Page 50 of Curses and Cures

Black spots dance in my vision as I try to remain conscious, but everywhere hurts. Every muscle aches, I can barely drag in a breath without feeling like I’ve been stabbed. But I do as he demands, my heart thudding painfully against my chest, fear and dread clawing at my insides as I watch the men devour their food brought to them by the naked women in chains. They stop eating to grasp at the women tied to each of their tables, bruising their skin, violating them with their fingers, shoving the drug I was brought here to make, into their mouths.

More bile burns the back of my throat as guilt lacerates my skin.

Something I made to bring me and the Deana-dhe together is being used to tear these women apart. It hurts knowing that I’m responsible.

One woman cries out, her sobs cracking my heart in two. She's quietened by a punch to her cheek, snapping her head to the side as she's knocked out from the blow. It takes every last bit of restraint not to get up and rush to her aid. I can't act, no matter how much I want to.

"Bring me my drink!" Soren orders as Faith enters my field of vision, carrying a large wooden pitcher.

She has to hold it with both hands, the weight clearly too heavy for her weakened state. Trembling from the exertion, Faith pours the liquid into the goblet Soren holds up, spilling some over the lip as she does so.

A droplet hits my arm, and with it the familiar scent of the flowering herb, lobelia, wafts under my nose. My heart rate spikes. She did it. Faith has poisoned their drink. Now we have to hope Soren doesn’t notice the slight, but distinctive smell.

"Now serve the brotherhood," Soren commands, resting the goblet on the arm of his throne without taking a sip.

My heart thunders in my chest as Faith moves between each table, pouring each of the men a glass until eventually they've all been served. Returning the pitcher to the table she got it from, Faith takes up her position at Soren's feet, keeping her gaze downcast and her demeanour subdued.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Half-skull striding towards Soren, his cold, hard gaze resting on his leader. "Sir, your visitors have arrived," he utters.

“Excellent," Soren responds, his voice dripping with anticipation. My body tenses as his fingers weave through my hair, sending a chill up my spine. It's an intimate touch, gentle almost, and that makes it far more disturbing than any violence he's previously inflicted on me. “Now the fun really begins.”

Fun? What does he mean by that? What if they're here to partake in this celebration night too? My blood runs cold at the thought, panic running rampant. There's no more poison left...

"Should I bring them in?" Half-skull's voice slices through the air, disrupting my thoughts.

"Yes, they can observe the festivities before we give them what they came for," Soren's replies, his voice morphing into a vicious snarl as his fingers dig painfully into my scalp.

My stomach drops as I struggle to contain my reaction. I bite on the inside of my cheek so hard that I can feel the bitter taste of blood in my mouth, every nerve in my body now buzzing with dread. Fear takes hold of me, like a vice, and it's all I can do not to let it crush me.

"Very well," Half-skull replies, twisting on his feet and striding from the hall, returning a couple of minutes later with a group of men. There are eight in total and all of them are dressed head to foot in the same black robes, the hoods pulled up over their heads, hiding their faces from view.

Curling his fingers into my hair, Soren stands, yanking me to my feet with him. I let out an involuntary yelp of pain, but I don't try to fight him off, not when he's holding his goblet of drink aloft. I can’t risk him spilling it.

“Brotherhood, before you take a sip from your glasses, I want to welcome our guests who are here tonight to collect their order of diamonds, made bymyvery ownwitch," Soren announces, dropping the strands of my hair, and hauling me to his side. Leaning over he presses his nose into my hair, a deep rumble rising up his chest as he says, "I'm going to enjoy fucking you in front of your men until you pass out from the pain."

My men?

I audibly gasp. My gaze darting back to the line of hooded visitors.

“No!” I whimper, hope draining from my body as I realise the imminent danger they’re in.

“And when you wake up I’m going to make you wear their blood and internal organs as a reminder of what I’ve taken from you. No one fucks with the Skull Brotherhood and lives. No one.”

“Run!”

But my warning comes out as a strangled cry as Soren barks out a laugh, places his hand around my throat and squeezes the warning from my lips.

Holding me captive, he raises his goblet with the other hand and says, “To our guests.”

"To our guests," the members of the Skull Brotherhood repeat with a malicious roar, before they all take a sip.

I can only hope the effects of the poison take hold sooner rather than later.

For all of our sakes.

15

Carrick

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