Page 75 of Enslaved

. . . and open my eyes, staring down at the scrawled words of the spell before me.

“There!” I cry and stagger back from the pedestal. “There, Cornil! It is done. Now do your work—write that cursed head back into the spell where it belongs and seal that demon fast.”

Andreas leaps into action, taking my place before the grimoire and writing furiously, his quill scratching out the pre-arranged words. Mixael, meanwhile, approaches me where I sag against the nearest bookshelf. “Are you well, sir?” he asks. “Did she . . . ?”

I shake my head, breathing hard. The act of entering the Nightmare required no magic—any fool, be he mage or madman, may dream. But my heart races nonetheless. “She did not touch me,” I assure my senior librarian, “have no fear, Silveri. And look!” I nod to the awful, eyeless head resting on the floor beside the pedestal. As Andreas writes, it begins to fade from this reality, returning to the realm of its origin.

At last the head vanishes entirely, and Andreas slams the book shut with a triumphant, “There! ‘Tis finished.”

“What a relief.” Mixael mops his face with a handkerchief. “It’s high time that foul thing was back where it belonged. Idreloth was growing more fractious by the day, keen to enter this world and reclaim her missing piece. I’m not sure how much longer we could have held her at bay.”

I nod a begrudging agreement. Though I don’t like to admit it, this is one good wrought from this foolish quest to rescue that gods-damned Doctor Gale.

I touch the front of my shirt, feeling the hard lump where the bloodgem lies. My Obligation will lead me back to Aurelis soon. Back to her. How will she respond when she sees I have fulfilled her mission? How will she look at me? What will it be like, standing in her presence again, knowing I have given her my name, knowing she has not—

My breath catches.

My eyes flare wide.

“Prince?” Mixael’s voice comes from a distance, through many veils of reality. I’m aware of him, aware of his words, but . . . but . . . “Prince, are you all right? Can you hear m—”

A bolt of light. Like lightning, flashing from the heavens, piercing stone walls, foundations, layers of earth. All the way down to the depths of this horrible cell, many stories beneath the surface of the world. It strikes me to the heart, bursts through my body, fills me with pain. Charges me with heat and energy and life and power such as I’ve never before experienced. I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what is happening. It’s too much, too great, too overwhelming, and then—

I fall to my knees. Blinking, dazed. Staring down at my own two hands, pressed into the floor beneath me. In some other realm Mixael and Andreas are calling out to me. I cannot hear them, cannot heed them. My ears are filled with a different sound.

A voice, soft and low. Trembling with fear. Both far off and intimately near. Whispering into my heart, my soul.

One voice.

Hers.

He’s naked. Tied to a chair. Bleeding from his nose, from cuts across his face, his torso, his arms, his legs. So much blood. So much pain. His eyes are swollen shut.

For a moment, I don’t recognize him. My mind won’t accept that this vision, this horror, could possibly embody the same person as my childhood friend.

Then a cry bursts from my throat. I lunge forward, falling over myself to get to him. My fingers seek and find the ties securing his arms and legs but shake too hard to be of any use. The ropes are sticky with his blood.

“Danny, Danny!” I cry, touching his face, touching his shoulders.

He groans, tries to lift his heavy head. “Clara . . .” Then one of his awful eyes opens. His vision sharpens. He jerks back in the chair, body convulsing with terror.

I whirl. Ivor stands behind me, leaning against the open doorway. There’s blood smeared across his face and body, and he looks the warlord he truly is. Monstrous. Terrifying. Powerful.

I stare at him, caught in a trance of horror. Then: “You did this?”

He need not answer. The situation is plain as day.

I leap to my feet, placing myself between him and Danny, shaking my head in wild desperation. “You can’t! His Obligation belongs to Estrilde! The law—”

“The law prevents her from harming her own Obligate.” Ivor’s voice is cool and detached, a terrible contrast to his bloodstained body. “It’s not her fault if some other injury befalls him outside her knowledge.” With those words, he strolls into the room, pushes past me, and stands over his prey. Danny jerks and twists in his bonds as Ivor runs a long finger under his chin, propping his face up. “I’ve always enjoyed the way humans scream. It’s not quite like anything else in the worlds. Not a squeal, not a roar. Such a unique pitch and timbre.” His eyes flash, meeting mine. “You care about this one, I understand.”

“My lord, please . . .”

“You’ve moved heaven and earth trying to break his Obligation, to free him from my beloved Estrilde’s clutches. Venturing to Illithorin’s Waste, prying into my family history, bargaining to end age-old curses . . . Indeed it would seem this one at least commands some of your true feeling.”

He takes hold of Danny’s throat, squeezing. Danny’s feet scramble. He doesn’t have much strength left to resist.

“What do you want?” I cry.

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