Page 87 of Fear the Flames
“Tell us who has the key,” I demand.
“It’s with the Head Guard of Imirath. They change the guard weekly so they key is never with one person for very long. There’s a red ruby on it to differentiate it from the others.” His voice calms slightly after he realizes he told me something I don’t know. He has expended his use to me.
“I appreciate the information. I’ll tell your family you were a complicit traitor.” I tuck the piece of fabric into the back pocket of my pants.
His eyes fill with a mixture of anger and desperation, “You agreed you wouldn’t touch them!”
“I never agreed to anything. The information you gave me spilled from your lips freely,” I note with a shrug of my shoulders.
“You’re a bitch!” he spits, rattling against the chains to no avail.
“Oh, that’s disappointing. You don’t have anything a bit more creative?” I goad him.
I won’t punish anyone for their father’s sins, I understand that better than anyone. But he can die with fear in his heart, believing he failed them. My strife with him dies with him. It doesn’t continue onto innocent parties. He continues to pull on the chains in hopes of slipping away, even though he would have to get through three of us, weaponless and wounded, before he could get to the door. I watch him cry out in frustration and flail his body against the chains.
I’ve seen him grovel, I’ve made him bleed, but now I want towatchhim bleed. I recall the sheer force Cayden conveyed in a single hit, how his rage only amplifies his strength. Physical strength isn’t my greatest asset. I can fight, but my fighting skills are rooted in analyzing a situation and outwitting my opponent. My strengths reside in the realms of aim, stealth, and scheming. I don’t have the strongest build; I don’t land the hardest punches, but Cayden does. Cayden can make him suffer in ways that I can’t, and I can witness it. I sheath my bloody knife and feel Cayden’s eyes track my movement.
“Your turn, soldier.”
Cayden doesn’t wait a moment longer at my side. He erupts in a wave of violence and ferocity. Feral growls slip from his lips as blood splatters onto his face and coats his hands. The same hands that have gently rubbed against my skin also have the power of destruction and ruination. He lands punch after punch, holding tight to Robick’s shirt to bring him back into his line of fire. He shoves him back against the chains and shoots his foot up to kick Robick in the crotch.
“I’m going to make you wish you were dead long before Elowen ends you,” Cayden snarls. Robick slumps in his chains, no longer able to stand on his own. Cayden walks around him and releases the chains from the iron hooks on the floor. Robick lands in the puddle of his blood. It splatters onto the walls and Cayden’s boots, upon which he pulls back and delivers a swift kick to Robick’s ribs.
Robick rolls over, and Cayden gives him time to struggle to his feet. Ryder takes a step closer to me now that the chains are unhooked. He’s still shackled around his wrists, but Cayden is giving him the illusion of hope before he pulls it away. Robick clumsily pivots on his feet and attempts to rush toward me. I don’t flinch, he won’t reach me, and I’ll never give him the satisfaction of flinching in his presence again. He doesn’t even make it a step before Cayden locks an arm around his neck, bicep bulging as the hold tightens.
“Did you think I would let you get close to her?” Cayden hisses. Robick tries to claw against the hold, smearing blood onto Cayden’s arms. “You can die knowing that no matter what you did to Elowen, she won. You are nothing,” Cayden’s voice drips in poison. Robick elbows Cayden in the ribs, but he doesn’t even flinch. He releases his hold and throws Robick onto the hard floor, face down in the puddle of blood again. Robick gasps and flips over to prop himself on his elbows.
“You’ll get what’s coming to you.” Robick glares in my direction.
“As will you,” I smirk.
“Don’t fucking look at her,” Cayden snarls, dropping to his knees and pinning Robick between them. Cayden unsheathes my knife from his thigh, roughly fists Robick’s hair, and slowly drags the blade over both of Robick’s eyes. He lets out an ear-piercing scream as his body contorts in pain beneath Cayden. Cayden doesn’t move from his spot; he just continues to stare down at the freshly blinded Robick.
“This is for insulting her tonight and for anything you said to her in the past.” Cayden reaches down and forces Robick’s mouth open. Liquid seeps between Robick’s legs; he’s wetting himself. “Pathetic,” Cayden spits, forcing the knife into Robick’s mouth and cutting out his tongue. He screeches as blood pours out of him like a fountain.
Cayden uses Robick’s hair to keep his head straight. The blood has nowhere else to go other than remain in his mouth or flow up his nostrils. He’s drowning Robick in his own blood. Cayden pins him there until Robick no longer fights his hold and yanks him forward at the last possible second. Robick spits and coughs out his blood, spraying Cayden in the process. Blood drips from Cayden’s face and coats his hair. If wrath was personified, it would look like this version of Cayden.
He drags Robick’s body back to where he was originally standing and lets his body crumple on the floor. He pulls on the chains and raises Robick into a kneeling position.
Robick kneels on the floor, bloody and broken, on the brink of death. Blood sloshes under my boots as I walk forward and drop to one knee in front of his cowering frame. I take a moment to look at his face. Even if he can’t see me analyzing him, he can feel it. I’m committing this version of him to memory. This is the new face I’ll see. This is the face that will replace the original face in some of my darkest memories and nightmares.
When I think of him rubbing his hands against my underdeveloped breasts, thighs, and back, threatening to betray Garrick’s orders, I’ll think of the hand I cut every finger from. When I think of the face that used to stare down at me, smiling, before I passed out from blood loss or force, I’ll remember the eyes that now leak blood. When I think of the words he used to say to me, how I would be nothing, how I would die in a cell, how I would never know freedom, happiness, or love, I’ll remember that Cayden cut out his tongue, and he can’t say those words anymore.
“I would have loved to drag your death out for days, but I’ll be a bit busy the next few weeks,” I begin in a low, menacing tone, “because, you see…I’m going to bring Garrick to his knees, and you can leave this world knowing that you failed himbecause I win.”
He moans in pain before I slice my blade clean across his neck. His blood sprays out and shoots me in the face, but I don’t move to wipe it clean or drop my blade. I just stay kneeling, staring at his crumpled frame. He used to be the most daunting and terrifying figure in my life, and now he’s weak, powerless, and dead.
He’s dead.
He’s dead.
He’s dead.
I say it over and over in my head like a chant. But what if he’s not? What if he somehow manages to wake up? I can’t be a prisoner. I won’t be a prisoner again. I raise my knife in the air and sink it deep into his chest. Blood trickles out of the wound when I pull my knife free and raise it for a second time, ready to strike again.
A blood-covered hand reaches out to clasp my wrist before I stab him again. Another hand gently brushes against my cheek and turns my head away from Robick. I stare into the eyes of the one person who I think understands me in this moment—Cayden.
Maybe that’s what sparked the kiss and the change between us. There’s nothing sexual or wanting in the look we share. It’s just a deep understanding. It’s an understanding that we can show each other the ugliest and most evil parts of ourselves, and we won’t judge each other. We just witnessed each other do something vile and gruesome, but he’s still here, touching my face, and I’m not recoiling from his touch. I think being understood and accepted is one of the greatest forms of intimacy there is.
