Page 23 of War Of Fire and Fortune
He began to pace, slow and deliberate, his robes scraping across the floor as he moved. “You have always been my favorite. You have always been willing to bleed for me. Die for me, if it comes to that.”
He stepped around to face me. This felt like the clash of predator and prey, though I could not have said which was which anymore.
“Would you, Valla?” he asked. “Would you die for my cause?”
The question was rhetorical. The answer was already written in every scar, every piece of me I’d surrendered over the years.If there was any doubt left in me, it was a tiny, stubborn ember, buried deep where he couldn’t see it.
“Yes,” I said. “I would die for your cause.”
“Good,” he said as he let out a sigh, soft as a lullaby.
Then he pulled the dagger from his sleeve.
I saw the flash of steel, the shimmer of a ruby. For one incredulous moment, I thought it ceremonial, a threat meant to scare me into submission. But my father was not a man for empty gestures.
He drove the dagger into my gut.
The pain was immediate, blinding, an agony so pure I nearly blacked out on my feet. I gasped, a pathetic, animalistic sound, and staggered backward. My hands flew to the wound, warm blood spurting between my fingers. I wanted to curse him, to scream, but I could only gape, uncomprehending.
He watched me, impassive, as I stumbled. My legs buckled and I went to my knees. The guards didn’t react. They stood still, as if this were all part of a script they’d rehearsed a thousand times.
Father crouched to my level, his face inches from mine.
“I’m sorry, princess,” he said, and for a moment I almost believed he meant it. “But your sacrifice will keep my mind and body safe. I’ll be sure to keep you around to do all my bidding still—but now you’ll be tied to my will. That blade was enchanted with a soul sacrifice. A little trick I learned when I invaded the library of knowledge some years back.”
He paused, savoring my shock. My vision tunneled, my fingers slick with my own blood, but I could not look away.
“It is a ritual most profane,” he went on, “linking another’s soul to an object of one’s own, thereby rendering the victim a husk, devoid of will, enslaved to the whims of their murderer. But I think you will appreciate this, Valla. You’ve always done what you’re told. Now, not only are you protecting me by givingyour life, you’ll be a force to be reckoned with. You won’t feel anything anymore. I’ve set you free.”
He stood, and for a moment the world swam. I felt light-headed but also hollow, like something fundamental was being scooped out of me.
I tried to struggle, to grab him, but my limbs had gone numb, blood running in hot, sticky rivers down my thighs. My father watched, his face composed, kind even.
“You have always been the best of my children,” he said. “And now, you will be my shield.”
I wanted to cry. I wanted to beg, to demand answers, but all that came out was a strangled, wet noise. My hands scrabbled at the marble, at the air, at nothing. I was so tired, so cold.
Somewhere in the blur, I heard my father dismiss the guards, heard the click of the door closing behind them. The last thing I saw before darkness crashed over me was his empty smile.
My body was dying, but my mind would not follow it into the void. I hovered above myself, watching as the blood spilled, as my father stood over me, as the world blurred at the edges and began to fold inward like burned paper.
He spoke, and it sounded far away, muffled by the rush of my own fading heartbeat. I tried to scream, or cry, or even laugh. Nothing moved. The pain in my belly was fire and ice, but I sensed it already fading thanks to the magic coursing through my veins.
He placed a hand on my forehead. “Rest, daughter. Your service is just beginning.”
All these years, I’d fooled myself into thinking I was free in my own way. That I was clever, that my loyalty was a weapon of my own, that I was different from the others because I chose to serve. I thought that was power. I thought he loved me for it. That maybe on some rare day, he would put his hand on my shoulder and say, “Well done, Valla,” and actually mean it.
But here, on the cold floor of his throne room, I finally understood. I had never been anything but a tool, a means to an end. Not the cherished daughter, not the clever tactician, not even a worthy heir because I was a woman. Just a pawn to be sacrificed and used. A sick fucking joke.
A sob caught in my throat and nearly choked me. I remembered my mother’s voice—soft, tired, always gentle even when I disappointed her. She had never believed in my father’s ways of cruelty, never understood how anyone could hurt their own child and call it love. I’d hated her for her weakness, for the way she let Father break her down, day after day, until she’d been only a ghost drifting through the halls and trembling at the sound of his footsteps.
But now, as my body burned from the inside out, I wanted her more than anything. I wanted her arms, her lullabies, the smell of her when she would sneak into my room and check on me at night before crawling into my bed. I wanted her to say it would be all right. I wanted to beg forgiveness for every time I’d chosen my father’s praise over her safety, every time I’d looked the other way or enforced his will or shut her out with a locked door and cruel words. And my brothers . . . I wanted my Kade and Rhet.
But it was too late. The numbness spread, stealing my pain and regret and everything else. My pulse slowed, then skipped, then stilled altogether.
I was dead. I could see the blood, the slack jaw, my eyes still open but blank and empty. I wanted to weep, but I had nobody left to do it with. I was a soul, a thought, a prisoner.
I sensed my father standing over my corpse, wiping the dagger clean. He did not look at me. He could not see me, not with his eyes, but I knew he felt my presence, that he reveled in the knowledge of my imprisonment. To him, I was a thing, a possession. A legacy he could wield now without the inconvenience of my will.
