Page 53 of Of Vows and War: Special Edition
“You are exactly as you have always been. Just as I am only what you wish me to be. I do what you say, what your mind deems important.” If he did not shut up I was going to lose it.
“How do you explain the way I fought on Isle Shifter? That was my training. I would not have known how to defend myself like that if I had not been trained by Bellamy and his Trusted.”
Wrath huffed, standing and moving towards me like a predator seeking prey. He had never really scared me before. But now, as he taunted and tortured me, I thought I might be afraid of him most of all.
“You dreamt for months on end of being taught to fight. You internalized all you learned from those council meetings and overhearing Xavier. That is how you are explaining it away in your mind. Not me, Strange One.You.”
I was losing my mind and I did not know how to stop it all. How to shut up the voices in my head that screamed that Wrath was right. Mia’s voice. Xavier’s voice. Theon’s voice. Even worse, at night I dreamed of Bellamy rescuing me, only to wake up still in my golden nightdress and surrounded by fae guards. It made me wonder if Wrath was right. If I had been desperate for something better and made all of it up.
“Leave me alone!” I shouted at Wrath. At the voices. At myself.
“Woah there, I am sorry. I did not mean to upset you.” Sterling’s deep and heavy voice met my ears, pacifying my wretched mind momentarily. Wrath was gone, the space near my feet empty once more.
Looking up, I watched as Sterling walked towards me. His hands were in his pockets, the barest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. He wore all gold, as did I. I found that each day that passed left me loathing the color a little less. It was stifling, exhausting, and born of such horrible memories. But it was also the color of the sun, of Sterling’s curls, of Bellamy’s rings.
Bellamy had once said that the color could not control me. I was trying to prove him right.
“It was real,” I whispered, reaching over to trace a line up my forearm where my jagged scar had once been. Sterling eyed the movement but said nothing. He was growing used to my insanity. I feared he thought it normal for me.
“Asher, do you need anything?” he asked, stopping a few feet from me. He looked so sincere, so genuine. Why did that hurt worse?
“No, I am fine. Honestly, I just needed some air.” He glared as I waved him off, as if he could see the madness that clung to me like a shadow.
Before either of us could say anything else, the sound of something shattering nearby caught our attention. Both of our heads whipped towards the sound, our eyes wide. Neither of us moved, just staring towards the small alley between the rows of cottages that existed near the warden’s manor.
Homes were close by here, so much of the larger spaces used for farming. It was an extraordinarily communal place. But that made sense, as the Healer faction was the largest, and the only one that did not have subfactions. They were a community. Andas I stared on at the darkness that lurked between their homes, I thought of nothing I would hate more than the sight of that community being torn apart by violence.
So, I crept forward, my heeled slippers silent upon the dirt path. My magic seeped out from my body, slithering like a snake upon the ground as it hunted. There, only two homes down the path, were five fae. Their thoughts were a cacophony of fury. Of pain and loathing. One of them maintained watch—the closest to me at that moment—while the others spoke in hushed voices as they screamed some of the loudest thoughts I had ever heard.
Most of them were about…me.How they might catch me, kill me, parade me around as a bloody and lifeless trophy. They all agreed that anyone they killed along the way was justified. Slaughtering innocents was nothing when getting to me was everything. It was sickening.
Even worse was listening to their reasons. Hearing how much they lost. Family, friends, lovers, younglings. A mountain of death that I stood at the top of, smiling.
They hated me because it was I who shattered the minds of those they loved, and I deserved that hatred. So I listened silently as I stalked towards them, knowing what was about to happen and how little a chance there was that I would walk away feeling anything but regret.
Sterling, I need you to go back into the manor and make sure no one else comes looking for me.
The prince jumped at the sound of my voice within his head. I had no time to explain or to reassure him, so when he meant to refuse me, I turned and looked him in the eye.
Go inside and make sure no one else comes out here.
He straightened his back, spun around, and returned to the safety of the warden’s home—The Manipulator’s voice echoing in his mind. A sigh of relief escaped me before I could silence it,and alarm bells rang in my head as all five rebels locked into the sound.
With no other option, I made my move. I reached around the corner, grabbing the closest male by his shirt and dragging him towards me. His scream of surprise was cut off as his neck was snapped, my hands moving quicker than I remember them capable of. Another male dashed out of the alleyway, his head whipping towards me. Grabbing the now dead male’s knife, I prepared for the fight.
My opponent swung out, swiping at my stomach with a knife of his own. Stepping out of the way just in time, I countered his move. Unfortunately, he was just as quick as I was and we were forced to face off, breathing heavily and both slightly panicked.
“Dane!” a female shouted as she reached out for the dead fae at my feet. Another female wrapped her arms around her, holding her sobbing comrade back. “You bitch!”
“It is her,” the last male said as he walked out of the shadows, his hands stained gold and red. None of them wore the cloth with their symbol, but I knew from their minds that they were rebels. The female stifled her sobs, covering her mouth and staring at me wide-eyed.
“You are supposed to be in the warden’s manor, dining and unsuspecting,” the male I had fought said, his voice calmer than I had expected.
For some reason, I wanted to explain to them that I was going insane. That I was terrified my mind was not right. But more than that, I desperately wanted to feel their blood on my skin. To kill them and then hate myself for it. To free The Manipulator that raged within me. To feel more than despair and terror, even if only for a fleeting moment.
Instead of speaking, I hurled the knife into the face of the female holding the one whose cheeks were still wet with tears. It sliced through her, cutting into the bridge of her nose andsinking into her flesh. She collapsed to the ground just as the silence was shattered by the sound of the three remaining fae’s screams of fury.
They converged on me, mercilessly attacking all at once. I was forced to spend my time on defense, leaning back to avoid the strike of a knife as I simultaneously caught a leg with my hand before it connected with my hip. My mind was racing, magic tasting their intentions and only barely circumventing their attacks.
