Page 5 of Her Cruel Redemption

Tell yourself that. Does it make it easier to swallow?

I grit my teeth against the remembered words and tried to pummel them back into the ground before they could raise any other memories. I wasnotgoing there. I could have a conversation abouthimwithout needing to think aboutthat.

‘So, did you ask him to give up his magic the way you’re asking me to?’ I asked finally.

‘Yes.’

‘And he didn’t take the suggestion well.’

‘No. But even though we refused to teach him to use magic, we let him live among us for a time, learn our way of life, since it was his birthright in a sense. I think the Elders always hoped he would come to trust us and change his mind about giving the magic up.’

‘But he didn’t.’ In a flash, I could seehimbefore me, the image sharp and clear. Dark hair dishevelled, a half-smile cocked on his arrogant mouth, pewter eyes intently fixed on me. I could even imagine what he would say, could just about hear that burnt-toffee voice running over my skin in a way that made my hair stand on end.Wouldyouhave changed your mind, my dear?

I pressed the heels of my palms to my eyes as though I could block him out, even though he was an image in my head. I wished I could rip him out like a splinter, wished these memories would stay dead. Talking about him was a clear transgression of those rules I’d set myself, and now here I was, already spiralling.

‘Are you alright?’ Elias’s voice cut into the swirl of my thoughts, and I yanked myself back into the present, opened my eyes. I was sitting by a lake on the dirt. The wind was cool against my skin. There was an enormous winged lizard watching me. I washere. Notthere.‘We don’t have to keep talking about this if it’s too much for you.’

‘No,’ I said immediately, too eagerly. ‘I’m fine. How long did he live here?’

‘Not long. But it was long enough to spread some ideas. Violence has never been a part of our way of life here. We can defend ourselves well enough, and the wyvern riders have always been granted permission to use force in protecting the Living Valley, but when humanity began to spread, we didn’t wage a war, only retreated. If we’d done anything differently, it would have meant a complete betrayal of all the values our society is built upon, and we wouldn’t let the human expansion turn us into something we weren’t.’ There was a note of pride in his voice as he said this, but then he went quiet for a long pause.

‘But Draven is convincing,’ I finally added, caressing that illicit name in my mouth with a thrill of familiarity. It had been months since I’d said it. Months since I’d sighed it, whimpered it.Stop, I told myself.Focus.I turned the tide of my thoughts and began to collect the story around me, feeling the throb of what Elias wasn’t saying beneath his words. I had seen the dungeons of Misarnee Keep, knew what the druthi did to the fall spawn brought in by the binders who took their captives from this very mountain range. There was only so much that values ofpeacefulnesscould do in the face of loved ones being locked away in cells to have the blood squeezed out of their veins.

‘He found an existing wound and he widened it,’ Elias said, his voice softer now. Sad. ‘There were some who weren’t so content to just hide here waiting for binders to pick us off. There was a lot of anger that the Elders were pretending wasn’t there. When his talk of war and vengeance grew too loud, he was thrown out of the Living Valley. From what we know now, I think he went to Baba Yaga after that and lived with her for a time while she taught him how to control his magic. Eventually, a number of our community followed him. They are renegades, forbidden from ever returning here and bringing their hatred and their anger back where it could spread to others. But the discontent has been a difficult thing to put back in its box. Every few weeks, there's a tale of someone new running off to join them.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ I muttered. And then—because surely, I could ask at leastonequestion—said, ‘Where did he come from before he came to you?’

‘I don’t know. All he ever told us was that the magic was gifted by his mother. The rest of his history he kept to himself.’

‘Of course. Aether forbid he ever share anything about himself with anyone,’ I said, more to myself as my mind whirled, slotting new information with old. Glancing at Elias, I opened my mouth to ask another question, but it fizzled on my tongue. Because he was giving me a strange look, and I scrambled to rearrange my facial features, to wipe whatever eager gleam had been dancing in my eyes and hide behind a mask of apathy. The only things I needed to know about Draven were those that might help me conquer him. ‘Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?’ I said, affecting disinterest.

Elias studied me for a moment longer, and I wondered if he’d try to read me with his magic. But he only moved his gaze over my shoulder, the softening of his expression letting me know Gwinellyn was on her way back to us.

