Page 80 of A Game of Monsters

I held Seraphine’s gaze, locking on and refusing to look away. “Hekilledus.”

“That’s what Lord-All-Mighty Cassial the Winged Saviour blah blahblah” – Seraphine spat that last part – “wants the realms to believe. But the truth is much worse, Robin. He ordered those who survived the church’s destruction to be taken to the Isles of Irobel. What they will do with you there, I don’t know. But it can’t be good. Thank Altar I’ve come to save your arse.Again.”

Seraphine stepped back, her hand rubbing across her jaw as she began to pace. That’s when I got a proper look down at myself. I was topless, the iron-infused trousers I wore barely hanging on. I couldn’t begin to count the number of marks on my body. Blood and dust, grime and sweat, all blended into one across my pale skin. There was a puddle of dried sick on the floor at my feet, a splash of it smudged down my chest and stomach.

Beneath me, sawdust had been sprinkled across the floor to soak up any unwanted fluids, but it just made the stagnant puddles coagulate and hold the stench. Seraphine paced over it, unbothered.

“Cassial used us,” I spat, my throat demanding water, anxiety giving way to anger. “He… he got us together hoping to open Duwar’s portal. But–”

“Buthe found out you had Duwar all this time and modified his plans last minute. Regardless of the truth, the world believes the fey had nefarious plots all along and the scene that was shown to everyone with those fucking mirrors has only solidified the lie. Altar doesn’t even know difference between the truth and a lie now.”

I knew she was right. “If enough people believe in Cassial’s lie, it becomes a truth in its own right.”

“One that is currently being used to prepare a strike on Wychwood and eradicate the fey from existence. Why, I hear you ask? Because the fey have the power to fight back, and that will forever be a problem for people who seek control.” Seraphine stopped her pacing and faced me again. “And what I bet my life on is you’re going to help me fix this. For Wychwood, and for us.”

In other words:this is your fault, Robin, fix the shit you caused.

I hung my chin to my chest, aching body and soul. “Thisismy fault. My hesitation, my wasted time… all led to this. If I was strong enough to kill Duncan, this wouldn’t have–”

“Shut thefuckup, Robin. We don’t have time for self-pity. Only action. Whether you killed Duncan whilst he still had Duwar within him or not doesn’t mean you have failed. It just means you have humanity, and that isn’t a weakness.”

She was right, but I wasn’t wrong either. Otherwise, she would’ve told me as much. Regardless of my plans for Duwar, my hopes to destroy the demon-god, or whatever Duwar was, for good, my hesitation to kill Duncan only ended up with the power falling in the wrong hands, just as Duwar had warned.

I gritted my teeth, swallowing a cry of discomfort as the ship swayed against the waves, making the bindings around my ankles and wrists ache. “Do you have a plan?”

“Barely.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I can practically see the cogs turning behind your eyes, Seraphine.”

She winked, actually winked. “Once an Asp, always an Asp, aye?”

I nodded, wanting free of these bindings so I could unleash my rage upon Cassial.

“Well, to start, we will be getting you out of here,” Seraphine said. “But for that, I need a key. I don’t need this weak version of you either. I need Robin Icethorn, the king. The powerful, ice-wielding fey who I’d heard so much about. So, are you capable of becoming that version of yourself again? Or are you going to continue shedding tears and wasting time?”

The answer was simple, and the only one I could offer. “Get me out of these, and I will show you.”

“Good,” she said, scrutinising me for any underlying concerns. “Your guard will return shortly to top up the dose of Gardineum in your system. When he comes in, I will allow you to play the weak version of you, just to give me enough time to do what I need to. I’m not going to ask if you can do that, because you will. The fate of those you love depends on it.”

“They are here?” I gasped, needing to hear her answer. “All of them survived?”

Pain creased her face. No, not pain. Grief. She quickly looked down to her feet and replied. “Just be ready.”

I jolted forwards, as much as the chains allowed. “Seraphine, who… who hasn’t made it?”

She refused to look at me. “Help me with this next part, and I will tell you.”

“If someone has died,” I shouted, not caring who heard, “I deserve to know.”

Elinor Oakstorm had been crushed beneath the church. Perhaps she referred to her? Somehow, I felt like she didn’t: something else was amiss.

Grief hung at the edges of my mind, but I refused it’s power, which allowed for panic to sink its talons deep into me. I suffocated against the ache of it. There was a part of me which relied on the feeling, as if it was the only emotion I deserved.

Someone else had died, back in the church, as it fell upon us. Althea, it couldn’t be her – Jesibel had said she was alive. Gyah. Duncan. Erix. Rafaela. There were possibilities as to who it could be. I didn’t dare think about it. It would ruin me before I had the chance to act. But, in a way, I’d known something was wrong the moment I’d woken up. Like an empty part of me, a hollow ache, as if the universe had carved someone out of my own soul.

“Just be ready, okay?” Seraphine didn’t wait for my answer as she walked to the corner of the room. A barrel waited, the lid taken off. From the puddle seeping from its base, I guessed it contained water. Was that how she’d made it onto the enemy’s ship?

One look at Seraphine and I knew my questions had to wait; there was no time for answers. She climbed into the large barrel. Before she lowered the lip atop her, she gave me a final command. “When I contest the Nephilim, I need you to clamp your mouth closed and stop breathing.”

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