Page 2 of The Prince's Mage

Marcella wasn’t giving up this cloak before they killed her.

Maybe she just wanted them to kill her.

She screamed in agony as she moved her fingers, but she did it anyway. Her vitae answered her call.

All she could manage was the easiest of runes. A blinding light.

The woman hissed and stumbled back, throwing her hands up. Prince Nikias covered his eyes as well, and Marcella shifted, tucking the cloak under her chin and shoulders. It was all she could do.

She didn’t think she’d be able to do it again as her teeth cut into her cheek and the sharp pain pulsed up her arm as it hit the table again.

When Prince Nikias recovered, his face twisted into an expression she’d imagined Dhelnir had made when he’d created the Abyss. His footsteps nearly shook the marble walls as he threw the heretic to the side to get to Marcella. He grabbed her shoulder and started to twist her up to grab the cloak, but she thrashed her head, slamming it into his arm and screaming into his ear as loud as she could. He winced but still sank his hand into the cloak she was trying to protect when the woman darted forward, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him back.

She said something Marcella couldn’t hear over her own screeching.

Prince Nikias winced and then he shook his head, shrugging her off and returning to Marcella. But this time instead of going for the cloak, he went for her throat. Vitae lit up the air, and Marcella was cut off mid-scream as his runes sank into her neck and silenced her.

He turned back to the room, ignoring Marcella’s rasping. Her eyes were too full of water and she felt them spilling over now that she was muzzled too.

The woman spoke again. “—cloak—have it for today—tomorrow—speak—she speaks—long.”

Prince Nikias glared at Marcella who just sank deeper against the cloak deeper and narrowed her eyes at him. He let out a soft scoff. “Fine—have it—done—do what—must—enough so—question her tomorrow.”

The woman nodded. “—order—”

Prince Nikias was gone. And Marcella was alone with the heretic.

The woman turned back after Nikias was gone and stepped toward Marcella. She made a soft cooing noise, like one would to an injured, feral cat. Marcella couldn’t respond, not in any real way with the runes on her neck.

The woman stood in front of Marcella’s head and then reached forward. Marcella winced, shying back, but she couldn’t go far enough. The woman’s hand landed on the top of her curls and she pet them for a moment, turning what might once have been a comforting gesture into one that only inspired terror and a shuddering sense of being violated. The heretic didn’t even seem to care how limp and filthy Marcella’s hair was. She made little shushing noises and Marcella buried her head deeper into the cloak as tears continued to spill out of her eyes.

Then the woman grabbed Marcella’s left wrist and jerked it forward. Marcella tried to scream at the fire the motion sent through her, but nothing came out other than a breathy, gasping whine. Leather bit into the injury and then metal clicked, distorting her fingers and making the throbbing deeper as her fingers were fastened still, preventing her from casting if she could muster up the strength to do it again.

The cold bite of a tiny sharp blade cutting into her skin was one she felt in her nightmares.

She felt it again.

Her vitae rose up as the runes etched onto the blade called it. She couldn’t even catch or command her own magical energy.

The woman hummed behind her as she moved the blade through Marcella’s skin.

Marcella screamed silently.

What had happened to Gavril?

* * *

Marcella woke up to a hand on her throat. She blinked her eyes open to see Prince Nikias pulling his hand back and she felt the runes on her neck fade.

Her throat was still raw and hoarse regardless, and her back ached so deeply she almost didn’t feel the lingering pain in her wrist. Almost.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see more Inimicus in the room this time. Not many. Just two. They were carrying a trunk. The trunk the Heart was in.

They set the trunk on the ground within her sight, right by Prince Nikias’ feet. He glared down at her and said in her tongue, “Keep cloak if speak.”

She replied in his tongue, “Where Gavril?”

Prince Nikias’ jaw clenched, and distantly she wondered if he hated hearing his language in her voice.

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