Page 143 of Andreas

Her skin itched and crawled at the implication. Had her father…

Dark, hopeless terror drenched her soul when blood began to trickle from the corners of Rymedur’s mouth. Time was running away from him; it wouldn’t be long now until he succumbed to the pain. ‘Rymedur!’

Areanel ignored how Silas snickered in delight, ignored the slight shuffle in Caius’s step and the way he whispered a curse. ‘This shouldn’t be possible, Silas!’

Areanel ignored the shadows that curled, hardening into a painful, lacerating grip around her wrists as she held the side of Rymedur’s head, forcing him to look at her. ‘Rymedur—’ she put every ounce of command in her voice to draw him back from the endless sea of pain she was well acquainted with ‘—you need to let go of your power.’ There was no movement. No change in his state as he continued to writhe. ‘Rymedur!’

She tried again, rising until she filled his vision. The heat of his skin against her palms was blistering. He was burning out. ‘Rymedur, look at me, please.’

A groan of pain escaped his lips as he clenched his teeth, but even though it happened slowly, at least his eyelashes fluttered open. Good, he could hear her. ‘My love—’ she leaned further into him, ignoring how his shadows crawled around her ‘—you have to remember who you are.’ Another groan in reply. ‘I know the pain is all-consuming, but you need to listen to me. Remember who you are and let go of your power; the collar is reacting to it. The more you draw on it, the more painful it will be.’

She thought she had gotten through to him, but then another shock ricocheted through his body, sending it into erratic spasms. ‘Rymedur, please. I know how terrifying it is—to let go of the only part of you that feels like you—but, my love, you must; it will kill you otherwise. Please. Please,’ she begged him to listen, to hear her over the pain she knew he endured.

Caius shuffled another step further, and Areanel gripped Rymedur’s head a little harder. She would not let him die. They would not die here! ‘Do not fear it, my love. You will not falter.’

Again, it did not work. Rymedur continued to thrash against the collar. She needed to try something else, anything else. What could she possibly do?

Power radiated beneath her skin. A thunderous roar had the hair on her arms prickling; there was a buzzing sensation as her eyes jumped around the chamber. Something ripped at her chest, where her heart beat rapidly, as the scent of copper mixed with eucalyptus and fir needles filled her senses. Blood pooled from the injury at Rymedur’s side, most likely reopening as he squirmed.

Areanel pushed her shaking hands into his side, trying to halt the stream of blood that poured from him.

A shadowed figure moved along the opposite wall, hidden from the two males towering over her. She needed to keep their attention on Rymedur, but fear raked her spine. Time was slipping away with every ragged breath Rymedur took. Hurry, Areanel thought, her stare dropping to Rymedur’s paling face.

‘Do not fear, Rymedur. Do not falter. Do not show mercy.’

It was an old chant she had said to herself many times. When Areanel was in The Pit, she herself wore the collar now shackled around Rymedur’s tanned neck. She had told herself not to fear, not to falter, to show her captors no mercy once she was released. And now she shared those words with Rymedur. Repeating them like a war chant, Areanel whispered over and over again, ‘Do not fear. Do not falter. Do not show mercy.’

Eyes screwing shut, Areanel placed her lips against his temple and let the words flow from her and touch his skin. Do not fear. Do not falter. Do not show mercy. Over and over again.

She did not move away until, ever so slowly, Rymedur’s shadows reduced. Ebbing away like fog on a windy day, the darkness that lashed and curled around them retreated until they settled—immobile and still—against his sweat-slicked skin.

The breath of relief that came from Areanel was profound. A weight lifted from her chest, and the sharp talons that had gripped her in an icy death eased, loosening their hold on her heart. Thank the gods.

Rymedur’s breathing eased, though it still came in short, struggling pants. Unburdened by the grief of hopelessness, Areanel finally inhaled a long, deep and shuddering breath. Never again. She did not want to see him in such torment ever again.

Though his suffering had ended, Areanel did not allow herself to fully relax. The muscles in her back remained taut, shoulders squared. One bloodied hand reached for the curved blade hanging from the scabbard at the small of her back. Leaving the scythe in Rymedur’s shaking hand, Areanel subtly twirled her own weapons around her fingers, allowing their weight to ground her in the moment.

With a look that promised death, Areanel glared at her older brother and former lover who stood paralysed, eyes wide and mouths gaping, as though struck by the sight of his shadows.

‘Enough of your games, Silas!’ She rose from the ground with almost animalistic elegance—a panther ready to pounce. They had hurt Rymedur. They had threatened her life—her children’s lives. She should rip them apart limb by limb until they were unrecognisable. But first, she had questions that needed answering.

‘What is it that you want from me?’

Silas’s hoarse, muffled voice rasped, and he coughed behind a hand. ‘Did you know that Andrea means Angel in Selcirith’s common tongue?’

What was he talking about? Areanel was growing impatient.

‘City of Angels. Ha! Can you believe it?’ Silas seemed to guffaw; his eyes glazed over like he was seeing something she could not.

Drag. Thunk. Step.

Areanel’s eyes followed his every step as he paced the centre of the cave. ‘You know, if you add an ‘S’ to Andrea, the meaning changes entirely: Andreas. Demon. Yes. Words. Letters. Meanings. The East have dragons. The North has clans of darkness. Darkness. Demon. Devour.’

The ticking of a clock had returned; Silas’s voice jumped back and forth as he paced, like the movement would help him make sense of his words.

‘It’s all very simple. Or is it? Someone could get it wrong. They did. A single letter, and the City of Angels becomes the City of Demons—befitting, don’t you think?’ Areanel could not tell if he directed the question at her or not because he’d been looking over his own shoulder at the empty space beside him.

She tried to follow his words, his voice as erratic as his movements, moving back and forth in the large room, echoed by the drag, thunk, step as he slithered.