Had he known how sirens’ bodies healed, Emilius would have gone for my bones. But he went for skin instead. Renting holes and watching me bleed, unfazed by the rivers of scarlet that pooled over the seat of the chair.
Every time he demanded knowledge, I answered with something foolish, each response more reckless than the last.
Where were you born?
Your wife can't stand the sight of you.
How do you control people?
Your kingdom prefers your brother.
At first, fear was worse than pain. He’d slide a blade innocently down my thigh, letting its cold edge gnaw terror from my skin, choking the air from my lungs. And then he’d plunge it in, and though I’d scream from the horror of being carved open, the pain was almost a breath of relief from the sickening, stiflingdread.
At some point, he'd stolen so much blood from me that pain left my body. It breathed on a surface that was only skin-deep, and I’d delved much further than that, deep within my body where he couldn’t reach.
There were moments I left myself. Moments I stood somewhere outside, watching as he grabbed my shoulders and shook me back awake. And thenI’d laugh, wild and wicked with delusion. Because that was the only way to keep it away, keep it from sinking in too close to the center of my thoughts.
I was going to die.
I was going to die, and I’d spent my last night begging alcohol to take the edge off my emotions.
I was going to die, and the last thing I’d said to my sister was,Don’t you love me?
I was going to die, and the gray of Pheolix’s eyes kept flashing in my mind. The heat of his body pressed around mine. The grainy silk of his hair caught in my fingers. The brush of his lips sweeping across my mouth. The dark murmur of his voice rumbling at my throat.
Emilius twisted his knife, and Pheolix’s face ripped away.
I growled at the feeling of it, that dull burn low in my stomach where he’d planted his blade. Then my growl dissolved into laughter.
“You’ve never done this before, have you?” I asked, more curiosity than mockery. “Someone else always does this for you.” Although I’d disconnected from my floating body, my words had sharpened since I’d swallowed his sleeping powder, and my skin was slick enough I may as well have sweated it out.
At some point, I’d watched the King waver over what to do with me. It was clear I refused to tell him what he wanted. But I hadn’t expected him to fight himself in the fallout of indecision.
His shoulders loosened slightly. He frowned, avoiding my eyes.
“Cain usually does it,” I guessed.
“Yes, well, I can’t trust a word or action from Cain, can I?” He shoved himself upright, taking a smooth drink from his glass of liquid amber. I watched the liquor swirl.
I knew enough about the body to understand my wounds were fatal when I began craving water above safety. I’d reached that point minutes ago.
His brows lifted. “Want this?” he asked, holding the glass out to me, watching my half-open eyes track its movement through the air. “Tell me who Cain is, and I’ll let you have a drink.”
I snorted. “It’s notwho, it'swhat. And I can’t tell you. Even I don’t know exactly.”
“Does your sister?”
I shook my head, feeling myself falling once more. Falling deeper under the surface, into the quiet dark, my eyes hovering low. Emilius dropped to a knee and twisted the knife again, snapping me awake. My mouth opened, but I’d already screamed as much as my lungs would let me. I panted instead, the taste of iron thick over my tongue, my breath hard and fast and desperate as I stared into his brown eyes.
Something crashed in Emilius’s quarters.
The volume of it was enough to break the brutal spell between us.
Emilius stood. His fists flexed as he faced the door, listening.
A slam. Wood bursting. Heavy footsteps pounding toward the door. Emilius reached for the knife in my gut, ripping it out of me. I hardly felt it. Blood gushed onto my already soaked dress, hot against my skin.
The room darkened. Muddied. Shapes blurred.
