Page 119 of The War of Wings
“Hiding. Waiting. Like I said, morale is low. People are scared.” We neared the castle, the wide stone steps yawning out in front of us. “After you left, spirits remained high. There was hope. Everyone here had survived the battle in Eserene, and it seemed like Petra was going to find a solution. But after the attack a few days ago…” He let out a heavy sigh, one weighted with desperation. “The Occulti were different this time. They didn’t look like Vacants. They looked like…”
“Monsters,” I answered with a nod. “Yeah.”
We were silent as we ascended the stairs. As we neared the top, the castle doors swung open and Commander Summercut emerged, his hands at his side and his weathered face looking worse for wear. “King Belin?”
“Hello, Commander.”
“Queen Petra?”
“She’s fine,” Whit answered before I could, passing into the castle and nodding to one of the handmaidens standing just inside. “Anna, could you please make up a room for King Belin and deliver his bag?”
“Certainly,” the woman answered, lowering her head.
“I’ll be happy to bring it up myself,” I said politely before turning to Whit. “I wouldn’t mind catching a few hours of sleep on something that’s not either a driva’s back or the hard ground.”
Whit’s hand landed on my shoulder. “Later.”
“Later?”
He pursed his lips. “I sent word, but it won’t arrive in Araqina for another two weeks. But now that you’re here, there’s something you need to see.”
???
“It happened right after Malosym attacked, only a few hours after Nell left for Araqina,” Whit said as he rubbed his jaw, staring at the familiar woman standing stock still behind the bars. The dank smell of the dungeon made me cringe. It was only a few weeks ago that I’d been thrown in a cell just a couple down from this one. “She just…changed.”
“I don’t understand,” I breathed. “Does he have another Bloodsinger to make sacrifices for him? He must have her blood.”
“We don’t know,” Summercut answered, his voice just as resigned as Whit’s. “Luckily, we were able to subdue her, but I’m not sure where to go from here.”
Petra was going to be devastated.
Slowly, I took a step closer to the cell. Blood magic was at play here, evident in the sinister way she stared at me with those unnatural amber eyes. Her cheeks were too sharp, her shoulders too angular. Her soul was gone.
“Irabel,” I said softly. Her only response was a slight cock of her head. “It’s me, Cal. You remember me, right?”
Petra’s mother was silent.
“Irabel,” I repeated.
“Of course I remember you,” she hissed, her voice echoing off the stone walls of Taitha’s dungeon and slithering down my spine.
“Good. We want to help you. Can you tell me what happened?”
“You want to help me?” she snarled. “Let me out of here.”
“We can’t do that,” I answered, my tone even. “Not until you’re healed.”
She scoffed, a disconcertingly sharp fingernail trailing over the bars as she began to pace slowly. “There’s nothing to heal. Darkness will win this war. It will be a far more pleasant world in which to reside should I remain in this state.”
Her sequence of speech, the eerie hiss to her voice… I knew this wasn’t Irabel, but my brain was having a hard time reconciling the fact. “Darkness will not win this war.”
“He’s stronger than her,” she answered simply, turning on her foot to pace back the other way. The softping,ping,pingof her fingernail against the bars, the inhuman hiss in her voice… They stoked something in me. Something angry.
“She’s smarter than him,” I answered, and it was the truth.
“And yet who wins the fight? The person with the stronger fist or the one with the quicker wit?”
I sucked my teeth, steadying my breathing. “The one who keeps the fist from swinging in the first place.”