‘Magic will hurt you,’ he said, briefly returning his focus to me. ‘We don’t refuse to teach you to be cruel. We do so because we know the damage it’ll do. I hope you’ll at least consider that.’ He rose to his feet, going to Gwinellyn, taking her by the hand and leading her away. She glanced at me hopefully, but let herself be led, and I was left alone with my thoughts again.

No doubt Elias had hoped to leave me questioning the wisdom of holding onto the magic, but I hardly even thought about that. I wasn’t going to gomad. And even if I did go a little mad, if I only went as mad as Baba Yaga, then it didn’t worry me. The old witch had been mercurial and said some odd things, but she hadn’t been in any sort of state that I’d be terrified of finding myself in. No, the part of the conversation I focused on was what I’d learned about Draven. Knowing he’d been here in the Living Valley made me jittery, nervous. Because surely, he would eventually come looking for me here. It was all the more reason to master my magic quickly. Groaning, I massaged my temples, my headache returning to my focal awareness. But even if I needed to do it quickly, I wasn’t likely to do it today. I’d had enough for one day.

I wasn’t staying in that rabbit warren of a home Gwinellyn shared with her other Yoxvese friends. There hadn’t been room, and frankly, I didn’t feel like marinating in their distrust. Nor was I in one of the strange houses the Yoxvese sung out of trees. They had instead found me another little hovel a distance away, scraped out of the limestone cliff face, that had been empty for some time. Mae and Tanathil—the two of Gwinellyn's friends who'd been the warmest to me—had cleaned it up and made some adjustments. But as I stepped through the doorway and gazed around at the hewn rock walls, the little bed in the corner, the single chair and table, there was little that I could do to prevent myself from seeing it as it was—a hole in the ground.

Dark-leafed vines clung to the ceiling, dangling low enough to touch my head in places and occasionally dripping condensation onto me while I slept. I’d ripped them out over and over again, but they just kept coming back, growing unnaturally fast and spreading with a vengeful determination that seemed almost sentient. It probably was. None of the plant life here behaved the way it should.

My evening consisted of nibbling unenthusiastically at one of the densely-seeded loaves that passed for bread here while I tried not to long for the luxuries of the palace, for potatoes cooked in duck fat and quail stuffed with apricots and red wine and chocolate and a bath tub that wasn’t a pool of tepid water in a cave nearby shared with anyone else who cared to use it. I tried not to long for Leela, for her easy company and her unwavering support, wondering again what had happened to her, where she was, whether she was okay, picking at questions I had no way of finding answers to.

It was better to stay up as late as I could, to wait until I was exhausted before crawling into the lumpy bed, but I hated sitting in the glow of those heinous wishlights that darted around among the vines, and there was only so much I could do to keep myself occupied in this little hovel. Eventually, I crawled into bed, closed my eyes and waited.

All those memory corpses trembled, turned, clawed their way into my conscious mind, revealing themselves not as rotting frames but whole and gleaming and powerful. Iremembered. I remembered lips on my neck, on my breasts, between my legs, remembered the salty taste of skin and the heady thrill of wrapping my thighs around him. I remembered being chased, being caught, being held. And being watched, always being watched, by eyes that saw far too much of me and still seemed to always want more. I remembered until I was flushed and aching and the emptiness between my legs became unbearable. And when I finally slipped a hand down to quench this unendurable hunger, I banished the memories in favour of an invention. I imaginedhimon his knees before me. I imagined him pleading to serve me. I imagined making himsuffer.I imagined making himbeg.I climaxed with a gasp, and the relief was immediately followed by a wave of rage-coated shame. How could I hate Dravenso muchand still do… this?

As I stared at the violet-washed vines above my bed, I swore my nightly vow. That I’d make Draven pay for what he’d done to me. That as soon as I could control my magic, I would hunt him down and settle the score.

Chapter Three

The knife landed in the bark of the tree with a muffled thud, embedding deeply into its flesh.

'Better,' Mae said.

'I didn't even hit the bullseye.'

'But at least you're hitting the tree now. And the knife stuck. It's better.'

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