Page 160 of What Lies Within Blood & Heirs

It was her tears.

Garrik’s eyes were so wide the whites glowed when she sat up. He forced a swallow, voice cracking as he asked, “Why?”

“Because I care about you. Every part. Even those you’re ashamed of.” So, she kissed him again and whispered against his skin, “I don’t know what caused them.” The tallies. “I know you didn’t do anything to deserve them. But you do deserve this.” She kissed another.

Like one’s childhood home burning to the ground, the devastation in his voice was the same. “I was used as entertainment for sport.” The words were so raw and quiet that it was as if he never intended to speak.

Every part of her filled with rage and hate, but her body wanted to collapse over him, shield him from the memory permanently laid into his back and touching her lips.

“Malik and Brennus…” He stopped as if the words were too painful. So instead, the room feathered into darkness. That gentle caress she’d forevermore allow in covered her mind as Garrik pulled her into his memories.

His head dangled low. A terrible, coarse pressure gripped and scratched his bleeding wrists and ankles, forcing his body into an X.

The only way he knew they were bleeding was from the chill that covered him when the northern breeze blew, disturbing his sweat-soaked hair.

A winter’s breeze. He was still outside.

Which meant he had survived another night. And would be forced to face another morning.

Footsteps crushed stones.

Garrik’s eyes fluttered, only to fall closed. He could barely hold them open, let alone hold himself upright. But the short glimpse proved dawn was rising, and the frost that coated his shivering body would melt soon. Maybe he would be able to feel his fingers today. His frostbitten ear tips were another story.

“Put him in chains,” someone chuffed. “You imbeciles know ropes won’t hold him.”

Malik—fuck. Not the shackles.His wrists could not handle them anymore.

And with dawn rising, Garrik trembled, knowing Brennus was not far behind.

A firm grip fisted his hair, jerking his head to meet blazing night-blue eyes. “You look a little cold. Shall I remedy that for you?” Malik lifted his hand. Finger by finger, blue flames ignited the tips until his entire palm blazed and laid it on Garrik’s back.

His screams stopped long after, but bubbled flesh remained.

Malik picked the ash of charred flesh from his jacket with twisted lips of disgust. “Cursed Flames, look what you’ve done. And after I so generously warmed you, too.” He raised his hand as if to strike, but a snicker stole his attention first.

“How’s the whore this morning?” a menacing voice from behind Malik taunted.

Brennus. His height shorter than blocking out the rising sun. Garrik used to enjoy taunting the male about it. Now, he craved to watch his legs snap. To be the one causing it.

Garrik’s eyes fought to open enough that he glimpsed the towering walls of Castle Galdheir. He had a clear view to the window Magnelis watched the torture of hisson—an heir—from every morning.

His focus heightened enough that he followed the guard’s hands working shackles around his raw wrists. Shackles connected to two wooden poles erected in the center of the citadel to either side of him.

Something sharp bit into the center of his upper back, directly between his scalded shoulder blades. Carving down at an angle, over four equal cuts. In a slow, agonizing drawl, Brennus pulled a dagger over his skin, splitting him open.

He gnashed his teeth—refused to give them the satisfaction of screams.

“Night fifteen.” The dagger clanged to the ground, the sound as piercing as the sharp edge. Brennus strolled around the pole to Garrik’s right. “I wonder how many more I will carve?” His long red hair brushed behind his shoulder, asking the guards, “Any bets?”

“Fifty-four,” Garrik breathed inside Alora’s bedchamber. “A fever took hold days before. My worthless body could only lay on the stones, shivering as frost covered me every night. Fighting to cling to my pathetic life as I clenched my right hand that had been … relieved of three fingers days before.”

Alora watched as Garrik pulled his hand from under the pillow and rotated it. Smokeshadows curled around the rings, whorling like a velvety kiss as they slipped the rings free. And under those rings, concealed and hidden from the world like every tormented part of him, three crisp lines were etched directly below the knuckles.

“I’m—” Alora’s lips trembled, tears spilling over her lashes. Not knowing what to say, she cupped her mouth, and sobs would soon follow.

But Garrik tiredly smiled, as if he knew the words playing in her mind:I’m so sorry.

Smokeshadows returned his rings before his hand sank beneath the pillow once more.

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