The next tears a clean path through my stomach.
The final nicks my heart.
I fall, a bird plummeting straight down from the sky, flight abruptly ended. My body hits the ramparts hard enough to expel whatever air remains in my one functional lung. My headcracks against the stone, shattering my consciousness. And I am grateful for it.
The haze lessens the pain of my impending death.
I blink up at the night sky. There are no stars here. Only an endless expanse of black. It seems fitting somehow. A match for the blackness that encroaches at the edges of my vision, sweeping me away.
I hear the familiar cackle of Melité’s laughter, ringing in my head.
I hear Soren roaring my name down the bond.
Then, the world goes dark, and I hear nothing at all.
Chapter
thirty-one
I am not dead.
But the moment consciousness returns, I begin to wish I were. For when I manage to peel my eyes open, I am no longer lying atop the ramparts. I am no longer on the Iron Isle. I am somewhere I have never been before, yet recognize in an instant.
Black sand.
Black sky.
The Husk Desert of Dymmeria.
A man stands over me, blocking out the anemic sun. Even at midday, it is mostly dark here. His face is the stuff of nightmares. The slitted nostrils, the deathly pallor. His gray-white limbs, like those of his men, are mottled black. In his case, however, those blackened veins are slightly raised like the gnarled bark of a tree. Like scar tissue. Like my Remnant mark. His eyes are blood red, reminiscent of a vampyre from the old tales. He has no hair. Not eyebrows nor stubble, not a single strand on his head. Tattoos mar his corpse-like skin, strange patterns that seem to shift and change even as I focus on them.
“You’re finally awake. Good.” His lips purse as he nudges me with the tip of one steel-toed boot. “I was beginning to think that iron had lodged a bit too close to your heart.”
He bends down and twists the bolt that still protrudes from my chest.
My scream is a harrowing sound. The pain is unimaginable. I pass out again, only to jerk awake when he kicks me—a harsh blow to the ribs.
“Now, now, that won’t do, Rhya.” He pauses, studying my expression closely. “Oh, yes, I know your name. Does that surprise you? It should not. I know everything about you.”
I cough violently and taste copper in my mouth. Turning my head, I spit the gob of blood onto the sand.
He drops fluidly into a crouch and shakes his head. “Don’t be wasteful.”
Scooping up the scarlet saliva, he places it on his tongue as though it is the finest delicacy Anwyvn has to offer. He practically moans as he swallows.
“How nice to have another flavor after all these years. I admit, I have grown rather tired of your earthy counterpart of late.” He pauses, leaning over me. His face hovers only a few inches above mine. Up close, his red eyes are even more terrifying. “That is why your arrival is so perfect.”
I head-butt him.
A shame he doesn’t have a nose to break. He dodges before I can do more than graze his forehead with mine.
“Let’s not get off on the wrong foot, little bird.” His thin mouth attempts a smile, but there is no emotion behind it. Like his eyes, it is completely devoid of anything resembling feeling. “We are going to be spending so much time together, after all.”
“Just”—I swallow down more blood—“kill me already.”
“Kill you?” He laughs, a horrible sound. “Whyever would I do that? You are my honored guest. I plan to keep you for as long as I can.” He pauses. “Which is to say, as long as your bodyholds out. My Zariah lasted half a decade. Though she was more spirited than most of my more…breakable…toys.”
Zariah.