Page 63 of What Lies Within Blood & Heirs

And judging by his state, he had few hours remaining. Maybe less.

Listen.

Breathe.

Oftentimes, Garrik wondered if it was his mother speaking from the Stars Eternal. Giving him strength to simply exist for as long asshe—the serpent—allowed his fractured heart to beat. Garrik recognized pieces from books his mother read to him as a faeling. Perhaps it was only his memory that recited the words and brought the voice. Likely fever-induced delusion. Only he was not always in this state when he heard her.

“Please.” He had not heard his voice in weeks—months, possibly. Did not recognize it through the painful cracks it made. “Don’t … leave.” He heaved in a short, imploring breath.

Breathe.

Metal hinges screeched, piercing his sensitive perception like freshly forged blades. Any sound these days was a massacre to his senses. Even his labored breaths were too loud, no matterhow shallow they were. His traitorous body trembled against his best efforts.

Why did the torchlight cause him to tremble so uncontrollably? The warm glow was inevitably the first thing he saw when the thick wooden and iron-barred door opened.

Two guards adorned in flawlessly polished silver armor and purple cloaks descended the stone staircase, entering his home of horrors.

They were new. And new guards could be swayed to show himsomemercy. He had done it before. But he needed to see their eyes. Needed to see if all color had been stolen to know if they enjoyed serving or if they had fallen prey to magic-washing before he risked another unjust beating.

Unjust beating …

They were allunjustbeatings.

It made little difference, though. In the end, everyone laid their hands on him, no matter if they desired to or not.

And these guards made no stops against any of the walls, so he knew he would not remain in his cell tonight. It was the serpent’s turn to deliver new marks and cut open slow-healing wounds.

The serpent…

She made sure of that. Her powers of poisons administered through needles seeped into his High Fae blood, slowing the natural qualities of life and healing. Rendering his blood completely useless to his wounds. Keeping him in constant misery and torment, too weak, too broken, tooworthlessto fight.

Rattling metal sounds impaled his ears as chains released from the wall, clanging to the floor. Garrik slammed into the bloodied stones below, forcing his knees to scrape on the salt kernels used to split his skin and burn deep. His head splashed in the pool, severe enough to crack.

The cold from the stones seeped into his mangled body. Like ice on a bruise, its chill was gratefully welcomed, almost soothing in a way. One small comfort since being strung up for so long.

They could not have come at a better time. His exhausted, aching legs had been giving out underneath him. The skin of his feet was so severely burned that he had lost the determination to continue standing.

With a swift kick, the guard’s boot found its way to his shattered ribs.“Get up.”

Garrik choked on an excruciating cough, spitting beads of blood across the stones.

Ribs throbbing, arms with no strength to clutch them, his vision spotted.Impressive.Most new guards were terrified of him. Given the history of snapped necks when they foolishly dropped their awareness and underestimated his injuries, they usually kept a wide distance. He had mastered appearing weak to the eye while charging to strike.

Guess this one wanted to assert his dominance first thing. Smart but foolish.

“Walk or crawl, dog.”

How? There was no strength left in him. The burning fever he had suffered the last few days had turned his skin fiery as shivers wracked his battered body.

Another boot collided with his sweat-slicked face, slamming him backward onto the blood-puddled stones. The salt scraped along his back, burning into the fresh slashes made by Brennus’s whip that morning.

Garrik’s head turned cloudy.Breathe. Stay awake. You have to stay awake.

“If you wish him to walk … a boot to the face renders that difficult. Imbecile.”

Scales. All Garrik could see were the black scales of Malik’s coat as he squatted over him, crackling salt underneath his boots.

Malik fisted his hair and wrenched his head up to see Garrik’s unfocused green stare. “Pathetic,” he sneered, and that handhold on Garrik’s hair loosened, dropping his head onto the stone, splashing in the blood pool.

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