Page 151 of Devil's Doom

The shadows disperse, and we stand again in front of the rebels, my consort naked and trying to pull out of my grip, helpless to stop me. For a moment, it seems like everything will be right again. If only I hurt her hard enough. If only Ishowher what it feels like.

To be rejected. To be scorned. So betrayed.

I look around, searching for her friends in the crowd. Something clamors in the back of my mind, tiny voices of alarm, but I silence them with a grin, filling my head with shadows, pushing everything away.

Break her, I think, laughing under my breath at the thought.Once and for all, so she gives up. So she never wants to run again.

“Rebels, here she is!” I say, tugging her closer until she cries out from pain. “My consort. My bride. Many of you came to trust her. Many befriended her. I cannot fault you, because you didn’t know that she’s been working against you that whole time.”

Cries of outrage and shock erupt in the crowd. Jaga stops struggling, her nakedness forgotten as she looks at me, confused and angry. I send a cruel spell at her lips, sealing them shut. She mumbles something, face crumpling in terror when she realizes she can’t speak. I turn away.

Hurt her more.

“Jaga has owned the key to ending this war all this time. She lied to you, friends. She lived among you, pretending to work alongside you, and all that time, she knew exactly what to do to end your misery. Even now, she refuses to do it.”

I inhale sharply, feeling the anger in the air as more people shout. Lutowa stands in the back, watching Jaga with betrayal on her face, and I smile grimly. Her wila friend has her mouth open, eyes wide, not yet believing, but she will, she will.

“I want it known far and wide!” I shout. “In all of Slawa, make it known: this woman, Jaga, the witch, has the key to ending this war and defeating Perun’s rule.”

She tries to speak, making muffled, outraged sounds, and my own mind drowns in shadow and buzzing, half-pleased, half-appalled. I refuse to think that dooming her, I doom myself, too. All that matters is that she suffers. And I will watch her pain. I will keep her chained to the floor right beneath me, where she belongs, and I will own her every tear.

She will never have a true friend again. She will never be safe. Until she gives in.

“You say he wanted you just for you?” I ask mockingly, my voice quiet so only she can hear. “Chors knows about the prophecy. Everyone else will know by morning. You will be hunted. Hated. Scorned. There is no place for you to hide, my dear. Not anymore. All you have is me, and you’d better crawl and beg on your knees so I take you back.”

I swathe us in shadows, taking her back to our bed chamber. When we’re there, I drop her right where we land, in the middle of the room. Thick chains spring from the floor. She mocked me once, telling me to chain her, and I do it with a grim laugh, manacles snapping shut around her wrists and ankles.

She can sleep on the floor for all I care. Consort or not, she’ll never sully my bed again.

Chapter fifty-one

Summer

Hours pass. Maybe a day. Woland has sucked all magic out of me, and I can’t even make clothes for myself. I lie on the floor, curled up from the cold. No fire burns in his chamber, and there is no light. It’s cold and lonely.

He’s left, but I feel his phantom presence all around me, hate lurking in the shadows, rage simmering in the air. No one comes to see me. I’ve had no food or water, and I cannot sleep. The fear that lives under my skin flares to life every time I close my eyes.

Because what if he comes back? What then? What will he do?

Strangely, I feel almost mellow about the way he chose to punish me. I am done pretending, hiding, playing games. Chors gave me a taste of honesty after a long, twisted period of drowning in lies, and even though he didn’t bring me to Weles in the end, I’m grateful for him.

All Woland did was reveal the truth. If people hate me for it, if I die alone and hunted, so be it. I will die as myself.

Refusing to be hurt by Woland’s insane actions is my only defense right now, and by gods, I will cling to it. With all my might.

I close my eyes for a moment, my exhaustion pulling me under. Something tickles my cheek, the floor feeling almost soft, and it’s not as cold anymore. I think I’m dreaming of comfort and rest, until something clangs, metal clinking, and I sit bolt upright, panting from terror. My manacles fall off.

The lights flicker to life, revealing Woland sitting on his heels a few steps away from me. His face is taut, brimming with something intense that almost seems like pain.

“I can’t even chain you up for a day,” he says, his voice hoarse and tired.

His eyes seem orange rather than gold, maybe bloodshot. I sit motionless, terrified despite his docile appearance. Inside, I am numb. Whatever he says, it won’t be the truth, and I just want to never see him again.

I will never swallow another lie.

A warm blanket falls around my shoulders, and I cover myself hastily, not bothering with words of gratitude. Maybe it’s a new game he plays. He’ll hurt me and then offer me comfort, and again and again, until I become a muddled, confused mess of a girl.

No. I won’t play this game.

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