front, pressed against where the hole in my middle had been then went up.
Up. Until they rested between my breasts, until their coldness seeped into my lungs. My heart.
It was such a broken cry. Such a dry, broken cry that slipped out and yet it had clawed every bit of me. Had scorched. Had shattered.
And those powers…They didn't feel like Blake's. They were Blake's.
He had stolen them, somehow. Had taken them, one shred at a time.
It made sense. It made so much sense.
Dearcious had been so…blind. Had not picked up a thread, doubted nothing, even after all the Arowcinders that was breaking.
He pressed me harder against him.
"Where. Are. They.''
A claw brushed my back. The sound of clothes being torn was deafening in my head.
He was still staring at Leon as the black shirt slid to the ground. Then the top beneath it, leaving the cloth wrapped around my chest.
The sound that came out of Rhiannon was gut-wrenching. The cry of terror that came out of Leon threatened to end me.
The magic had spread into every bit of me. A monster that pulsed in and out, that crashed against my bulging skin, clawing to be left out. Only to dart in again. And again. And again.
"Blake's fire had been so small compared to yours. So steady. Stealing it had been far easier than I ever believed .''
His claw traced the sides of the linen band. I couldn't close my eyes even when I tried. Couldn't shout any harder down our bridges.
And Leon…Leon was a shred from breaking. From doing anything to get that thing throbbing within me out.
Mealin pierced the cloth, moved his finger, the band tightening enough no air could come in.
"I will have your fire.'' He twisted his hand, the linen going tighter. I coughed blood. Vibrant, crimson blood.
"I will have your mind and all its knowledge, Rhiannon.''
His mouth brushed my ear. "And I will have your powers. All of them; the strength that can kill a god.'' Teeth brushed my neck. "And when Dearcious and the Five are dead and Apocalys is back, I will be the one to kill him.''
The linen wrapped even tighter.
"I will be God.''
My knees slammed against the ground.
My back arched to the point of blinding pain.
The monster curled in the middle of my chest pushed against my skin.
The sound that came out of Leon was a god's battle cry. His chains glowed, hissed, cawed. His flesh burned.
But Rhiannon—
Rhiannon was ready to give in, to give Mealin everything.
"D…Don't.'' My hands wrapped around my throat. "Don't.''
The barreling on my mental shields stopped.
And Mealin got in. Into every piece of me. Into every lick of magic.
I still fought. Still wrapped myself against his magic, not letting him pull them out.
Nothing human shone in his eyes, his soul, as he grabbed me by the face and pulled me up to my feet, blood trickling from my nose. My mouth.
"I'd wanted to kill you, but,'' he dug his fingers in my cheeks,'' keeping you at my side is by far more rewarding. An empty shell with no powers and no mind.'' He stepped closer, so close I could smell the blood lacing his breaths. "An obedient servant who will witness the downfall of everyone she ever loved.''
Closer. Closer. There was no space between our bodies.
"Choose, princess. Life or death."
I stared at his face. At his madness.
Stared and stared and stared—
I laughed. Hollered.
"Death, Mealin.''
His magic inside me twisted. Ignited. Yanked mines out—
It all backfired.
And Mealin crashed against the massive windows, Leon and Rhiannon already on him, claws and talons and blades out.
The powers he poured inside of me curled out of my fingers as a breath of magic brought a jacket out of Blake's closet. They swirled, curling, churning, hissing, utterly under my control.
More came out. More and more and more as I pulled them out of him, body and mind.
The smell of his blood was already filling the air. His screams were already ringing in my bones.
The Preliuses had both waited such a long time for this very moment.
The mass of powers grew and grew as I kept on pulling, a lick of my very own magic keeping Mealin alive. It was too damn early to die.
His flesh was in ribbons. His blood splattered everything: the walls, the windows, the carpet, the paintings. Everything. And I ran my hands through that blood, picked only his scent, and smeared it across the room.
