Page 124 of The Blade in the Ashes
Grunting, I worked to push myself up onto my elbows, desperate for that spark of kindness she had shown me moments ago.
“Let me go,” I implored her. “Please. Let me go so I can fight back against him.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.
We stared at each other. I dared to hang onto that lingering hope.
When she took a single step forward, so much relief flooded through that my unstoppable grin split my dry lips. Quickly, I held up my arms for her to untie me, my fingers trembling as I did.
She paused.
She looked at my bound hands, then to the door Marcus had left through. Her lips turned down in a frown, sympathy sparking in her eyes as she stumbled backwards. As she fled from the room, I swore I heard her mutter some semblance of an apology.
As if that would ease the disappointment of her leaving me at their mercy.
Eloise didn’t return.
Eventually, I stopped expecting her to.
I laid on the ground for a long moment after she left, praying naively—like a child—that someone, anyone, would come rushing in to save me.
I knew, on some level, though, that no one would.
The only person who had been my ally in all of this was now dead. Her body was being torn apart by the monsters I helped release into this realm.
That image, horrific as it was, was fortifying in some strange way.
Nessira had died trying to free me from these men. She had died trying to ensure that I made it safely to Clay. Her last words had been a plea that I save this realm.
So, I needed to get up off the ground because I could not allow her to die in vain.
My body felt broken and weak. Exhaustion burned in my eyes. It took a few deep breaths before I could bring myself to tug at the robe binding my wrists. The pain was unspeakable, even that tiny movement sending radiating bursts of agony down my body.
I frowned down at the sight of my mangled arm. My wrist was completely brutalized. Even if the most talented healer in the country tended to it, I was certain it would never heal right again.
What I was about to do certainly would not improve the healing process.
The bindings weren’t unbearably tight, but they had shifted the amateur splint on my wrist, leaving the broken fragments of bone grinding against one another. Given the unnatural angle of my wrist, I was almost positive that I could rip it out.
But it would be one of the most painful things I’d ever experienced.
My stomach railed against me, protesting before I’d even moved and I grasped for lingering sparks of anger and stubbornness. I focused on the sound of George’s laughter growing closer. I replayed the image of Nessira’s neck snapping in my mind. There wasn’t enough time to be careful or to worry about how badly it would hurt. I had to simply—
I yanked.
It was torture. Agony exploded through me. With nothing else in my mouth, I bit down on my tongue so hard that the salty tang of blood flooded my mouth as my vision turned completely, blindingly white.
Oh. my.Gods.
The rope loosened enough that I slipped my hand free with a muffled cry.
For a moment, I lingered on the ground, unable to even think against the burning pain.
Then that laugh sounded again. Closer than before.
The world came slamming back into focus, a newfound rush of strength and urgency flowing through me. I was on my feet instantly, vision tunneling on the door. I stumbled towards it with awkward, unbalanced steps. With my good hand, I wrapped my fingers around the handle and ripped it open.
Only to see a towering frame and slimy grin.
