Page 102 of This Dark Descent
KYVIN CAME TOslowly.
When he opened his eyes, his pupils were blown wide, making him resemble a startled animal. Ari fixed the image in her mind. The way helooked about her workshop like the walls were coated in blood, the sharp intake of breath when he found her sitting on a crate in front of him. She would remember those things.
He leaned forward, but the ropes held strong, one arm tied to each side of the chair. She’d stripped him of his shirt, baring pale white skin like a fresh canvas.
“What in the hells do you think you’re doing, girl?” He thrashed against his bonds in earnest now. “Release me!”
She gave herself a moment to enjoy his struggle, the lilt of fear in his voice. Then she lifted the gag she’d looped around his neck and tightened it between his teeth. He fought to get words out around the cloth as she faced her workbench.
Ari didn’t have the arrangement of knives Kyvin did, but she had plenty of sharp objects and a working knowledge of living things from months of shaping golems. Perhaps after this she’d ask Reid to teach her about the most sensitive nerves, or the places where the skin was shallowest above the bone.
For now, her fettling knives would have to do.
She pressed the point of one to Kyvin’s throat and said quietly, “Scream for me, little mouse.”
Kyvin did scream, though the gag muffled the worst of it. What little sound escaped her small room would go ignored, just like her cries had the day those men robbed her. She exacted her fear from Kyvin’s flesh. With each cut, she told herself he was just a man, and men could bleed. She couldmake thembleed.
A quiet piece inside her shuddered at the blood, but she shoved that part deep, deep down. This was about proving herself unafraid, about proving herself in control.
She was strong,said the knife as it cut.
She was safe,said the swelling rivulets of blood.
She was powerful,said the fear in his eyes.
You are magnificent, Arielle Kadar, said the voice.
By the time Kyvin fainted from the pain, Ari felt that constant, restless apprehension inside of her settle. She tossed the blade onto the workbench and stared down at her bloodstained hands. They were perfectly still. So still, they felt separate from her. These hands were not hers. They belonged to a monster.
The sound of scraping stone was all the warning she had before a chair struck her in the side, knocking her to the floor. Kyvin stood over her, one hand freed from the ropes, the other still bound to the chair.
“You think you can get away with this?” he snarled even as he swayed. Between blood loss and the pain, he could barely keep his feet. Yet he held the chair up like a bludgeon and swung it toward her. She rolled out of the way, and the chair snapped.
When Kyvin straightened, he had only a thin spike of wood still attached to his other arm. He grinned and pulled it free.
The shadow of her dreams reared back to life. She felt chains at her wrists again, a knife at her throat. Nausea choked her. Fear froze her.
He is just a man, said the voice.
And she—she was something more.
Burning verillion, she bound her magic as she clambered to her feet, strength coalescing inside her.
Kyvin struggled to keep his footing, using the workbench for support and wielding the wooden spike like a sword. He pushed off the bench, thrusting at her. She lurched away. The verillion might lend her strength, but it told her nothing of fighting. Kyvin on the other hand looked as comfortable with the spike as the scalpel he’d carved her with.
She backed up, seeking an opening. Kyvin followed like a rabid dog on the scent. His wide grin showed too many teeth, and blood flecked his lips.
Ari ripped one of the hanging baskets off the hook and threw it at him, forcing him to bat it away. In his moment of distraction, she leapt for him. They hit the ground hard, the tip of the stake slicing along her ribs.
Kyvin struck her in the face, then brought the spike around to gouge her in the side. She caught his wrist. He struggled against her unusual strength, but it wasn’t enough. Bit by bit, breath by breath, she turned the tip of the spike toward his chest. His grip shifted, trying to push the stake away, but she leaned over him, flaring her verillion, and slammed it into his heart.
His eyes went wide, and he coughed blood. It splattered against her cheek. She didn’t dare remove her hand to wipe it away.
She stayed that way, hovering over him, her hands tight around the splintered wood, until his eyes went dark.
ARI ALMOST DIDN’Tnotice the guards at the door to the Dark Horse pub, but they certainly noticed her. How could they not, stained with blood as she was? She’d followed the maze of back alleys that made up the Wrenith District to get here, some instinctual part of her remembering she shouldn’t be seen like this. That part felt very far away.
One of the guards said something to her that she didn’t hear.