Across Blake's bedroom, across his studies and library. Opened books and ripped them, tucking everything useful in that pocket in the world.
Books. Pages. Weapons. Spells. All the titles, all the items I'd marked as important after each time we drank together.
Some papers, I kept in hand as I kept on pulling his scent from his blood, spreading it around the Drahayá, messing with his sketchbook, flipping it to the page I had copied.
That moment of us, dancing under the warm lights of the Fire Festival.
And then I shoved the papers into his boots, his pockets. Cracked the Drahayá—the copy I had made. Piece by piece, I stole it whenever I could, left an identical replica in its place. Whatever it was, whatever it could do, I would never leave it into Blake and Apocalys's hands.
And there had been that final piece I hadn't been able to steal yet, now finally with the rest in another fold.
The false Nightbleed shards scattered on the ground at my order, a couple bits exploding into dust in my hand.
My mate and his sister stepped aside as I crouched, fingers going into the wounds in his chest, his hands, his legs, planting the Drahayá's scent into him. Blood, black and vicious, gurgled out of him.
He chocked as I shove my hand in his mouth, running the powder across his teeth, the inside of his cheeks.
He couldn't lift a finger. Couldn't divert his eyes.
His mind was mine. Every lick of him was mine, melting away. Melting him, too, from the inside.
"Painful, isn't it?" I smiled, cupping his face, fingers digging in the wound that tore his jaw. "This is how you do it.'' Harder. I shattered him, wrecked him harder until I could hear the pleading in his eyes. Until I could taste his pain on my tongue. "This is how you destroy someone.''
Not like that flimsy attempt. Not like that little scratch against my powers.
I laughed.
"You really thought you could control me.'' The nirikh sang as I zipped it left and right. Its powers bowed to mine, obeyed to every whisper.
The chair he'd sat on came scurrying to my sides, Leon and Rhia covered in blood from head to toe, not even near being done. He'd tortured them, he'd killed their mother—it was about to be a long torturing session. For everything.
I crossed my legs, watching unflinchingly at what they did to him. At how easy their claws cut through his flesh.
More and more powers seeped out of him until it was a mass of churning darkness massive enough to wipe Eziara from the map. Some were his, some were Lysithea's, some were Dearcious's, some were of old, forgotten tombs.
My powers closed around them, around the strength I pulled to the last drop. They hissed. They trashed.
The drug had worked, Mealin had gotten that right. But I'd felt the tugging along the bond before he appeared—from Leon, a whisper of a warning.
And when his father had gotten out of the shadows, when he'd wrapped the nirikh around my neck, I felt the many shades of power he owned. Knew a fight would break, and the Tower was such an open space for the soldiers on rotation to check in after sensing the commotion.
I didn't want to have an audience, didn't want words reaching Lysithea and Blake before grasping the situation.
And so Mealin had dragged me here, such a fitting room, truly. My powers were already spinning, tearing reality and sewing it as I planned.
He was strong, the growling powers floating around us far enough a clue. And yet he'd done so many mistakes, had believed with every shred of him that he could take mine. Had sent his strength into me, exposing every bit of it. Its textures, its rhythms, its colors and vibrancy.
He gave himself to me.
It was his greatest mistake.
Battling of wings echoed, loud and clear even through the walls. The room almost rattled by the winds slamming the windows.
My powers pressed against the mass twisting in the room, pressed and pressed and pressed until it sucked the air. Until it almost sucked everything else in the world. A center of power so mighty gravity rippled, so mighty reality dented. The world caved toward it, caved and came running for that magic.
It shrank. More and more and more. One mistake—one mistake and this madness of powers would annihilate everything in its wake. Flesh and blood and stones and seas. Nothing would remain.
Dearcious became closer, closer, closer—
The magic exploded, vanishing into nothing, the world turning white for a moment that lasted too long. My eyes burned. My blood thundered.
The mighty windows of Blake's room shattered.
It wasn't a heartbeat later that he landed through those windows, clean rage crackling from his skin, his eyes, his folding wings.
Mealin remained unmoving on the floor.
And Blake saw it all, the lies I'd faked, the plans Mealin had prepared. I only left out that bit of his powers, now destroyed amongst all the others. He would've been furious, would've lashed it all on me.
He was a burning, trashing hell in a man's skin. The secret library—the one Leon had planted that kernel of powers between its walls at my demand—had erupted into unholy fires that no protective spells could withstand. And judging by his face, his aura, the fury radiating from him, not a paper could be saved.
And then Mealin was almost dead on his floor, my clothes and his books shredded, the sketch book messed up, his rooms bloodied and in tatters and the Drahayá...
The room—the building—trembled as he roared.
And perhaps all of Eziara rippled at his anger, perhaps the monsters deep in the sea felt every bit of darkness thundering out of him.
He'd lunged for Mealin, had been a breath away from ending him right there when Leyath's strings shot through the air, wrapping her father's body.
"Theirs." My voice was steady, cold. "Mealin is their feast." I reclined in my chair, head tilting up, the nirikh glowing, the red gem burning as it caught the lights. "And Ohad, too."
Dearcious barely turned to look at me. Barely stared long enough at the damage in his rooms.
You'll have your answers soon, princeling.
I didn't bother hide my smirk. I had warned him, for all he knew. The plan had been the fire, pinning the crime to him. And yet, all of this, it all added up so damm perfectly. Perhaps the Gods had been in enough strength to intervene. I didn't know and didn't truly care as I eyed the king a sliver away from erupting.
Leon and Rhiannon didn't wait for any confirmation or cue before unfurling their massive wings and leaping out of the shattered windows, Mealin still frozen as they hauled him. Weyar Ohad would not make it until sunrise either.
Rain and winds slipped into the rooms, and for a moment that lasted too long, neither Blake or I moved a finger, him standing in the middle of the mess, soaked through, me sitting on one of his chairs.
I had left fragments clear enough to sum up what had happened, some of them real, some utterly false. And when his stares strayed to his jacket wrapped around my shoulders, buttoned up to my collarbone, the torc glinting with power—
I didn't know what to make out of his stares. Didn't know how to read him as he got out of the room, cursing loud and dark enough I could swear the very candlelights wavered at the sound.
He was in and out in a minute, magic already fixing the mess, my clothes thrown into the igniting fireplace, his book forced close. I had left no trace of blood on the floor far before he arrived.
Dearcious handed me a bottle of kavaer, the other ones already on the repaired low table.
He chugged his first bottle in an instant. Then the other. And the other.
He drank so much, bottles floating from the dark room to his hand every few minutes. I wondered if any would remain by the end of the night.
He still hadn't said a word. Still hadn't leaped out and tore both men to shreds with his bare hands.
Blake kept on drinking, his steps unsteady as he turned from the window to the couch, his body almost slamming into it.
He drank and drank and drank until not even his aura swayed, until no magic hissed around us, until the air didn't burn in my lungs anymore.
Still not a word.
And I remained silent as I watched him get wasted so rapidly. As I watched him sink in his seat, head tilted back, amber eyes unfocused.
Amber.
There had been not a drop of magic in those drinks—only pure kavaer. And he'd consumed so much of it I didn't know how it didn't burn his insides.
Drink of Heavens. It had worked the same way my spell had done, had amplified its strength.
And yet...the amber didn't wreck me so terribly this time. Didn't make my world spin.
Both of my sons.
Both of my sons.
Both of my sons.
Those words still echoed in my bones as Blake fell asleep, as I stared at the room that held nothing of value anymore, and got out of his chambers.
Out of the building.
Out of Evanor.
Out—to nowhere.
To the skies. To the cold, brutal rain.
Both of my sons...
-Media above is how is close to how I imagined Dearcious to be, more or less.
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What do you think will happen now? Comment your thoughts, I would love to read them.
Until next time, have an amazing week.